AIRS, BALLADS, &c. IN THE BLACKAMOOR WASH'D WHITE. A NEW COMIC OPERA.
AS IT WILL BE PERFORMED THIS EVENING AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
PRINTED BY COX AND BIGG, IN THE SAVOY; AND SOLD BY J. CORRAL, BOOKSELLER, CATHERINE-STREET, STRAND. MDCCLXXVI. [Price SIXPENCE.]
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE Drama of the BLACKAMOOR WASH'D WHITE, was originally designed for a Comedy of two acts;—but from the omission of a character of an extraordinary length, agreeable to the judicious opinion of Mr. Garrick, it has been hastily converted, since its first reception for the stage, into the COMIC OPERA, which now awaits the judgment of a candid, English audience.
Feb. 1. 1776.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Frederic,
Mr. Vernon.
Sir Oliver Oddfish,
Mr. Parsons.
Grenvile,
Mr. Davies.
Robert,
Mr. Burton.
And Jerry,
Mr. King.
Julia,
Mrs. Siddons.
Lady Oddfish,
Mrs. Wrighten.
Dame Dowset,
Mrs. Bradshaw.
Servants, &c. &c.
AIRS, BALLADS, &c.
ACT I.
AIR I.
LOOK ye here!
Ay and there!
Oh, my ruin now is clear,
For I've track'd him above, and below:
Hopes are vain;—
See its plain
Where he doubles back again,
Like a frisky jack-hare in the snow!
AIR II.
When a woman's brain teems
With such strange wanton dreams,
And she tosses, and turns in her bed,
'Tis at least ten to one
But the husband's undone,
Since the birth is design'd for
his
head.
Mercy what have we here?—
I am pregnant I fear,
My disorder no med'cine can cure!
I feel such a shooting,
I'm surely cornuting,
Oh, the labour how shall I endure!
AIR III.
Tho' lords and ladies shine
In finer cloaths than mine,
I have none of their cares for to flout me;
I envy not their pelf,
I'm a dutchess in myself,
With my cocks, and my hens all about me.
AIR IV.
Love and woman in unison play:—
To keep courtship's sky bright, and clear,
Ma'm's as gentle as May,
Bills, and coos all the day,
Tho' discord is close in the rear!—
So Love's catering, saucy, sly, pickle,
The poison conceals of his dart,
For first with the feather he'll tickle,
And then—strike the barb to your heart!
AIR V.
The stream that environ'd her cot
All the charms of my deity knew;
How oft has its course been forgot,
While it paus'd—her dear image to woo?
Believe me, the fond silver tide
Knew from whence it deriv'd the fair prize,
For, silently swelling with pride,
It reflected her—back to the skies.
VI. BALLAD.
I.
When first I came hither to
sarvice,
I thought I wou'd learn how to woo,
So at Lammas I courted
Doll Jarvise,
Oh, there was the devil to do!
Tho'f at first my poor heart she
denoy'd
it,
She made it as sick as a dog,
And like a
Jack Lantern
decoy'd it
With her eyes,—over briar and bog.
II.
Odsooks, but the tit beat me hollow,
She run me so soon off my wind,
For the more little Jerry did follow,
She left him the further behind;
But one moon-shiny night made me happy,
For home in a tiff did I jog,
And left
Doll
for to find a new
sappy,
To dance over briar and bog.
AIR VII.
How weak the maid, who's led astray
By state, by wealth, or fashion?
Whose heart can never own their sway,
For love's a gen'rous passion!
Where shall the self-made captive find
A joy, that's worth the knowing?
But from two hearts by love conjoin'd,
What endless transports flowing!
VIII. BALLAD.
I.
Must a Christian man's son born and bred up,
By a
Negar
be flung in disgrace,—
Be asham'd for to hold his poor head up,
'Ca'se as how he has got a white face?
—No, never mind, little
Jerry,
Let your honest heart be merry;
British boys
will still be right,
Till they prove that
black
is
white!
II.
M'hap the nabob, that brought the poor creature
From his father, and mother, and all,
Is himself of a blackamoor nature,
Dark within as the tribe of Bengal.
—So never mind it, little
Jerry,
Let your honest heart be merry;
British boys
will still be right,
Till they prove that
black
is
white!
AIRS, BALLADS, &c.
ACT II.
These stanzas, (the only air originally intended for the piece), were written to the very celebrated
Gramachrie,
long before it was known, that the author of the
Duenna
intended to make use of it in his favourite opera.
AIR IX.
WHEN JULIA sled, her constant swain
(How could she slight him so?)
I sought her steps o'er ev'ry plain,
Opprest with love, and woe:
I hung my lyre upon a tree,
And cry'd with aching heart,
Ye Gods! how cruel your decree!
Must I, and Julia part?
In vain I search'd the beechen grove,
'Till night had veil'd the skies,
Ah where shone then those stars of love,
The rays from Julia's eyes?
The woodland caught the mournful strain
That wrung my aching heart;
The live-long night I cry'd in vain,
Must I, and JULIA part?
AIR X.
The school-boy thus in highest glee
A like disaster meets,
Who thinks to rob each active bee
Of all their treasur'd sweets:
For instinct the design explores,
The nest is all on wing,
So that instead of honey'd stores,
The thief receives—a
sting!
AIR XI.
For the fresh blooming spring nature sighs,
When
Winter
that monster appears,
Whose jealousy veils the bright skies,
Lest they melt the cold locks round his ears.
Though he pours hail and snow,
And his blasts wildly blow,
Not a subject his fury shall gain:
Not a bud shall e'er shoot,
Nor a blossom bear fruit;
Not a sun shine to chear
His sad frost-bitten year,—
Till the tyrant forego his fell reign!
AIR XII.
No, you're not an earthly creature,
But death's shadow in disguise!
See him stamp'd on ev'ry feature!
What a pair of rolling eyes!
Don't come nigh me,
Let me fly thee,
Or I faint—I fall—I die!
See death yonder!—
Now I wonder,
Who outruns, the ghost,—or I?
AIR XIII.
I.
Was e'er such a splenetic elf?
What a whimsical figure of fun!
Who baits the fool's trap for himself,
And then cries aloud he's undone.
Sure of folly's whole brood he's the first,
Never was such an antic,
Capricious!
Suspicious!
Ever jealous or frantic,
I shall laugh at his tricks till I burst!
2.
Long as e'er by these megrums possest,
What repose shall his bosom once find?
'Tis an ocean that never can rest,
Convuls'd with the storms of his mind:—
Was e'er such a splenetic elf,
&c.
[Da Capo.
FINALE.
DUET.
MR. DAVIES and MRS. WRIGHTEN.
Happy morn of love and joy!
What shall Wedlock's bliss annoy?
Hence afar Suspicion's flown,
Hymen mark the day thy own.
Here my fault'ring tongue first woo'd thee!
Here my ravish'd eyes first view'd thee!
Mark our love, ye nymphs and swains:
Here 'twas plighted!
Here requited!
Tell it echo thro' the plains:
CHORUS.
Happy morn of love and joy!
What shall WEDLOCK'S bliss annoy?
Hence afar SUSPICION'S flown,
HYMEN, mark the day thy own!
END.