THE CESTUS: A SERENATA.
PERFORMED AT THE ROYAL CIRCUS, IN St. GEORGE's FIELDS. M,DCC,LXXXIII.
THE CESTUS; A SERENATA.
CHARACTERS.
JUPITER,
Master Sestini.
MARS,
Miss Simonet.
VENUS,
Miss Wilkinson.
IRIS,
Miss Seymour.
JUNO.
Miss Romanzini.
SCENE,
The Audience Hall of
JUPITER.
AIR.
THE Phoenix, we're told, has the Sun for his sire,
That he lives to five cent'ries or more;
That he then gathers gums and reeds in good store,
With these makes a fire;
In the midst of which fire being seated,
His wings are the bellows
Which kindle it up till 'tis properly heated;
And farther they tell us,
When no longer in flame this combustible flashes,
A spick and span new one jumps out of the ashes.
Another wise tale to a dragon gave birth,
Whose teeth, it is said, were but sown in the earth,
When 'tis gravely attested, and let who will smile,
That a regiment of soldiers appear'd rank and file.
These stories, 'tis granted, are very absurd;
No man ever saw such a dragon or bird;
Yet folly and love to be met with asunder,
I hold a phenomenon of such a kind,
A rarity so much more worthy to brag on,
That sooner than set out this wonder
To find,
I'd be bound to produce you both phoenix and dragon.
RECITATIVE.
In short there's no such thing as bearing on't;
Her vixen tongue gains strength by wearing on't,
Like Camomile or old Anteus;
Why we're the jest of all who see us,
The jibe of every wag sarcastic:
But to the Court Ecclesiastic
I'll cite her, for good reasons various,
And there get licence to unmarry us.
What you! 'tis all a flam; how often,
At a sham tear we've seen you soften;
And while her shower has still'd your thunder,
Glad was your godship to knock under.
Mars, your reproach I feel too sensible;
Why, Sir, it is incomprehensible
How she has rul'd me—how I've buckl'd,
And like a Jerry crept and truckl'd!
And shall I bear't? no this fond Cupid here,
Will I shake off. Arouse thee, Jupiter;
Were this of heaven to be the etiquette,
Where Jove thus govern'd by a petticoat,
Witlings would soon lampoon in puny verse,
The hen-peck'd master of the universe.
Iris?
D'ye hear?
How—out to supper?
Zounds, here she is, hard at your crupper.
You'll stand my friend—
Where is your master?
The storm comes on thicker and faster.
O'my life this night he'll make a taper-meal.
D'ye hear? her clack goes like a paper-mill,
Thunder, the sea, or fifty coaches!
Stand to your arms, the soe approaches.
So, Sir, without my leave you're going out?
Come, Madam Juno, don't be throwing out
These airs—
Why numscull, sirrah, sniveler,
D'ye know whom 'tis you talk to, driveler?
A fury, fiend, a very devil.
Is that right?
Bravo!
Mighty civil!
Do take his part, a pretty nest of you,
But soon repent it shall the best of you;
First I'll demolish all your glasses,
Sotting and toasting filthy lasses,
Only to set your heads a swimming,
With plots to wrong us honest women.
Will you be quiet?
Save the pieces.
I'll claw you.
Zounds, the storm encreases!
AIR.
I'm up to all your tricks, my dear,
How the winds you make your letters bear,
My care and vigilence to queer,
But little are you winning:
You know 'tis true, my pretty youth,
You send 'em East, West, North and South,
Don't laugh—lest t'other side your mouth,
You should be after grinning.
You Master! don't believe it, love;
I'm Juno still, and you are Jove;
Whom Fate has plac'd me far above,
Nor her decrees could'st alter:
Then yield with grace the sovereign rule,
Nor think to make me thus a tool,
For those who hang me for a fool,
Will find a knave in the halter.
Plague, vixen, wretch, that tongue confounded,
Cease for a moment—
Rage unbounded
Choaks up my voice—my tongue forbids me.
Madam, I am resolv'd to rid me
Of tongue, face, person, altogether;
And since for love nor duty neither,
Your wayward mind can't find a place in't,
We'll part, whate'er be th' disgrace in't,
Yes, yes, one's fame is easy mangled
By words high sounding and new fangled
Periods with ornaments and scollops—
I know you're going to your trollops.
'Twixt you and truth there is no fitness.
Had you been kinder, heav'n's my witness,
Not all the Ledas, Ios, Semeles,
Or other of those numerous families,
I've had to do with, low and royal,
Had won me to an act disloyal;—
But now 'tis o'er; I give you warning,
We part, Ma'am, and to-morrow morning.
AIR.
Think not here to drive your gig,
Madam Juno;
I'll make you know,
Who's at home, or burn my wig,
Why, I'll know the reason.
You may grin, but I'll bet twenty,
Her Lord and Master,
I shall cast her;
And as to witnesses, I've plenty,
In good time and season.
Shall I by her—my goods and chattels,
Be led by the nose her,
Nor dispose her
As I list—Why, Sir, these battles,
'Gainst me are petty treason.
Why, Ma'am, what is all this?
I'm moon-struck:
Have I my senses? ah! too soon struck
My wretched ears the unwelcome tidings,
To-morrow part! plague take all chidings,
Anger, reproaches, scoldings, hectorings,
Taunts, sneers, hard words, and curtain lecturings.
Why for the past, 'tis past, ne'er think on't.
You're now near ruin.
On the brink on't.
Let us then try, ere yet it catch ye,
From this same precipice to snatch ye.
But how, dear Iris, how?
Have patience,
As generals, be what will their stations,
Think it both politic and wise
Deserters to employ, and spies;
So you, by way of go between us,
Shall in this case employ dame Venus,
For, if she lend you but her zone,
The charms of love are all your own.
AIR.
With that begirt, each dowdy girl
Gets every charm, does she but ask it;
Her teeth become a row of pearl,
Enclos'd within a coral casket,
Carnations bloom upon her cheeks,
Roses take place of blotch and pimple;
The air's perfum'd whene'er she speaks,
And Cupids play in every dimple.
RECITATIVE.
Don't name the wretch;
Set a good face,
O' th' matter, Ma'am; yours is no case
One cures by any thing one pleases.
Physic for desperate d
seases
Must desperate be, Ma'am.
I'll assure you,
Miss Bold-face!—what d'ye mean?
To cure you,
Better than nostrums can, or simples,
Where's this same queen of smiles and dimples?
AIR.
Who calls on her whose powerful art,
Erects a throne in every heart;
Whose love all court, whose anger fear—
Venus yclept—behold her here.
Sighs some fond youth his love unkind,
Wou'd he some watchful Argus blind?
Glows some fair virgin's modest cheek,
With wishes that she dare not speak?
RECITATIVE.
How can the humble queen of love,
The powerful wife of thundering Jove,
In ought oblige?—speak mighty Juno.
I'm told, good woman, as how you know
To gain men's hearts, that you can win 'em,
And as you list to th' grindstone pin 'em:
Now you must know, all in a whiff,
My spoute and I have had a tiff;
And now the villain talks of parting,—
Oh! it will break my heart for certain!
Patience, dear Ma'am:—
'Twill all come home to hi
▪
I know not what the devil's come to him,
With his fine fiats and his ordeals—
But t'other day he broke my cordials,
And sorely did my patience handle,
Because I talk'd a little scandal.
AIR.
ine sport indeed for god and godlin,
To see great Jove become Moll Codlin;
And threat his wife with fist and horsewhip,
Because she loves a little gossip.
Yet he, forsooth, can trot and amble,
And after scores of misses ramble;
Leave, gods, at Hercules your grinning,
The master of the world's a spinning.
Though while such worthy work is doing,
Slap goes the universe to ruin;
The trumpet sounds! wars wide and civil
Convulse the earth; while to the devil
They go their own way—and no wonder,
His light'ning's out—asleep his thunder.
RECITATIVE.
Well, Madam, would you be as blest as
I am in love, but wear this Cestus;
Which, with observance of your duty,
Will turn deformity to beauty.
A pinch of snuff, or dram did'st give me,
Thou could'st not half so well revive me,
My dungeon's chang'd into a palace,
Thou hast repriev'd me at the gallows:
Thy words are cabbage to starved taylors,
Or calms to poor exhausted sailors;
While winds and billows are in rumptions,
Or gold to pockets in consumptions:
Now let him dare take any word ill:
Come help me on with this same girdle.
Yet take me—they have but pretext to't,
Who mark not well the charm annex'd to't;
Your husband's now on some vagary—
When he comes home, pray be you wary,
Whatever riot he may kick up,
However stagger, swear, or hiccup,
You do not speak one single syllable,
If you should find these terms fulfilable,
You're sure that instant to reclaim him,
Heaven shall a rake no longer name him,
But setting taunts and wordy war by,
Juno and Jove prove Joan and Darby.
Thou'rt right—more happy than a king am I,
I thank you kindly, Mrs. Thing-a-my.
AIR.
Hear the merry minstrel sound,
On the ear it rings,
While all the strings
Are one entire vibration.
The tinkling pleasure spreads around;
And as it plays,
Sweetly conveys,
From sense to sense,
Soft eloquence,
In thrilling circulation.
But stringless, broken, out of tune,
Time's thrown away;
For did you play,
Without the least cessation,
And strum from January till June;
You still may bang,
At every twang;
The dismal hum,
The more you thrum,
Speaks but its mutilation.
Just so let down its pegs, the heart
In sadness sits,
Nor once admits
Of any consolation;
But screw it into tune, each smart
And anxious care,
Dissolves to air,
Alone its joys
The mind employs,
And all is jubilation.
RECITATIVE.
Lord, Lord, I never saw her feller,
One minute in the garret, next in the cellar;
To blow both hot and cold she's able,
Just like the satyr in the fable—
No wonder—jealousy's a viris,
Numbs and corrodes the passions, Iris.
But I'll be off, and at a distance
Watch, lest they need from me assistance;
Should my scheme take, should noise and riot
Yield here in heav'n to peace and quiet:
Scolding once shut out from our portals,
Who knows, that plague may cease 'mongst mortals.
AIR.
Our Jupiter has near his Throne
Two vessels which he fills;
The one with benefits alone,
The other crams with ills.
From the good vessel, health, content,
Plenty and bliss, he gives:
While from the evil, forth are sent
Gout, stone, and scolding wives.
II.
Thus to mankind, with heedful care,
In just proportion weigh'd
The lot to each, each best can bear
By Jove's decrees convey'd.
Unless his patience, when to rub,
Juno the devil drives;
Then headlong from the left-hand tub,
Go troops of scolding wives.
III.
Oft this complaint, on me like air,
From men still pass'd away;
Till that same Madam Juno there,
Let loose her tongue to-day.
But now, intreating Jove I'll go,
To chequer not their lives
With any other spot of woe,
Who're plagued with scolding wives.
RECITATIVE.
If to have pomp and greatness this 'tis,
Rather than live the life of my mistress,
Rather than thus for ever jingle,
By Jingo, I'd for one live single;
Nor be in splendid misery kept here.
For coif and crook, change crown and sceptre,
The spheres that the ear so sweetly splits,
For thrushes, blackbirds, and tom-tits.
AIR.
How happy she, who ne'er can know
The misery of the great;
Who, far from reach of scepter'd woe,
Finds in her low estate,
Joy in her innocence—delight
In scenes that still present;
Pleasures that health and strength excite,
And transport in content.
II.
One brook her mirror and her drink,
The happy wanderer seeks;
And as her lambs play round its brink,
Good Nature paints her cheeks.
Few are her wants: certain her joy;
For Reason's glad consent
Points out her innocent employ,
And guides her to content.
RECITATIVE.
Yes, yes, 'tis the only way to nick her,
And yet tho' fortified with liquor,
Though half-seas o'er, I'll not dissemble,
The very thoughts on't makes me tremble.
But come, be firm my heart, for meet 'tis,
Ere Phoebus rise from lap of Thetis,
When on nights glims I've put the extinguisher,
This wife of mine, that I reliquish her.
Oh! what delight in joy to roll me,
Without a creature to control me!
When from my wife I shall be parted;
And yet—no pangs, no fears, faint-hearted.
Compunction, doubts, fly far away,
And let Jove sing,
Tit fal de ray.
AIR.
I've seen a bear, who long did puzzle,
To loose from's mouth an ugly muzzle:
I've seen a linnet vent its rage,
In vainly fluttering 'gainst its cage:
I've seen snar'd lions—Ay, a score,
While forests trembled at their roar:
I was the bear,
The lion, the linnet;
I was caught in a snare;
And while I was in it,
Oh, how did I roar, and flutter, and puzzle,
To get rid of the cage, the net, and the muzzle!
And yet knew not how.
But now,
My wings are at liberty, so are my jaws,
Uncumber'd by net, I can put out my paws;
And my unfetter'd limbs all so nimble advance,
That I think I could join in a country dance:
No longer I roar, or flutter, or puzzle;
I have thrown off the snare, the cage, and the muzzle;
And am now—Oh, ye powers, what rapture propose,
The bear, the lion, the linnet—let loose.
But hold, I hear no creature stir:
Who waits within there—Iris—
Sir.
What wonder's this, I hear no riot!
The storm is hushed, my house is quiet;
One may perceive the foftest head;
Why sure your lady is not dead!
Dead! Heaven forbid—no, you'll not bury
0Her this bout; she's alive and merry.
And silent!—then will I be halter'd.
Why, Sir, you see the case is alter'd.
Nay, nay, explain these ha's and hums.
Let her explain them: here she comes.
She's sulky now—ah, sulk—'twon't hurt you.
Psha, you're a fool—how's this, a courtsey!
The Trick's too stale to pass, 'tis vile;
This calm forbodes a storm—a smile!
Well, this is strange! she's lost her tongue,
Which else ere this a peal had rung.
'Tis so, I'faith—what sweet surprize!
Juno, how do'st?—she's charming eyes!
Cupids inhabit there a score,
I never notic'd this before.
If we go on thus, on my life,
I shall grow fond of my own wife.
So!—it works rarely.
How's this, Venus!
She knows not, sure, what passed between us;
Come you our pleasures to destroy, Ma'am?
Not I indeed, Sir—give you joy, Ma'am.
'Tis done, and you may silence break;
(Juno shakes her head.)
Oh! there's no fear of that—come, speak.
She can't.
O yes! she can.
Come, come,
You're jesting?
No.
What, an't she dumb!
Yes. Dumb and blind, deaf and insensible,
Held by an influence indispensible,
To loath and scorn, beyond all measure,
Those joys that do not give you pleasure.
AIR.
Meek I'll be as Venus' dove;
Your presence court, your absence mourn.
Love shall be the price of love,
And kindness ask a kind return.
Folly shall ne'er my mind defile;
From prudence will I ne'er depart.
My face shall wear a constant smile,
And duty govern in my heart.
RECITATIVE.
Thus have we proved it never happens,
That ornament and outward trappings,
Can make on the heart the least impression,
Much less secure a fix'd possession.
Our Jove here has been long time married,
Yet his wife's fondness had miscarried;
Each thing in life she did was wrong,
Until she kindly—held her tongue.
Learn hence, that husbands will be blind
To every beauty but the mind;
Great Venus
there
should hold her court;
There
should the Loves and Graces sport;
There
rapture beam'd in every feature,
Bound by that Cestus, called
Good Nature.
AIR.
Come away then, and take an example here,
Above, below, and all who have seen us;
For plain to your senses it soon shall appear,
That rich and poor,
Who true bliss would ensure,
Lest they meet with miscarriage,
Must remember in marriage,
Good Nature's the Cestus of Venus.
Resign'd to my duty at last,
Resolv'd to repent what is past;
Every folly and fault to give o'er,
I now open my eyes,
And my only surprize,
Is, I never yet thought on't before.
'Tis a noble resolve,
May the stars in their spheres,
For millions of years,
Still find you each time they revolve,
To your husband's faults blinder,
He kinder and kinder,
Till Juno and Jove
Are envied below and above.
END OF THE CESTUS.