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THOMAS AND SALLY: OR, The Sailor's Return.

[PRICE ONE SHILLING.]

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THOMAS AND SALLY: OR, The Sailor's Return. A MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent-Garden. The MUSIC compoſed by DOCTOR ARNE.

LONDON: Printed for G. KEARSLY, at the Golden Lion, in Ludgate-ſtreet; and J. COOTE, at the King's Arms, in Pater-noſter Row. MDCCLXI.

PREFACE.

[i]

THE public has made ſo little difficulty hitherto, in ſwallowing nauſeous, or at beſt, inſipid verſes, when they have been wrapped up in agreeable muſic; that to offer a word, either by way of defence, or apology, for the following trifle, ſeems altogether unneceſſary.

IT will be eaſily believed, that the author did not write it with a view to acquire the reputation of a genius: he muſt be a ſimpleton indeed, who hopes to give people an idea of his wealth by ſhewing them a handful of farthings. He wrote it merely to comply with the requeſt of a theatrical perſon, whom he had an inclination to oblige; it was deſigned [ii] and finiſhed in ſomewhat leſs than a fortnight; and his excuſe for now ſuffering it to appear in print (and he really thinks ſuch an excuſe neceſſary) muſt be the nature of a muſical entertainment, which requires, that the words ſhould be put into the hands of the audience, who would otherwiſe find it impoſſible to accompany the performers in what they ſing upon the ſtage.

HE is no ſtranger to the whimſical prejudice, which inclines moſt people to meaſure the worth of dramatic pieces by their length; and becauſe a muſical entertainment is unavoidably the ſhorteſt of any, makes them, for that reaſon, deny its being capable of any degree of merit at all. But though what he here ventures into the world, is neither a Tragedy, a Comedy, or even ſo much as a Comedy of two acts; he flatters himſelf, there are ſome few, who will not condemn it, merely becauſe it is not, what it was not [iii] deſigned for: he hopes they will conſider, that when he ſat down to write it, he ſat down to write a muſical entertainment; and that a certain poet and critic, who is allowed to have been a tolerable judge in ſuch matters, has told us, no author can compaſs more than he intends.

IF after this, any perſons have an inclination to find fault with it, they are heartily welcome: nay, he will ſo far ſubſcribe to their opinion, as to confeſs, there are ſome as bad lines in it, as the worſt dablers in ſing-ſong ever were guilty of; but he thought it needleſs to correct them, as every thing of this kind muſt be caſtrated, in order to make it perfectly muſical; and ſtretched and altered, to fit the ſhape of the ſtage. However, he would certainly point out the exceptionable lines, to ſhew he is not ignorant of them; but that he takes it for granted, there will be people enough ready to ſave him that trouble.

[iv]THUS far by way of Preface; which the author has written, only becauſe he is aſſured there is nothing ſo acceptable to the purchaſers of any thing in the form of a book, now a-days, as a reaſonable pennyworth in print and paper; and he had a mind to avail himſelf of the advantages attending an additional half-ſheet.

FOR the ſame reaſon too he might poſſibly have attempted a Dedication; but, unfortunately, the only perſonages likely to patronize his performance are united in a particular ſociety; and he was at a loſs in what manner to order their titles, ſo as to make a proper blazon at the head of a page. However, in this place he would be underſtood to inſcribe the following rhimes to thoſe vagrant choireſters, who, like the bards of old, ſing verſes about the public ſtreets; and if, when they [v] have thought proper to advance the following ballads to a place in the Chimneyſweeper's Garland, the Sweetheart's Delight, or any other of their ingenious collections; they ſhould, (thro' their novelty, and the prevailing argument of playhouſe tunes) be the means of rendering more reaſonable in their demands, thoſe grinders of the muſes, who have the conſcience to expect ſix and thirty pretty ſongs in one book for a halfpenny; he ſhall think the time, and pains they coſt him in compoſing, very well beſtowed.

TO conclude. The author thinks there is no doubt, on account of the muſic, which is admirable; and the performance, which will be excellent; but this little piece muſt come off well upon the ſtage; but after having been acquitted there, he foreſees, ſome buſy people will be for bringing it before the judges in the court of criticiſm. Now he applies himſelf [vi] to the ſaid judges, requiring them to conſider all ſuch proceedings as arbitrary, at leaſt, if not unprecedented: He deſires, that they will ſuffer the inſignificancy of this piece, to ſcreen it from their cognizance; and that they will not attempt to break a butterfly upon a wheel.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

[]
MEN.
The 'SQUIRE,
Mr. BEARD.
THOMAS,
Mr. MATTOCKS.
WOMEN.
SALLY,
Miſs BRENT.
DORCAS,
Mrs. VERNON.

SCENE, The COUNTRY.

[]THOMAS AND SALLY: OR, The Sailor's Return.

PART I.

SCENE I.

Muſic behind.
Enter 'SQUIRE and HUNTSMEN.
'SQUIRE.
THE ecchoing horn calls the ſportſmen abroad,
To horſe, my brave boys, and away;
The morning is up, and the cry of the hounds,
Upbraids our too tedious delay.
What pleaſure we find in purſuing the fox,
O'er hill, and o'er valley he flies;
Then follow, we'll ſoon overtake him, huzza!
The traitor is ſeiz'd on, and dies.
[2]Triumphant returning at night with the ſpoil,
Like Bacchanals, ſhouting and gay;
How ſweet with a bottle and laſs to refreſh,
And looſe the fatigues of the day.
With ſport, love, and wine, fickle fortune defy;
Dull wiſdom all happineſs ſours:
Since life is no more than a paſſage at beſt,
Let's ſtrew the way over with flow'rs.

SCENE II. A Cottage.

SALLY diſcovered ſpinning at the door.
RECITATIVE.
SALLY.
In vain I ſtrive my ſorrows to amuſe;
Stubborn they are, and all relief refuſe:
What med'cine ſhall I fly to, or what art!
Is there no cure for a diſtemper'd heart?
[3]AIR.
My former time how briſk, how gay!
Oh! blith I was, as blith could be;
But now I'm ſad, ah, well-a-day!
For my true love is gone to ſea.
The lads purſue, I ſtrive to ſhun,
Though all their arts are loſt on me;
For I to death can love but one,
And he, alas! is gone to ſea.
As droop the flow'rs till light's return,
As mourns the dove its abſent ſhe;
So will I droop, ſo will I mourn,
'Till my true love returns from ſea.

SCENE III. E [...] DORCAS.

[4]
DORCAS.
What, will you never quit this idle trade?
Still, ſtill in tears — ah, you fooliſh maid!
In time have prudence, your own int'reſt ſee;
Youth laſts not always; be advis'd by me.
AIR.
That May-day of life is for pleaſure,
For ſinging, for dancing, and ſhow;
Then why will you waſte ſuch a treaſure,
In ſighing and crying — heigho!
Let's copy the bird in the meadows,
By her tune your pipe when 'tis low;
Fly round, and coquet it as ſhe does,
And never be crying — heigho!
[5]Though when in the arms of a lover,
It ſometimes may happen, I know;
That e'er all our toying is over,
We cannot help crying — heigho!
In age ev'ry one a new part takes,
I find to my ſorrow 'tis ſo;
When old, you may cry till your heart achs,
But no one will mind you — heigho!
SALLY.
RECITATIVE.
Leave me.
DORCAS.
Go to — I came to make you glad.
Odſooks, what's here? this folly makes me mad.
You're grieving, and for whom? — 'tis pretty ſport,
For one that gets a wife at ev'ry port.
SALLY.
Dorcas, for ſhame, how can you be ſo baſe!
Or after this look Thomas in the face?
His ſhip's expected.
DORCAS.
[6]
Tell not me — the 'Squire —
As Tom is your's, you are h [...] heart's deſire.
Then why ſo peeviſh, and ſo froward ſtill?
He'll make your fortune; let him have his will.
SALLY.
AIR.
Were I as poor as wretch can be,
As great as any monarch, he,
Ere on ſuch terms I'd mount his throne,
I'd work my fingers to the bone.
Grant me, ye pow'rs, I aſk not wealth;
Grant me but innocence and health;
Ah! what is grandeur link'd to vice?
'Tis only virtue gives it price.
Exit.
DORCAS.
RECITATIVE.
Well, go your ways — I cannot chuſe but ſmile:
Wou'd I were young again — alas! the while;
But what are wiſhes — wiſhes will not do:
One cannot eat one's cake, and have it too.
[7]AIR.
When I was a young one, what girl was like me?
So wanton, ſo airy, and briſk as a bee:
I tattled, I rambled, I laugh'd, and where'er
A fiddle was heard, to b [...] [...]ure I was there.
To all that came near I had ſomething to ſay;
'Twas this Sir — and that Sir — but ſcarce ever nay;
And Sundays dreſs'd out in my ſilks and my lace,
I warrant I ſtood by the beſt in the place.
At twenty, I got me a huſband — poor man!
Well reſt him — we all are as good as we can;
Yet he was ſoo peeviſh, he'd quarrel for ſtraws,
And jealous — though truly I gave him ſome cauſe.
He ſnubb'd me, and huff'd me — but let me alone;
Egad I've a tongue — and I paid him his own.
Ye wives, take the hint, and when ſpouſe is untow'rd,
Stand firm to our charter — and have the laſt word.
But now I'm quite alter'd, the more to my woe;
I'm not what I was forty ſummers ago:
This time's a ſore foe, there's no ſhunning his dart;
However, I keep up a pretty good heart.
[8]
Grown old, yet I hate to be ſitting mum-chance;
I ſtill love a tune, though unable to dance;
And books of devotion laid by on my ſhelf,
I teach that to others, I once did myſelf.

SCENE IV. A Wood.

Enter 'SQUIRE.
'SQUIRE.
AIR.
Life's a garden, rich in treaſure,
Bury'd like the ſeeds in earth;
There lie joy, contentment, pleaſure,
But 'tis love muſt give them birth.
That warm ſun its aid denying,
We no happineſs can taſte;
But in cold obſtruction lying,
Life is all one barren waſte.

SCENE V.

[9]
Enter SALLY.
SALLY.
RECITATIVE.
Ah! whither have my heedleſs ſteps betray'd?
'SQUIRE.
Where wou'd you fly? of whom are you afraid?
Here's neither ſpectre, ghoſt, nor goblin nigh,
Nor any one — but Cupid; you, and I.
SALLY.
Unlucky!
'SQUIRE.
'Sdeath! ſhe ſets me all on fire:
Bewitching wench! I languiſh with deſire.
But wherefore do you ſhrink, and trembling ſtand,
So coy, ſo ſilly?
SALLY.
Pray, Sir, looſe my hand.
'SQUIRE.
[10]
AIR.
When late I wander'd o'er the plain,
From nymph, to nymph, I ſtrove in vain,
My wild deſires to rally;
But now they're of themſelves come home,
And, ſtrange! no longer ſeek to roam:
They centre all in Sally.
Yet ſhe, unkind one, damps my joy,
And cries I court but to deſtroy:
Can love with ruin tally?
By thoſe dear lips, thoſe eyes, I ſwear,
I would all deaths, all torments bear,
Rather than injure Sally.
Come then, Oh come, thou ſweeter far!
Than jeſſamine and roſes are,
Or lillies of the valley;
O follow, love, and quit your fear,
He'll guide you to theſe arms, my dear,
And make me bleſt in Sally.
SALLY.
[11]
RECITATIVE.
Sir, you demean yourſelf, and, to be free,
Some lady you ſhould chuſe of fit degree:
I am too low, too vulgar —
'SQUIRE.
Rather ſay,
There's ſome more favour'd rival in the way:
Some happy ſweetheart in your thoughts takes place;
For him you keep your favours; that's the caſe.
SALLY.
Well if it be, 'tis neither ſhame, nor ſin;
An honeſt lad he is, of honeſt kin:
No higher than my equal I pretend:
You have your anſwer, Sir, and there's an end.
'SQUIRE.
AIR.
Come, come, my dear girl, I muſt not be deny'd;
Fine cloathes you ſhall flaſh in, and rant it away:
I'll give you this purſe too, and heark you beſide,
We'll kiſs and we'll toy all the long ſummer's day.
SALLY.
[12]
Of kiſſing and toying you ſoon would be tir'd,
Oh ſhould hapleſs Sally conſent to be naught!
Beſides, Sir, believe me, I ſcorn to be hir'd;
The heart's not worth gaining which is to be bought.
'SQUIRE.
Perhaps you're afraid of the world's buſy tongue,
But know, above ſcandal you then ſhall be put;
And laugh, as you roll in your chariot along,
At draggle-tail chaſtity walking a foot.
SALLY.
If only thro' fear of the world I was ſhy,
My coyneſs, and modeſty were but ill ſhown;
Its pardon 'twere eaſy with money to buy,
But how, tell me how, I ſhou'd purchaſe my own.
'SQUIRE.
Leave morals to grey-beards, thoſe lips were deſign'd
For better employment.
SALLY.
[13]
I'll not be a whore.
'SQUIRE.
Oh fye, child! love bids you be rich, and be kind;
SALLY.
But virtue commands me, be honeſt and poor.
End of the Firſt Act.

PART II.

[14]

SCENE I. The Sea Side.

Enter THOMAS, with Sailors
THOMAS.
RECITATIVE.
Avaſt, my boys, avaſt, all hands on ſhore,
Meſs-mates, what cheer? Old England, hey! once more.
I'm thinking how the wenches will rejoice;
Out with your preſents, boys, and take your choice.
I've an old ſweetheart — but look — there's the town:
Weigh anchor, tack about, and let's bear down.
AIR.
From ploughing the ocean, and thraſhing Mounſeer,
In old England we're landed once more;
Your hands, my brave comrades, halloo boys, what cheer!
For a ſailor that's juſt come a-ſhore?
Thoſe hectoring blades thought to ſcare us, no doubt,
And to cut us, and ſlaſh us — Morblieu!
But hold there, avaſt, they were plaguily out,
We have ſlic'd them, and pepper'd them too.
[15]
Then courage, my hearts, your own conſequence know,
Yon invaders ſhall ſoon do you right;
The lion may rouſe, when he hears the cock crow,
But ſhould never be put in a fright.
You've now laid aſide your nonſenſical jars,
Your damn'd party and idle conteſt;
Then let all your ſtrife be, like us honeſt tars,
Who ſhall fight for his country the beſt.
A ſeafaring ſpark, if the maids can affect,
Bid the ſimpering gypſies look to't;
Sound bottoms they'll find us, in ev'ry reſpect,
And our pockets well laden to boot.
The landſmen, mayhap, in the way of diſcourſe,
Have more art, to perſuade and the like;
But 'ware thoſe falſe colours, for better, for worſe,
Is the bargain we're willing to ſtrike.
Now long live the king, may he proſperous reign,
Of no power, no faction afraid;
May Britain's proud flag ſtill exult o'er the main,
At all points of the compaſs diſplay'd.
[16]
No quickſands endanger, no ſtorms overwhelm,
Steady, ſteady, and ſafe may ſhe ſail;
No ignorant pilots e'er fit at her helm,
Or her anchor of liberty fail.
Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Meadow.

Enter the 'SQUIRE and DORCAS.
'SQUIRE.
In vain I've ev'ry wily art eſſay'd,
Nor promiſes can tempt, nor vows perſuade;
No proſpect of ſucceſs is left me now:
How ſhall I gain her?
DORCAS.
Why I'll tell you how.
This way ſhe comes; the wench is full of pride;
Lay oaths and vows, and promiſes aſide:
Often when regular approaches fail,
Beſiegers ſtorm a place, and ſo prevail.
[17]AIR.
All you who would wiſh to ſucceed with a laſs,
Learn how the affair's to be done;
For if you ſtand fooling, and ſhy, like an aſs,
You'll looſe her, as ſure as a gun.
With whining, and ſighing, and vows, and all that,
As far as you pleaſe, you may run;
She'll hear you, and jeer you, and give you a pat,
But jilt you, as ſure as a gun.
To worſhip, and call her bright goddeſs, is fine!
But mark you the conſequence, mun;
The baggage will think herſelf really divine,
And ſcorn you, as ſure as a gun.
But be with a maiden, bold, frolic, and ſtout,
And no opportunity ſhun;
She'll tell you ſhe hates you, and ſwear ſhe'll cry out,
But mum — ſhe's as ſure as a gun.
'SQUIRE.
[18]
RECITATIVE.
This way ſhe comes a milking, hence begone:
Exit Dorcas.
Oh love aſſiſt me, you that drive me on.
The time, the place, both favour my deſign;
Now, if ſhe's coy, I'll force her to be mine.
But, left ſome other courſe ſhe ſteer her flight,
'Twere beſt awhile to hide me from her ſight.
Retires.
Enter SALLY.
SALLY.
RECITATIVE.
HOW cruel thoſe who with ungen'rous aim,
Strive to ſeduce, and bring poor maids to ſhame?
That brutiſh ſquire! but wherefore ſhould I fear?
I ne'er can turn, falſe-hearted to my dear.
No, when he came his laſt farewel to take,
He bid me wear this token for his ſake;
He ſhall not prove me fickle and unkind,
Or ſay that out of ſight was out of mind.
[19]AIR.
Auſpicious ſpirits guard my love,
In time of danger near him bide;
With out-ſpread wings around him move,
And turn each random ball aſide.
And you his foes, though hearts of ſteel,
Oh! may you then with me accord;
A ſympathetick paſſion feel,
Behold his face, and drop the ſword.
Ye winds, your bluſt'ring fury leave,
Like airs, that o'er the garden ſweep;
Breathe ſoft in ſighs, and gently heave,
The calm, ſmooth boſom of the deep.
Till Halcyon peace return'd, once more,
From blaſts ſecure, and hoſtile harms;
My ſailor views his native ſhore,
And harbours ſafe in theſe fond arms.
[20]Enter 'SQUIRE.
'SQUIRE.
AIR.
Well met, pretty maid,
Nay, don't be afraid;
I mean you no miſchief, I vow;
Pſha! what is't you ail?
Come, give me your pail,
And I'll carry it up to your cow.
SALLY.
Pray let it alone,
I've hands of my own,
Nor need yours to help me — forbear!
How can you perſiſt?
I won't, Sir, be kiſt,
Nor teaz'd thus — go trifle elſewhere.
'SQUIRE.
[21]
In yon lonely grove,
I ſaw an alcove,
All round the ſweet violet ſprings;
And there was a thruſh,
Hard by in a buſh,
'Twould charm you to hear how he ſings.
SALLY.
But hark! pry'thee hark!
Look yonder's a lark,
It warbles, and pleaſes me ſo;
To hear the ſoft tale,
O' th' ſweet nightingale,
I wou'd not be tempted to go.
'SQUIRE.
Then here we'll ſit down:
Come, come, never frown!
No longer my bliſs I'll retard;
Kind Venus ſhall ſpread
Her veil over head,
And the little rogue Cupid keep guard.
[22]Enter THOMAS.
THOMAS.
RECITATIVE.
What's this I ſee? may I believe my eyes?
A pirate juſt about to board my prize!
'Tis well I this way chanc'd my courſe to ſteer:
Sal! what's the matter?
SALLY.
Thomas!
'SQUIRE.
'Sdeath! who's here?
Fellow, begone, or —
THOMAS.
Learn your phraſe to mend:
Do you ſheer off, or elſe I'll make you, friend.
Let go the wench, I claim her for my ſhare,
And now lay hands upon her — if you dare.
'SQUIRE.
[23]
AIR.
Saucy raſcal, this intruſion
You ſhall anſwer to your coſt;
Bully'd, ſcandaliz'd, confuſion!
All my ſchemes and wiſhes croſt.
THOMAS.
Hark you, Maſter, keep your diſtance,
'Sblood, take notice what I ſay;
There's the channel, no reſiſtance,
Tack about, and bear away.
SALLY.
Wou'd you wreſt our freedom from us?
Now my heart has loſt its fear;
Oh my beſt, my deareſt Thomas,
Sure ſome angel brought you here.
'SQUIRE.
Since her paltry inclination
Stoops to ſuch a thing as you;
Thus I make a recantation,
Wretched, fooliſh girl, adieu!

SCENE the laſt.

[24]
SALLY.
RECITATIVE.
Oh welcome, welcome, how ſhall I impart,
The joy this happy meeting gives my heart?
Now Tom in ſafety ſtay at home with me,
And never truſt again that treach'rous ſea.
THOMAS.
Excuſe me, Sal, while mighty George has foes?
On land, and main, their malice I'll oppoſe.
But hang this talking, my deſires are keen;
You ſee yon ſteeple, and know what I mean.
[...]
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