THE SPANISH LADY, A MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT, IN TWO ACTS; Founded on the PLAN of the OLD BALLAD.
As performed at the Theatre-Royal in
Covent-Garden.
Will you hear of a SPANISH Lady,
How she woo'd an ENGLISH Man?
OLD BALLAD.
LONDON Printed for the AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
T HE Author of this little Piece having already thought it incumbent on him, to explain, in the public Paper, his Motives for writing it, and the Reasons, why it did not make it's Appearance on the Stage at that time, he presumes a Repetition of those will be the most proper Preface to it here.
The elegant Simplicity of the Old Ballad (which has been justly remarked by many writers of allowed Taste) had often induced me to wish to see it modelled into a Petite-piece. The Advice of a singular Conquest, obtained over Spain, in the Year 1762, influenced me to attempt it. I thought the Scene might, not improbably, be laid there; and that some few Hints, tending to illustrate, and (as far as so small a Production might be able) to perpetuate that glorious Exploit, would, while popular Praise and Admiration was alive and warm, attone for what Deficiences might be found in the Conduct and Diction, such a kind of Undertaking being really new to me.
With this View, the Piece was received, licensed, and rehearsed at
Covent-Garden,
the Winter before last—but the Disturbances, which then happened at both Theatres, obstructed the intended Performance.
If now stands as a simple Fable, and may be considered merely as the Story of the SPANISH LADY brought forward into View. If, in the principal Scene between the English Officer, and the Lady, I have not wholly destroyed the pathetic Simplicity of my Original, I should hope, with the Assistance of the Music, (which has been selected under the Inspection of an eminent Composer) that the Piece may not be found un-entertaining to a delicate, and a feeling Mind. Wherever I could, I have used the very Words of the Ballad, which, for the Satisfaction of a curious Eye, I have hereunto annexed.
In this plain Dress, my Production now appeals to the Candour of an English Audience,
And is,
WITH THE HIGHEST DEFERENCE AND RESPECT, DEDICATED TO THE BROTHERS.
Persons Represented.
MEN.
WORTHY, a noble
English
Officer.
Mr.
Mattocks,
Major HEARTY,
Mr.
Perry,
A sea LIEUTENANT,
Mr.
Dunstall,
An ENSIGN,
Mr. R.
Smith,
SOLDIERS and SAILORS.
WOMEN.
ELVIRA, the Lady,
Mrs.
Mattocks,
ANNA, her younger Sister,
Miss
Valois,
A DUENNA,
Mrs.
White,
THE SPANISH LADY.
ACT .I. SCENE I.
An
ENSIGN,
and a
SEA LIEUTENANT
meet, attended by
SOLDIERS
and
SAILORS.
L IEUTENANT, good Morrow. You're not blown away then! Prythee how did your Vessel weather out that dreadful Hurricane last Night?
Why tolerably well, at last. And yet I thought, sometimes, we shou'd never have crack'd Biscuit again. In all the Voyages I have made, (and I have rode out many a hard Gale) I never was so near going to the Bottom. You Landmen, now, lie safe enough.
I don't know what you mean by safe; the Devil cou'd not have slept in such a Storm! I'll swear, the Fort shook about our Ears with ten Times the Violence it did, when the Mine was sprung, and I was more alarm'd. Yet, Lieutenant, that was no trifling Work.
Trifling! No, faith; for that resolute Dog, the Governor, laid about him, like a Devil.
Poor Fellow! It so griev'd the Heart of me, to see him, when the cowardly Rascals had all left him, oblig'd to give up his Sword, that I cou'd have cry'd for him, if I had not thought it a Shame for a Soldier in Action.
Ay, but, Ben, shall you ever forget our Commander's Usage of him, upon that Occasion? I cod! 'tis my Opinion, the Governor was not very sorry to lose his Friends, when he found so good an Enemy.
Ensign, can you tell me where your good Commander,
Worthy,
is? I have a Message to him from our Admiral.
I expect him here every Moment. He went to the Governor's just now, and said, he wou'd return soon. I am waiting fresh Orders.
I'll bear you Company—
In the mean Time, prythee, lets have Tom's Song, that he wrote upon the Action.
I'll oblige you as well as I can. Lads, remember to chime in.
SONG.
I
Cheer ev'ry Morn, with loud Huzzas,
Now the great Work is ended,
We have acquir'd immortal Praise,
Ev'n by our Foes commended;
Each honest Heart Success has crown'd,
Pleasure rewards our Toiling;
And where, of late, fell Slaughter frown'd,
Mercy and Peace sit smiling.
Chor. Each honest heart, &c.
II.
Late were yon well-desended Tow'rs
Guarded by Death and Dangers:
But such a Cause, such Leaders as ours,
Bade us to Fear be Strangers:
Now shall our Names, and Honours stand,
Pair'd in the gallant Story;
Whether we fight, by Sea, or Land,
Brothers alike in Glory.
Chor. Now shall our Names &c.
During the Chorus, the Soldiers and Sailors shake Hands.
Thank you, Lieutenant;—And you've just done in Time, for here's your good Commander.
Bless the honest Heart of him!
Enter
WORTHY.
The Admiral, Sir, desires your immediate Answer to this.—
(delivers a Letter.)
—
He may depend on their being on Board by Noon;—If at Leisure, I shou'd be glad to see him, in the Evening, at my Quarters.
I'll be sure to let him know it, Sir,
[Exit. with Sailors.
Ensign, a Word. Have you seen the poor Widow, and her Children to Day?
I have, Sir,—The Children are all purely, except the Eldest, who seems chain'd to her Mother's Chair; 'Tis hard to say, which of the two has cry'd most. When I gave her the Purse, she wou'd have express'd her thanks, but her Amazement, a while, prevented her. At last she had just sighed out your Name, when I produced her poor dead Husband's Watch, which I discover'd, last Night, at George Ravage's; the very sight of it threw her into such an Agony, that I was oblig'd to leave it in her Lap, and run off. It was too much for me.
You give me Pleasure to hear you say so. Good Morrow, good Ensign. When you repeat your Visit, only caution them never to discover my Name; and let it, on your part, be kept equally Secret.
I'll be sure to observe you with Care, Sir; you have no farther Commands, at present?
None, but to desire you will be early enough with me in the Morning, that we may have sufficient Time for the charitable Duties we are engag'd in.
You may depend upon me, Sir, I receive your Orders with Pleasure. Good Morrow, Sir,
[Exit. with Soldiers.]
Ensign, your Servant! I like this young Fellow. The Readiness and Satisfaction, with which he undertakes a good Action, are singularly agreeable. Such a Disposition reflects Pleasure on itself, and doubles every Favour to the Object it obliges.—How truly valuable in a Soldier, when Success has crown'd his Arms!
SONG.
A Triumph, that never can fade,
In the Conqueror's Bosom must spring,
When conscious he duly has paid,
His Debt to his Country and King;
But a Pleasure, surpassing it far,
The sweetest the Heart can receive,
Is, to fuccour the Victim of War,
And the State of the Wretched relieve.
Enter
HEARTY.
So, Major, you have finish'd your Visit. Well, will you return, and dine with this good Family? I have promis'd myself to them.
Not to Day, Sir; I have some Engagements, which, I think, will not release me Time enough; beside, I have no great Pleasure in seeing the poor Girl dine upon looking at you.
Again! You will still persist in that Mistake!
No Mistake, indeed, Sir, Her Confusion when you enter the Room, unceasing Sighs during your Stay, Attention when you speak.—
All easily to be accounted for. Her obsequious Regard to one, whom she cannot look on, yet, but in the Light of her Conqueror; her hourly Anxiety for her Father's Situation, his Wounds not promising so favourably, as might be wish'd.—A thousand Interpretations may be made of her Behaviour.—
All, surely, conducing to prove the Truth of what I say.
To me it does not appear so; nor can I yet, with all you can say, give into the idle Vanity, of indulging such Notions, as would be inconsistent with my Principles and Situation.
Your Principles, indeed, I am no Stranger to; nor am I wishing you should break thro' them; all I presume to urge is, that, if you were inclin'd so to do, here is a fair Occasion offer'd you.
'Tis an Experiment, I shall not be induc'd to make; yet, were I ever so strongly inclin'd to it, it must be Length of Time, and very plain Circumstances, alone could convince me of the Fairness of such an Occasion. I cannot bear that cruel Misinterpretation of a Woman's Behaviour, which supposes her Good-humour, and Affability, can have no End but Love.
SONG.
I.
With Scorn I view that Insect-Race,
Who blemish Woman's fairest Grace;
Those Flutt'rers of an Hour:
In wanton Mischief, who destroy,
Good humour's early-opening Joy,
Sweet as the May-morn Flower.
II.
Shake, Shake them off, ye Fair, in haste,
They poison ev'ry Bud they taste,
And stray but to devour:
Oh, may they ne'er successful be,
Ne'er sip the Bloom of Beauty's Tree,
Sweet as the May-morn Flower!
III.
Give me, great Love, my Fav'rite one,
I tune the Note to her alone,
Her Truth my constant Theme;
With her, may ev'ry Hour of Life
Flow sweetly on, unvex'd with Strise,
Smooth as the gliding Stream!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE, a CHAMBER.
ELVIRA,
discover'd writing, after a Pause, rises.
How many Doubts perplex me! Yet what have I to apprehend? The Greatness of his Soul, and Gentleness of his Disposition, leave no Room for Fear. He must be consistent: And, shou'd his Judgment condemn, his Delicacy cannot but forgive a Weakness, which his own Virtues have given Birth to.
SONG.
I.
Not caught by the liking alone of an Eye,
Do I languish in secret, and heave the fond Sigh;
By Passion, and Virtue, at once, I'm undone,
And Reason compleats all that Love had begun.
II.
Tho' lovely his Air, and inspiring his Look,
As the Ray of the Morn, when it plays on the Brook,
Yet both of them far less engaging I find,
Than the Ray of that Glory, that beams from his Mind.
Why must such exalted Goodness be fatal to me alone? to every other Breast he brings Ease, and Satisfaction, to me Heaviness, and Despair. If all of his Nation are like him, how happy the Women, that are united to them! Even to his Foes he shews so lovely, that his Beneficence, and humane Care of all around him, make him appear rather a Father, than a Conqueror. The Hours that he has sat by my Father's Bed, consoling him, and the sweet Means he has us'd to dry my Mother's Tears!—I'll hesitate no longer; I cannot be deceiv'd in him.
[goes to sit down]
Enter
ANNA.
My dear Sister, I am glad I have found you.—What, crying again?
No, my Sweet, I am not crying now.
Ay, but you have been, I'm sure; for your Eyes look as red! Do, my dear Sister, tell me what you do it for. There must be some Reason—You never us'd to do so.
My little Pratler, is there not Reason enough, when my Father's Life is in Danger, and our Town in the Hands of our Enemies?
Nay, my Papa is much better now; and for the Town—I have always been told, Sister, that Enemies were proud and cruel; but these People are as friendly, and kind, as you are to me. And, I'm sure, one of the Captains beat his own Man soundly, in the Street, t'other Day, only for offering to hurt my little Lap-Dog.
My sweet, the Cruelty is all over now; and English People never hurt their Enemies, when once they have subdued them.
No, indeed, I think we are as happy, as ever we were; and they are very pretty People. Dear, how I love to look at the Gentleman at Table! What low Bows he makes! And how good-natur'dly he smiles! Well, if ever I live to be marry'd, I hope I shall have just such a Husband as he is,
[
Elvira
turns away concern'd.]
Sister, I hope I han't said any Thing to offend you; I can't bear to see you so.
No, my little Dear, you can't offend me.
Indeed, I wou'd not, if I knew it. What can be the Matter with you? I'll be whipt if you han't learnt to cry of the Gentleman.
Go, you little Trifler, Soldiers never cry.
No? I vow I saw him myself wipe his Eyes, as he went out of the Room, the Morning the Doctor give my Papa over;—and I heard Papa himself tell my Mama, that he thought he did so, when he gave him his Sword again, after the Fight; for that he turn'd away his Head, and cou'd hardly speak.
Oh, the lovely Heart of him! He was sorry, my Dear, to see my Papa hurt.
But what are you sorry for? Deuce take me, but a thought's come into my Head, if I were not afraid you'd be angry.
I won't, my little Love, tell me.
I'll be whipt, if you don't love the Gentleman.
The Gypsey!—Why so, my Sweet? how shou'd you know any Thing of Love?
I don't know, to be sure; but, I think, I can guess a little. I'm not such a Child as that, neither.
SONG.
I
I've heard, when down the Maiden's Cheek
The Chrystal Tears are falling,
And Sobs prevent the Tongue to speak,
The Heart is past recalling:
That Cupid then, at every Moan,
Will bolder grow, and bolder;
Yet this I can but guess alone,
Till I'm little Older—no!
Till I'm a little Older.
II.
That then she'll languish, pine, and weep,
Till she her pain discover,
And not a single Instant keep
At Distance from her Lover;
Nor ever feel a Moment's Ease,
Till in his Arms he fold her;
But this I may do more than guess.
When I'm a little Older—Sure!
When I'm a little Older.
My sweet little Companion, now is your happiest State, if you did but know it. You are wishing for the Hour, that may be fatal; Love, to your unskilful Mind, is a Dream of perfect Happiness; it's Pains, and Woes, you have no Idea of; and may you never know 'em!
SONG.
Ah me, what Pains invest the Heart,
Where Love has fix'd his rankling Dart!
Wishing—yet dreading to discover
I'ts Torment to the heedless Rover!
Endless Groans those Pains confessing,
Past conceiving, past expressing;
Silent ever doom'd to languish,
Till, it, hopeless, break with Anguish!
I've interrupted you tho' with my Nonsense—I'll go, if you please, Sister, and leave you to finish your Writing.
My dear, I can do that, without your going.
(As she goes to the Table,
Anna
recalls her.)
O, Sister, pray is Writing a Sign of Love?
Why, my Child?
Why, if it is, I wish the Gentleman is not in love.
Ha! Why,
Anna?
Because I stood by him Yesterday, while he was folding up some Papers, and, I do verily believe, he had filled twenty Sides.
In all my Distraction of Mind, that Fear never occurr'd to me.—How do our Passions blind us! Could Virtues, like his, fail of Attraction? and have not English Ladies peculiar Charms? Shou'd it be so, I am lost.—If not, my only Hope is here. I'll not delay a Moment.
(Going,
Anna
again recalls her.)
O, Sister, one Word more.
What now, you Trifler?
Why you have not Time to write now, for Dinner's ready, and the Gentleman has been waiting in the Parlour, this half Hour.
Why did not you tell me before? You little heedless
w
at do you expect?
Wh
, that you'll go to him directly, Sister; but don't say I rept you: For I wou'd not have him angry with me, for ever so much.
SONG.
To thee, bright Queen of Love,
I thus address my Pray'r;
In Pity, my fond Suit approve,
And make Distress your Care;
Oh! pierce the Bosom of the Youth,
And bid it bleed, like mine;
With Gratitude, and endless Truth,
I'll deck thy sacred Shrine.
[Exit.]
Yes, I thought so.—The Murther's all out. Yet I don't know, some how or other, what my Sister says about Love, don't seem like the Song, Mamma taught me; and which she is so fond of, because Papa made it for her, just after they were marry'd.
SONG.
I.
Great is the Treasure,
When cooing,
And wooing.
We hope for no Pleasure,
But that of our Love!
II.
Yet more Sincere,
More tender and dear,
When coying,
And toying,
Hearts wanton in Pleasure,
No Doubt can remove.
III.
When once the tender Sigh discovers
The soothing State of mutual Lovers;
Then ev'ry Day
In Blessing,
Past guessing,
(Each Hour confessing,
Their Fondness encreasing,)
Oh! how sweet it flies away,
On downy Pinions gay,
How sweet away!
[Exit.]
ACT .II.
SCENE, a
Hall
in the
Governor's-House.
Enter
WORTHY,
with Orders in his Hand.
T HE welcome Orders are come, at last; and I may now hope to be compleatly happy; my Duty properly discharg'd, I may expect such a Welcome, as a gracious King never fails to bestow on an honest Subject. In that Name let me be allow'd to pride myself! A Monarch's Smiles are a Soldier's publick Praise, and Reward. Yet a nearer Bliss remains to crown his Fatigues, and recompence his Dangers. Love.—Love by which the Active are inspir'd, and supported; the Sluggard only it enervates. My Heart is now impatient for the sweet Moment of my Arrival; for the glorious Opportunity of proving my Constancy to my dear HARRIET; of devoting to her the Truth, and Affection, which by Merit, much more than by Vows, she is justly entitled to,
SONG.
The constant Mind with Pride o'erflows,
To see its Joys, and Triumphs near;
And with redoubl'd Transport glows,
To crown the Fair with Truth sincere;
Not such, as, in Desire alone,
The vain and sickle Heart can prove,
But such as Virtue smiles to own,
The dear Reward of gen'rous Love.
[Exit.]
SCENE, a CHAMBER.
Enter
ANNA.
I have been thinking, ever since Dinner, if my Sister shou'd marry this Gentleman, and go to his Country, they might take me with them;—and then how pure that wou'd be, to see such Numbers of fine People, all as pretty as he! And I might get one of them for my Husband, may be, as well as she, when I'm big enough. Oh, that wou'd put me, out of my little Wits. I hear it is a sweet Place. They have no Nunneries, nor Locking up there, but all the People do just what they please.
SONG.
I.
If I had Riches at my Will.
And Freedom at Command;
Of Pleasure I wou'd take my Fill,
And see the English Land,
Oh, how happy, how happy, I then shou'd be;
From jealous Dons,
And surly Ones,
And from a Nunnery Free.
II.
And then, might I but pick and choose,
What Husband I wou'd have;
No Tyrant shou'd my Heart abuse,
I'd have a Briton brave;
And how happy, how happy, I then shou'd be!
From jealous Dons,
And surly Ones,
And from a Nunnery free.
Enter
DUENNA.
Ay, my Dear, you may as well leave off your singing, for here's sad News. There are Orders come, for the Gentleman, and all his Men to go home. He has taken leave of your Papa, and Mamma, and sent me to look for you, and your Sister.
Home? What, to England? O dear! Sure he need not go, whether he will or no.
Oh, but he must. The King has sent for him; and then they never wait to be bid twice. He must go aboard this after Afternoon. Besides you know very thing has been prepared some time, and they only waited for sailing Orders. He's waiting for you in the Parlour. Do, my Dear, go look for your Sister, and tell her. I must go back to your Papa. He is a great deal worse, since the News came.
[Exit.]
Indeed, I can't go look for, nor tell her neither, I am so sorry; and he lov'd me so dearly; If he had but been marry'd to my Sister, before he went.—Here she comes How shall I tell her?
[Crying]
Enter
ELVIRA.
ANNA, my dear, what's the Matter?
Oh, Sister, I can hardly speak for crying—
Why, my sweet, what has befal'n you?
The Gentleman's going.
Going! Where?
Home, to his own Country. And he must go directly.
The Blow, I long have dreaded, now has struck me—No Time for Reason! Distraction and Despair assist me!
SONG.
Hence, coy Reserve! no more I'll bear
This endless Heart-consuming Care,
But spite of Shame, and Fear, disclose
My inmost Soul, with all its Woes;
His Pity only can remove
These bitter Pangs, and sooth my Love.
[Exit.
Yes, I thought how it wou'd be. I'm sorry for my Sister; I'm sorry for myself.—I can't bear the Thoughts of lofing him, he lov'd me so dearly, and was so good to me.
SONG.
I.
Ah, Sister, where's thy Lover?
And where my promis'd Joy?
How soon the Hopes are over,
That did my Thoughts employ!
II.
Just so I've seen, when toying,
With Cards I've rais'd a tow'r,
A Moment's Breath destroying
The Labour of an Hour.
[Exit.
SCENE, a Parlour.
Enter
WORTHY
confus'd,
ELVIRA
following.
Nay, do not shun me; the fatal Truth is told; reflect, and pity me.—I know that Decency, Reserve, Delicacy, all condemn me, yet do not you. Think what the Heart must feel, that dares surmount 'em.—'Tis Death to lose you.
SONG.
Ah, see, with what Torture my Bosom is torn!
For Pity, don't leave me,
In Absence to grieve me,
Forlorn, and despairing, the long Day to mourn
The Joy of my Heart, that no more will return.
This is an unexpected Stroke. My Heart is afflicted with her Distress.—What can I say?
Yet you turn away; yet you are cruel! I have been wrong, and you think meanly of me; if it be so, let me hear you say it.—Blame me, revile me, do any thing but leave me.
She perplexes, and un-mans me. How shall I answer? I almost wish now, that I had paid some Regard to
Hearly
's Suggestions.
Am I not worth a Word?
Think not so meanly of me, dearest Lady, as that I can be insensible to the Honour you propose. I feel it all, and, with Gratitude, acknowledge it; but what Return is in my Pow'r? You forget I am your Country's Foe.
You have forgot it long. To your unparallelled Virtues, we owe all that can make us happy. Such Foes as you, might reconcile Savages,—With our City, you have subdu'd our Minds. Treat them with equal Tenderness, and possess what you have so nobly gain'd.
SONG.
Forbear your Plaining and Distress,
Ah stop that speaking Tear!
If I create your Heaviness,
Wou'd I had ne'er come here!
Blest be the Hour, the Moment blest,
When first your Fleet was seen!
If as a Foe our Shore you prest,
Right gentle have you been.
Let not me, alone, experience your Cruelty. Mildness, and Indulgence, are your Nation's Virtues. Shew them now to me.
What wou'd I not do, dear Lady, to relieve your Affliction? Yet, reslect a little. I must sully my Fame for ever, were it said at my Departure, I robb'd your City of its Pride, and your Father of his Happiness.
Without a Blush would I proclaim my Passion; my Eagerness to accompany you. My Father knows, and loves your Virtues. You have made yourself so dear to him, that he cou'd not but be proud of your Alliance.
Yet, your Sex, Lady!—And amid so rude a Throng.—
My Sex I cou'd disguise. I wou'd dress me like a Page, and attend you thro' the hardest Fortunes, you cou'd encounter. In the severest Extremities, to hear you, to look on you, wou'd be Comfort and Happiness: and in my Perseverance I wou'd rival English Constancy, and Affection.
SONG.
Yet think what Perils may arise,
When Tempests blow from angry Skies;
Where Danger wakes eternal Fears,
And Death in ev'ry Blast appears.
With thee, the hardest Woes I'll share,
With thee the keenest Fortunes bear;
From every Doubt and Terror free,
My Life, with Rapture, lose for thee.
I'll wait on all your Steps with unweary'd Duty; and if Wealth can make me worthy—
It shall be so!—To disguise it longer, wou'd be dishonest. Dearest Lady, Oh forgive me, while I declare a fatal Truth. It is not in my Power to accept your proffer'd Love, without making myself the worst of Villains. I left behind me, in England, a sweet Woman, to whom I have sworn to devote every Hour, and every Blessing of Life. In early Youth, our Vows were plighted: Her Constancy and Merit, deserve more, much more from me, than I can ever pay. Think not then I slight or undervalue your Desert, if I say, I must not hear you farther.
SONG.
Attend, gentle Lady, nor deem me unkind,
When I tell the unshaken Resolve of my Mind:
Tho' your Fondness regret, let your Reason approve;
And, Oh, in your own, read the Strength of my Love;
Not all the éxtensive Allurements of Gain,
Nor all the proud Titles, and Grandeur of Spain,
Shou'd tempt me from Honour and Truth to depart,
Or wrong, by false Vows, the Delight of my Heart.
I am satisfied.
SONG.
Lowly thus I sue for Favour,
Oh forgive my fond Offence!
Mildly lo
k on that Behaviour,
Which true Love did first commence!
Many Days may Fortune send her,
Who enjoys so true a Friend;
Love his richest Blessings lend her!—
Of my Suit I make an End.
Commend me to that virtuous Maid. Tell her my Dist
ss, but tell it favourably. Let her know I intreat her Pardon, for having even ignorantly attempted to destroy s
ch true Happiness. Let her not, on my Account, thin
amiss of SPANISH Ladies. Modesty and Virtue
them. My Errors, do not call them Crimes, at least by you should be forgiven. Them, and you, I ever shall lament.
My Heart, generous Lady, bleeds for your Distress, Why is my Esteem all I can bestow in Return?
One Moment more—that is not much—and I release you to the Pursuit of your Bliss. These Jewels, these little Ornaments, which I shall now no longer need, give to that happy Fair. Let them not be less dear, because I sent 'em. Let them testify my Wishes for a Continuance of her Bliss.
This Bracelet only—The rest I must not, cannot touch. This will I present her, as a Token of your virtuous Affection, which, when she hears your Story, she will enrich with a Tear, and lament you with the Tenderness of a Sister.
SONG.
In my Friendship, hapless Lady,
Will I always hold you dear;
Ever grateful, ever ready
To lament you with a Tear.
When I let your gen'rous Passion
From my Memory depart;
Love, with Anguish and Vexation,
Dash my Bliss, and kill my Heart!
Farewell for ever. The Blessing of a broken Heart goes with you. For your dear Sake, deaf to Love, and all its Claims, within a Cloister will I hide my Woes, and in Devotion seek Relief and Pardon.
SONG.
I.
When o'er the wide Deep, the spread Canvas I view,
And send all my Soul out, in Wishes for you,
All pale as I languish,
Quite spent with my Anguish,
If in my last Sigh your dear Loss I deplore,
Oh let me be pitied;—I ask for no more.
II.
Yet tho' your promis'd Joy be the Bane of my Peace,
If, Ages o'er Ages, my Woes must encrease,
My Heart sorely rending,
Devoutly when bending,
For you, and your Fair One, this pray'r I'll not miss,
Oh, ne'er may you know an Abatment of Bliss!
[Exit.]
Unhappy Creature! Into what Depth of Sorrow has she plung'd me! Her Afflictions have taken such hold of my Heart, that my dearest Hopes are hush'd in Attention to them.
[drum beats within.]
Hark, I am summon'd—Welcome Sound! Amid the Transports of my honest Soldiers, I'll endeavour to lose this Heaviness of Spirit.
[Exit.]
Shouts and Drum beats
Enter
LIEUTENANT
and
ENSIGN,
with
SOLDIERS
and
SAILORS.
SONG.
I.
All Hands, breave Boys, for England, ho!
All Hands brave Boys, for England, ho!
Let us leave the Coast of Spain,
And troop jolly back again,
Once more to behold dear England ho!
Chorus. Let us leave the Coast &c.
II.
We have fought the Cause of England ho!
We have fought the Cause of England ho!
With the fiery Spanish Dons,
We have dealt like Honour's Sons,
And, in Triumph, seek old England, ho!
Chorus. With the fiery &c.
III.
Tho' we dearlv love little England, ho!
Tho' we dearly love little England, ho!
Let Glory give the Word,
And our Leader draw his Sword,
And again we'll leave little England ho!
Chorus. Let Glory &c.
Enter
WORTHY.
Well, my Lads, all ready?
All, All ready, please your Honour. Only waiting the Word of Command.
You have discharg'd all your Commissions, Ensign?
To the ssightest Circumstance, Sir; The Widow, and her Family, send Prayers, and Tears to you.
I am indebted to your Care, and will reward it. Now, Lads, for the Crown of all your gallant Actions; they are still fresh in the Minds of your Countrymen; and you are going to receive the Praises of a King, and a Nation, who are ever ready to remember, and to reward the Defenders of their Rights and Liberties.
'Tis a great Comfort, to be fure, your Honour, to think we shall see our Wives, and Children again; but no matter for that, if you have any more Commands for us, lead us where you will: while we have a Stump lest, we'll follow you.
Ay, and we our gallant Admiral;—He deserves it so well, I don't think there's a Toss-up between you. No Offence I hope your Honour.
Well said Jack! let the King give us always such Commanders, and let your Officers, and ours, agree as well every where, as they have done here, and I'll be shot if we don't beat the World.
Brave, my honest Hearts. You have discharg'd your Duties like Men.—And now for England!
[Exit with
HEARTY.]
SONG.
I.
Behold, my Lads, a rising Gale,
Propitious, fills the swelling Sail,
Our native Land once more we'll hail;
And boast our Expedition;
There tell, in every jocund Strain,
Our Swords we have not drawn in vain,
But made the Tow'rs and Fleets of Spain
Repent our Expedition.
II.
With Laurels, pluck'd in Glory's Bed,
Wreath'd warm and wanton round the Head,
Triumphant we'll the Streamers spread,
And vaunt our Expedition.
Each gallant Soul, secure from Harms,
His Fair shall greet with open Arms;
A Nation's Shouts, and Loves Alarms
Shall crown our Expedition.
III.
Thus England shall preserve her Fame,
Her Sons still burn with Glory's Flame,
And honest Death prefer to Shame;
So thrive each Expedition!
With Conquest all her Vallies ring,
And every loyal Bosom sing,
In Loud Huzzas—God-bless the King;
And speed each Expedition!
OLD BALLAD▪ OF THE SPANISH LADY.
WILL you hear of a SPANISH Lady,
How she woo'd an ENGLISH Man?
Garments gay and rich as may be,
Deck'd with Jewels, she had on:
Of a comely Countenance,
And Grace was she;
By Birth and Parentage,
Of high Degree.
As his Pris'ner there he kept her,
In his Hands her Life did lie;
Cupid's Bands did tie them faster,
By the Liking of an Eye.
In his courteous Company
Was all her Joy;
To favour him in any thing,
She was not coy.
But at length there came Commandment,
For to set all Ladies free,
With their Jewels still adorned,
None to do them Injury.
Then said this Lady mild,
Full woe is me!
Oh! let me still enjoy
My kind Captivity.
Gallant Captain, take some Pity
On a Woman in Distress:
Leave me not within this City,
For to die in Heaviness.
They have set this present Day
My Body free;
But my Heart in Prison still
Remains with thee.
Why should'st thou, fair Lady, love me,
Whom thou knowest thy Country's Foe?
Thy fail Words make me suspect thee,
Serpents lie where Flowers grow.
All the harm I think on thee,
Most courteous Knight,
I wish the same on me,
May fully light.
Blessed be the Time and Season,
When you came on Spanish Ground,
If that you may our Foes be termed,
Gentle Foes we have you found.
With our City you have won
Our Hearts each one.
Then to your Country bear away!
What is your own.
Rest you still, you gallant Lady,
Rest you still, and weep no more,
Of fair Lovers, you have Plenty,
SPAIN doth yield you wondrous Store.
SPANIARDS fraught with Jealousy
We oft do find;
But ENGLISHMEN, throughout the World,
Are counted kind.
Leave me not unto a SPANIARD,
Thou alone enjoy'st my Heart;
I am loving, young, and tender,
Love is likewise my Desert.
Still to serve thee Day and Night,
My Mind is prest;
The Wife of every Englishman
Is surely blest.
It would be a Shame, fair Lady,
For to bear a Woman hence:
English Soldiers never carry
Any such without Offence.
I will quickly change myself,
If it be so,
And like a Page will follow thee,
Wheree'er you go.
I have neither Gold nor Silver,
To maintain you in this Case,
And to travel is great Charges,
Which you know in ev'ry Place.
My Chains and Jewels every one
Shall be thy own,
And eke ten Thousand Pounds in Gold,
Which lies unknown.
On the Seas are many Dangers,
Many Storms do there arise,
Which will be to Ladies fatal,
And force Tears from watry Eyes.
Well, in Troth, I shall endure
Extremity;
For I could find in my Heart to lose
My Life for thee.
Courteous Lady, leave this Fancy,
Here comes all that breeds this Strise,
I in ENGLAND have already
A sweet Woman to my Wife.
I will not falsify my Vow
For Gold nor Gain,
Nor yet for all the fairest Dames
Which are in SPAIN.
Oh! how happy is that Woman,
Who enjoys so true a Friend!
Many Days I pray God send her,
Thus of my Suit I make an End:
On my Knees I Pardon crave
For this Offence,
Which Love and true Affection
Did fi
st commence.
Commend me to that gallant Lady,
Bear to her this Chain of Gold,
With these Bracelets, for a Token,
Grieving that I was so bold;
All my Jewels in like sort,
Take thou with thee;
For they are fitting for thy Wife,
But not for me.
I will spend my Days in Prayer,
Love, and all his Laws defy:
In a Nunn'ry, I will shrowd me
Far from any Company.
But ere my Prayers have an End,
Be sure of this,
To pray for thee, and thy Lady
I will not miss.
Thus farewell, thou gallant Captain,
Farewell to my Heart's Content.
Count not Spanish Ladies wanton,
Tho' to thee my Heart was bent.
All Joy and true Prosperity
Remain with thee:
The like thereof fall to thy Share,
Most fair Lady!