THE COURT OF
ALEXANDER.
An OPERA, In TWO ACTS.
THE COURT OF
ALEXANDER.
An OPERA, In TWO ACTS.
As it is performed at the THEATRE ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN.
In Times of Old indeed, when
TIME
was young,
HOMER,
the first of Bards, his History sung;
And every Poet, since the
Iliad,
chuses,
For Want of Voice, t'invoke the Singing Muses;
From whence (with Leave) this Inference we draw,
In
ARISTOTLE'S Institutes,
'tis Law.
"Blank Verse, or Rhyme, to Instruments well strung,
"Shou'd be Recitativ'd, or else in Ballad sung."
ARISTOT. Fol. 497.
LONDON:
Printed for T. WALLER, in FLEET-STREET.
[Price ONE SHILLING.]
THE ARGUMENT OF THIS OPERA.
A LEXANDER the Great, tempted by the Accounts which several Prisoners had related of the immense Wealth in
India,
determined upon invading the Dominions of King PORUS, who was then its Sovereign.
Upon ALEXANDER'S crossing the River
Hydaspes,
PORUS was made Captive, and entertain'd in the
Macedonian
Camp with great Hospitality; where the
Indian
Monarch fell in Love with PARISATIS, who was betrothed to LYSIMACHUS.
The Son of PHILIP was ambitious of being thought the best Drinker, as well as the greatest Fighter of his Time. Both Accomplishments then (as now) were look'd upon to be Acts which equally constituted the Hero.
No Wonder therefore, if, after the Defeat of the
Indian
King, his Conqueror, in Honour of the Victory, should order a Drinking-Match: And immediately after the Exercise of that Engagement, or Carousal,
The OPERA is supposed to begin.
As to the Complexion of PORUS, Historians are divided: Some supposing him White, like the
Chinese;
others Copper-colour'd, like
Mangolans:
Some declare him to have been only Tawny, like the
Malays.
But we have followed the authenticated Commentaries of MELEAGER and GORGIAS, two Generals, who were belonging to ALEXANDER: One commanded the Light-Horse, the other the Left-Wing of the Mirmydonian Infantry at the Time, and they declare PORUS to have been a Black.
The Editor is aware that some anachronismical Objections, relative to Chronology, may be raised against his keeping CLYTUS alive until the Year of the World 2096, when the Battle with PORUS was sought: But it is according to the Account of BAGOAS, who is supposed to be the most impartial Writer in those Times; and upon the Credit of PLUTARCH, JUSTINIANUS, ARRIAN and DIODORUS. BAGOAS was Preceptor to ROXANA; and it was from him we are told, that both the
Zogdian
Princess and THAIS attended ALEXANDER in all his Expeditions.
As to the Descent of JUPITER, we have not only Pantomimical, but also Classical Authority, to vindicate such a Measure—It being common in
Old Rome,
even to a Proverb,
Nunc pro Machina:
And HORACE allows it, in his
Ne
Deus intersit,
&c.
The Scene is laid in
Bucephalon,
a City ALEXANDER built in Honour to his Horse.
☞
The Lines mark'd thus "are omitted in the Representation.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ALEXANDER the GREAT,
Mr. SHUTER,
CLYTUS,
Mr. REINHOLD,
PORUS,
Mr. BARNSHAW,
LYSIMACHUS,
Mr. BAKER,
JUPITER,
Mr. FOX,
MERCURY,
Mr. WORMALL.
THAIS,
Mrs. PINTO,
ROXANA,
Mrs. THOMPSON,
PARISATIS,
Mrs. MATTOCKS,
BETTY,
Miss VALOIS.
THE COURT OF
ALEXANDER.
ACT I. SCENE I.
The Curtain drawn up: The Court of
ALEXANDER
discover'd asleep. Bottles, Glasses, Punch Bowls,
&c.
empty'd upon the Tables. The Guards asleep upon the Floor. The Court waking by Degrees. All arise, except
ALEXANDER.
SEMI CHORUS.
A LEXANDER!
our Commander!
Pray now rise, Sir;
Ope your Eyes, Sir.
GRAND CHORUS.
ALEXANDER!
Our Commander!
Our Commander!
ALEXANDER! ALEXANDER!
Who calls on ALEXANDER? Honest CLYTUS!
What is the Foe march'd forth, and means to fight us?
Dread Sir, you have no Foes: You're so magnanimous;
Your Mightiness has made the World unanimous.
That's true: I dream'd indeed of Chariots rattling;
Of Horses, and of high-bred Heroes battling;
Of clashing Weapons, and of Armour clinking;
But my Head's all abroad, with last Night's Drinking:
My Lips are crack'd, my Palate rough and rusty;
As I'm an Emp'ror, I am mighty thirsty.
Before me dance, methinks, each warlike Trophy:
HEPHESTION, order us a Pot of Coffee.
Exit
HEPHESTION.
But where is THAIS? I am not
me ipse
'Till I've a Song from that Sol-fa-ing Gipsey.
AIR.
Should Scandal dare to pelt her,
Oh! how wou'd I helter skelter;
Ding dong,
Right or Wrong,
For a Lover his Fury ne'er stifles:
Pray what's Wrong or what's Right?
When a Man is to fight,
He won't trouble his Head with such Trifles.
Give me a Bumper.
Now, my King, you say right;
Hob Nob, your Honour: Fuller! I see Day-light.
AIR.
I.
In spite of the Maxims of School Men,
Whose cynical Sentences Fool Men;
Shall Pedants pretend, pray, to Rule Men?
Or tell us what we shou'd be at?
'Twas as well if the World had ne'er known'em;
But a Bottle has always o'erthrown'em,
For a Bottle is Life's
Summum Bonum;
We all can be Scholars at that.
II.
Over Books who all Night wou'd be Blinking,
That all Night cou'd Bumpers be drinking?
That Study well suits with my Thinking:
No Classic, but
BACCHUS,
for me.
The Heart and the Head's best Assistance,
The Power which conquers Resistance,
Makes Pain, Care and Fear, keep their Distance;
My Bucks,
Ecce Signum,
'tis He.
Shows a Bottle.
III.
Philosophers Prate melancholly,
Pretending that Life is but Folly;
Because they can't keep it up, jolly,
But, over poor Pump-Water, pine.
I laugh at their Moods and their Tenses,
Their Major, and Minor Defences;
They shan't talk me out of my Senses,
Nor make me for Logic leave Wine.
Enter
THAIS.
Come, THAIS, sing.
So now we shall be bother'd,
And Common Sense in
Symphonini
's smother'd.
Imperial Emperor, whose Sword and Dagger
Made, like a drunken Man, DARIUS stagger;
To whom ev'n
India
's sun-burn'd Sultan truckles,
Thy Magnanimity raps Nabobs Knuckles:
O'er
Terra Cognita
you rule the Roast.
Yet, ah!
Before Miss THAIS sings, your CLYTUS begs a Toast.
CLYTUS, well said; and thus says ARISTOTLE,
"Wine without Toasting's bad; Life bad without a Bottle."
Where stands the Glass?
Thou Monarch of my Soul,
Quit, for my sake, the Brain-beguiling Bowl:
Leave the Gout-giving Juice; retire with me,
In my
Chinese
Pavilion drink some Tea.
BACCHUS forbid! Shall he, who conquers Nations,
Fribblish submit to such slip-slop Potations?
In spite of Water-bibbers, you and I know,
We must be true to Wine;
Est Veritas in Vino.
Sing, sing, my THAIS; Echo waits thy Words
To symphonize,
encore
Fifths, Eighths and Thirds;
With that same shapeless Mimic of each Tongue,
Attention tip-toe stands to hear thy Song.
So sing, dear THAIS.
What, Sir, shall I sing?
Just what you please; but let it be the Thing.
ORPHEUS was Musick-Master to the Woods,
Gave Groves a Gamut, put in Tune the Floods;
He made tall Trees a Minuet-Step advance in,
Taught Hedges Hornpipes, Shrubberies Country-Dancing;
For every Reptile he had Songs and Jigs,
And Symphonies compos'd for
Guinea
Pigs.
AIR.
For Weazels and Rats,
He had both Sharps and Flats,
For Dogs barking
Largo
and
Affetto;
From the grinding of Knives,
And the scolding of Wives,
He compos'd a
Dismallo Duetto.
He made of Frogs Croaks,
And the kawing of Rooks,
And Cats caterwawling
Arpegios:
Found in
D,
that Cocks crow,
Bulls sound
G,
below,
And sucking Pigs squeak out
Adagios.
Now, THAIS, sing; and Silence, my Compeers;
Your Lips take Prisoners, and let loose your Ears;
Mute waits each Muse, in her celestial Arbour,
'Till she has sung to Chorus;
that's the Barber.
I've so immense a Cold, Sir, without joaking;
So monst'rous hoarse, my Singing will be shocking.
AIR.
Poets, in pretty sing-song Strains,
With Fancy's Pinions sledge their Brains;
From Height to Height romantic rise,
O'er-top the Clouds, and tread on Skies:
Could I but mount the Muse's Wing,
Oh! how I'd soar! Oh! how I'd sing!—
Sire, CLYTUS is asleep.
So, ho! 'Squire DROWSY!
Take that, Sir SOMNUS; that, I think, will rouse ye.
Throws a Glass of Wine at him.
Full in his Face, great King, the Bumper splash'd.
How soon, you see, a modest Man is dash'd:
I cou'd have kept awake, Sire, all Night long,
Had you a Bottle order'd with the Song.
SONG.
I.
Commander, you know I'm no sol-fa-ing Fellow,
Nor care I a Crotchet for Coxcomb
APOLLO;
His Poets, poor Devils! are soup-maigre Pages,
Who feed on his Physic, instead of Board-Wages.
II.
No Grapes on the Mount of
Parnassus
can grow,
Nor
Castaly
's Cascade with Burgundy flow:
What's
Pegasus
good for? Yes, he shall be mine,
I'll make him my Hackney, to fly for my Wine.
III.
For
DAPHNE
a Tune
PHOEBUS
struck up, to bring her;
But she'd not submit to an Opera-Singer:
Draw, draw your Bows up and down, Tweedle and Tweedling;
I'll draw a long Cork, and a Fig for your Fiddling.
March all: Our Royal Word is
Promenade,
And we will wend our Way in Grand Parade:
Soon as I make the Signal for Egression,
Trumpet us off aloud in full Procession;
Make the Air shake, the rafter'd Roof rebellow:
So wheel off, two by two; and then we two will follow.
A
PROCESSION
here. Instead of War Trophies, Drinking Trophies. After all are gone except
ALEXANDER,
who has led
THAIS
to the Side-Wing: Enter
ROXANA,
and seizes
ALEXANDER
'S Robe, just as he has quitted the Stage. She pulls him back by it, and down he tumbles.
[On the Ground.
Now, by our Royal Self, why all this Fury?
Because your Royal Self seems in a Hurry.
Do not, my Hero, give yourself Uneasiness;
Mind not that Creature, let us mind our Business.
The Creature! But I'm calm. Your Business, Boldface!
A Man of Taste indeed! to admire an old Face.
AIR.
You Harlot!
You Varlet!
Your Sex, as I know ye,
In few Words, I'll show ye:
Self-Consequence fools ye,
And Prejudice rules ye:
To your own Follies Slaves,
While to us you are Knaves;
Nor know ye the Value of what you betray,
But rob us, and then throw those Riches away.
For Man is no more than an over-grown Baby,
A Rattle can please him, or put him in Rage;
An Ape or an Ass, just as Accidents may be:
A sensible Man is a Show of an Age.
Piano,
Child, I beg.
No, I'll be louder;
Give me, ye Gods and Goddesses, Gunpowder:
Great AMMON'S Son himself shan't keep me under;
I'll look in Lightning, and I'll speak in Thunder.
The two Ladies seize
ALEXANDER
'S Hands, and pull him first one Way then the other.
RECITATIVE
Accompany'd.
So have I seen a Deal at Whist oft play'd,
One Partner trumps a Club, and one a Spade;
Thus fix a See-saw, as these Ladies clawing,
ROXANA this, and that Way THAIS drawing,
The mighty ALEXANDER are See-sawing.
GRAND TRIO.
I tell you, you had better be quiet:
That for you, that for you,
Snaps her Fingers.
I'll kick up a Riot.
Turn to me, my Dear;
Turn from her your Ear.
Must I this Gipsey hear,
Yet tame stand by?
The Lady is in Drink;
So, indeed, I think:
Indeed you lye.
Where's your Conscience?
Curse your Nonsense.
Exeunt.
End of the FIRST ACT.
ACT II. SCENE,
A Chamber.
PARISATIS
at the Tea-Table. The
MAID
waiting.
AIR.
W ITH a Love-laden Lass, dear
VENUS,
take Part,
Nor longer let me in Suspence-lye!
That Creature, King
PORUS,
I hate from my Heart,
But
LYSSY
I love most immensely.
Alas-a-day! was ever Lass like me?
Illustrious Princess, please to drink your Tea.
I don't mind Tea; nay really,
entre nous,
I don't know what I mind, or what I do:
My Reason, like a ragged Ruffle rent-is,
And all my Senses are
Non Compos Mentis.
Yes, you're frustration'd; so 'twas with me, Madam,
Sick for my Sweethearts, always, 'till I had 'em:
For Love, like Drink, brings our weak Brain to Trouble,
And either blinds us, or else we see double.
AIR.
Ah me! Young Women wear much Woe;
Alack! ah, well-a-day!
Because as why; we don't know how,
Nor when, to answer, Nay.
By Wine bewitch'd; the next Day, Men
Resolve to drink no more;
So we weak Girls protest—what then?
We wish to taste,
encore.
Enter
LYSIMACHUS;
who, as he runs to embrace
PARISATIS,
over-sets the Tea-Table.
Dear PARISATIS—
Lord! sure, LYSIMACHUS, the Duce is in ye!
You've broke my Set of
Babylonish
China.
AIR.
Melancholissimo.
My Bason blue,
My Tea-Pot too;
Ah, me! how cou'd they fall so?
My Cups are dash'd,
My Saucers smash'd,
My Sugar-Dish eke also.
Enter
PORUS.
Who's this I see?
Me!
Thee!
And what's your Business, ha! Sir?
What's that to you?
What's here to do?
I'm here, and here will stay, Sir.
Pray, Sir, King PORUS, d'you call this Carriage
The
Indian
Way of Wooing before Marriage?
What wou'd the Wench? Nothing to me your Prate is;
I'll box LYSIMACHUS for PARISATIS.
Mahogony, if I get a proper Purchase,
I'll coit to Earth your Charcoal Carcase.
QUARTETTO.
Sallow
Grecian,
I abhor you:
Zounds, Sir, strip; I'm ready for you;
Right and Left I'll give you purely:
Old Nick
's in the Fellow, surely.
[Enter ALEXANDER, and runs between the Combatants.
Heyday!
What's here to do?
[LYSIMACHUS,
attempting to strike
PORUS,
hits
ALEXANDER
in the Face.
PORUS, I wish you had kept that Fellow's Blows off;
LYSIMACHUS has almost knock'd my Nose off.
Great ALEXANDER, humbly I beg Pardon.
Sirrah, you're only fit for a Bear-Garden:
You shall not have my Head your Strength to try on;
Seize him: I'll make him set to with a Lyon.
May it please your Mirmydonship to forgive him;
CLYTUS, on both Knees, begs you will reprieve him.
Ah! were you sober; I most humbly think—
What says the Rebel? Is your King in Drink?
The Thought is Treason. I will have the Dog's-Head;
I'll pierce the Traitor, as they tap a Hogshead.
[
Seizes a Javelin, and stabs
CLYTUS.
So, I'm right serv'd: Yes, 'tis quite through my Lungs;
Learn from my Fate, my Friends, to hold your Tongues.
AIR.
I die, depart,
Groan and start;
Quivering,
Shivering,
Sighing,
Shaking,
Crying,
Quaking;
Thus I go,
Below, below.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
After
CLYTUS
has sung himself to Death;
in
RECITATIVE
Accompany'd.
How cou'd I thus to Death my Friend affair?
His Lights are lost, and all his Pimples pale.
Toss me, ye Tempests! suffocate me, Vapours!
Ye Furies, singe me with your Brimstone Tapers!
I am mad! Sad and merry, light-headed and heavy;
On a Hand-gallop Reason is running Tantivy.
Now I mount on the Back of
Bucephalus
prancing,
Or methinks—
On the big-belly'd Billows I'm dancing.
MAD SONG.
They toss me on high,
'Till I knock at the Sky;
Then down, down I go,
To Antipodes below.
What with Wine and Wenches coiling,
Like a Hot-Bath my Brain's boiling.
Zounds! what's the Matter?
How my Teeth chatter!
I'm to an Ice-House turning;
And now, now, now, now, now,
I don't know why or how,
I'm like a Glass-House burning.
[ALEXANDER is carried off upon the Shoulders of his Guards.
Behold where yonder light-heel'd MERC'RY jumps;
I know the Poster by his feather'd Pumps.
MERCURY
flies across the Stage, and then Enters.
From his Empyrean Dome, Star-rob'd, survey
Th'
Olympic
Landlord of the
Milky-Way;
In Eagle-Chariot mounted, he descends
To pay a Visit to terrestrial Friends.
Stage opens, and
JUPITER
descends in his Chariot.
I've brought my Lightnings; Madam, don't be frighted;
As the Moon's down, I wou'd not be benighted.
Our Bard-Historian, HOMER, has made known
In Days of Yore, we Deities came down
To save a Soldier, or to sack a Town:
Poets rode Post on
Pegasus,
t' invite us;
And here we post it, to restore old CLYTUS.
CLYTUS, thy Spirits Animal retreated,
As if by Bite Tarantula, defeated:
Sons of the String, with Symphonies awake him,
And let your instrumental Uproar shake him.
A Crash, or Clash, of all the Orchestra.
SONG.
When on Air a Tune sloats,
Through musical Throats,
The Notes how we quavering distribute 'em?
'Till
Alto non Troppo,
We finish
Da Capo,
And run a Division
ad Libitum.
reviving.
AIR.
Ha! why? what? how?
Where am I now?
Methought,
I was brought,
I don't know where,
Nor do I care;
I am here, without Doubt;
So let us drink about.
Your Life was lost, and JOVE came to restore it.
Did he? Why then I humbly thank him for it.
Ruler of Atmospheres, if PORUS' Fate is
T' enjoy the illustrious Princess PARISATIS—
You have her! Ink-Face?—
Cousin, hold your Prate;
JOVE is your Judge, and what he Wills is Fate.
Then thus it is decreed by JUPITER AMMON,
You Rivals play a Rubber at Backgammon.
Let him who Wins her, make no Noise about her;
Let him who's Gammon'd, silent go without her.
It shall be so. LYSIMACHUS and PORUS
Will both obey, and play the Match before us.
SONG.
I see, I see them battling,
Elbows shaking, Dice rattling;
Size Ace,
Quater Tray;
Now Doublets:
Huzza!
What
Chattering?
What
Battering?
What
Swearing?
What
Tareing?
'Till Fortune determine the Fray.
Our Labour finish'd; now, 'tis fitting,
As
Ida
's Council will be sitting,
We must return, with equal State and Train:
You play'd us down—so play us up again.
GRAND CHORUS.
Tara, tantara,
Tantararararararara,
Tara, tantara, tan ti:
Tweedle dum,
Deedle dum,
Tweedle dum di.
FINIS.