SONGS IN THE COMIC OPERA OF Tom Thumb the Great.
AS IT IS NOW PERFORMING AT THE MICROCOSM NEAR STEPHEN'S-STREET.
DUBLIN: ARTHUR GRUEBER.
MLCCLXXX.
ADDRESS to the AUDIENCE by PUNCH, on the OPENING of the MICROCOSM.
HUZZA! my hearts! our MICROCOSMIC Puppet-Show
Must stand; since fost'ring friends concur to prop it so.—
Let me be hang'd but I'm in perfect extacy,
Such a bright blooming bank of the fair sex to see;
So interspers'd with beaux, in gay variety,
That it fulfils my wish, ev'n to satiety.—
For, we, (tho' wooden mimies of humanity)
Are not such blocks as not to feel th' urbanity
Of your obliging readiness to come to us
In our new edifice, —well, an't it sumptuous?—
Are not all quondam much-complain'd of grievances
Amply redress'd by our well-plann'd contrivances?
Have not our brains been rack'd, and our poor purses drain'd,
To shew that no convenience was by us restrain'd?
Have we not built a cover'd way to shelter you;
Where no blasts russie, rains wet, or funs swelter you;
A green room,—lucky thought! where lolling, at her case,
STELLA may listen to her STREPHON'S flatteries
And point against his heart all her masqu'd batteries;
Here may of scandal-spreading prudes forget her awe,
Adjust her dress, balls, parties, drums—
& catera.
—
Your entrance to our room last year, was odious:
But our new CORRIDOR is quite commodious.
Our MICROCOSM shines with a splendid dignity
Which may defy the cavils of malignity,
And flatter us with hopes of your benignity.
Then on the inside, many faults are mended too,
Things, in no puppet show 'till ours, attended to.—
Observe, in true; perspective, stage and gallery,
Not like our former dog-hole, squeez'd and all awry:
Observe our light arrang'd in order curious,
Nor to the audience or the scene injurious.
Observe our high-rais'd benches curv'd with symmetry,
If any thinks he can outdo us, he may try.—
Ingress and egress, now, are free and elegant,
What more is wanting?— by my conscience! tell I can't, —
Save WELCOME:— which I snatch this opportunity
Of giving in the name of our community.
Thrice welcome
all!
—our lib'ral hospitality
Is not consin'd to rank alone, or quality,
To charms or wealth:—(yet if we made a difference)
Such surely are entitled to some preference.
Our doors are shut to none; except such trumpery
As never ought be seen in decent company;
With that riff-raff we evermore must be at war,
And drive with ignominy from our Theatre.
Plain folks may enter and by seated happily;
Unle
s they shame themselves by dressing shabbily.
DECORUM is our guide rever'd, our governor,
Whose well-digested laws admit no sloven here.
For if a peer come like a porter jacketed,
Retire he must:—tho' up he raise his back at it,
And sorm, and sume, and bounce, and flounce, and racket it.
All this may shew what studious care we have of you;
Now, in return, one favour let us crave of you;
The ladies'
caps
are risen to such enormity,
That, far from being a grace, they're a deformity:
(For gauge a modern female's height;—I'll venture on't
Ten guineas that her
face
is
ound the centre on't.)
In such a room as ours they're quite preposterous;
A senseless nuisance.—But, I'll not be boisterous.
No.
(kneels)
PUNCH upon his knees in all humility,
Implores
you,
the true patterns of civility,
To lay them by when e'er you deign to visit us,
'Tis for the common good I'm thus sollicitous.
Do, lay them by; hide not each other from our view:
Else 'tis indifferent whether many come or few.
The kind polite compliance well would suit you all
And each would feel the condescension mutual.
(Turns aside still kneeling and clasping his hands.)
O Nature! hear my pray'r;—submiss I ask your aid
To free your master-pieces from this masquerade;
You form'd them perfect; artless you intended them;
But French-frizeurs have, for the worse, since mended them.
Why will they punish
us
who ne'er offended them?
(He rises and comes forward.)
Nought can be call'd a SHOW, where nought is to be seen,
Where ev'ry bodies' light some huge head-robe is in.
The eye shou'd have free scope to rove ad libitum.—
Our scenes are fine; but we in vain contribute 'em,
If, only to gauze-caps, we can exhibit 'em.
Suppose, the men a fancy took to wear their hats
With the broad leaves slouch'd down; enough to scare the rats.
Wou'd you not think it rude? and call them Savages
Who, on your comforts, made such horrid ravages?
But they'll not dare to do it—in
this
place I mean,
They know there's a point I could disgrace 'em in
And of my vengeance give the clowns a specimen.—
Now to conclude: if you bring dispositions
Vacant to harmless mirth, our exhibitions,
(Devoid of ribaldry and malice sinister
Some food, perhaps, to such light mirth may minister:
We our best efforts will exert, to coax you here:
And you will candid smile when our arch jokes you hear.
You have too much good sense and are too affable
Not to laugh out at what is truly laughable.
You know,—that all our pleasantries here local are,
That our performances are pastimes jocular,
To please the auricular organ and the ocular.
But whoso comes resolved on peevish criticism,
Watching to pick an hole for some flat witticism,
Smartly with trite
Joe Miller
's
Jests
to tickle us,
We caution him to curb his gibe ridiculous.
Our stage shall be no butt, to vent his jest upon:
We're thorns, we're thistles; we shall sting if prest upon.
And tho' we scorn the sneers of such wit-coalheavers,
Yet we have
Rowlands
ready for their
Olivers.
—
On their defeat we will erect a grand trophy,
Prizing one gen'rous plaudit from philanthrophy
More, than we dread the hiss of all misanthrophy.
PROLOGUE.
The Curtain rising, discovers
Merlin
sitting at a table, covered with black; a large volume inscribed with magical figures open before him, after a while, he shuts the book and speaks.
THE spel's wound up,—the mystic page I close,—
GNOMES, to your posts!—each elf his station know's.
(Waves his wand, and comes forward, addressing the audience.)
To night, the force of MAGIC skill to prove,
I mean t'exhibit PUPPETS that can move
Spontaneously;—nay more; can speak, can sing,
Fight,—laugh,—make love,—in short, do any thing;
Endu'd with transient life, for some three hours,
And, in contracted size with human pow'rs
They, for that while, with action, speech and dress,
Shall welcome all my friends to this recess;
Shall cringe, shall shrug, and sprawl along the stage,
Aping their brother blockheads of the age.
Fear not, how'er, these tiny apparations:
I warrant 'em of harmless dispositions.—
They sha'n't approach you nearer than I stand:—
(I keep 'em under excellent command;)
Nor be surpriz'd at aught they say or do:
They're for the time as much alive as you.
An OPERA compleat they shall display,
That finish'd from the heated dawn of day,
The mimic visions all must fade away.—
Then from his wooden shall each
Sylph
retires,
Leaving the senseless log,—to kindle fires.
I scorn'd to ransack ancient
Greece
or
Rome
For fable; (we've enough of that at home:
My subject is domestic: 'tis TOM THUMB.—
His martial prowess CAESAR'S far exceeded,
THUMB freed his country—(that was more than he did.)
And cou'd have won himself a crown if needed.
Giants
he quell'd and
rebels
he subdu'd,
Nor in his
country
's wounds his hands imbru'd;
No; TOM was more than
great;
—for he was
good.
—
Let not his stature prejudice your mind,
True worth
is to no certain
size
confin'd,
The
least
may be the
greatest
of mankind.—
Such the bold heroe, who to-night appears;
He
against
Spanish Dons
and
French Monsieurs,
Was fit to lead brave IRELAND'S VOLUNTEERS.
With such a chieftain, soon
that
valiant host
Would humble GALLIA'S and IBERIA'S boast,
And drive the dastards trembling from our coast.
That
gallant CORPS' insatiate thirst of FAME,
Sanction'd by glorious LIBERTY'S fair name,
Must draw,—(what I too hope,)
your
joint acclaim.
SONGS, &c.
ACT I.
AIR I. Duetto.
Lady Berkley's Whim.
SURE such a day,
So renown'd, so victorious,
Such a day as this was never seen.
Courtiers so gay,
And the mob so uproarious;
Nature seems to wear an universal grin.
Arthur to Dol,
Is bobbish and uxorious,
She and Huncamunca fall—to tipple, talking tawdry;
Even Mr. Sol,
So tifted out, so glorious,
Shines as at a ball—in jewels and embroidery.
O! tis a day
Of jubile cajolery;
A day we never saw before,
A day of fun and drollery.
That you may say,
Their majesties may boast of it;
And since it never can come more,
'Tis fit they make the most of it.
O 'tis a day &c.
That you may say, &c.
Sure such a day, &c.
Courtiers so gay, &c.
AIR II.
By
ARNE.
SO the cock-sparrow, at the barn door,
Huge flocks of turkies hops before;
The lubber red-heads scornful eyes,
Nor, at their noisy guggling, slies.
AIR III.
Lillies of France.
WHAT, tho' I now am half seas o'er,
I scorn to baulk this bout.
Of stiff-rack punch, fetch bowls, a score,
'Fore George, I'll see them out.
II.
But, sir, your queen 'twould ill become,
T'indulge in vulgar sips,
No drop of brandy, or of rum,
Shall pass these royal lips.
AIR IV.
Carrolan's Rant.
WHEN a dame of high taste, and of eminent class,
Is witch'd to the charms of a chiripping glass,
One virtue at least, the kind Nipperkin has;—
She, meek as a lamb, is made by it.—
If madam's high passions unruly become,
Spouse leaves her a cogue of rack, brandy, or rum,—
Let's her swill, swill, swill, swill, 'till she's tight as a drum:
Her swilling to both will give quiet.
AIR V.
Water parted from the Sea.
CROWNS I ask not,—those my sword
Can atchieve me, when I please,
Nor of riches, ask an hoard,
I have got enough of these.
If my deeds you deem a debt,
One grant can the debt annul;
Let me Huncamunca get,
Then, I'll sign receipt in full.
AIR VI.
Traveller benighted.
AS when the chimney-sweeper
Has all the live-long day,
Thro' darksome paths, a creeper,
Pursued his sooty way.
At night, to wash, with water,
His hands and face, he flies,
And in his t'other tatter,
With his Brickdusta lies.
AIR VII.
Giles Colin.
BUT alas! the great Thumb, with his dead-doing blade,
Despoiled all the twenty of life;
Of giants, one score, me the widow he made,
But he promised to make me his wife.
AIR VIII. LAMPUGNANI.
SUCH vile alliance
My brain has flurried;—
Your base defiance
Of me is horrid.
Look to your forehead,
There fifty giants
Long horns shall plant:
With fifty giants
I will gallant.
My kind compliance
They shall not want.
A cat, dog-worry'd,
Will scratch and maul—
My vengeance stirred
Shall tear you all.
AIR IX.
Rakes of Mallow.
WE kings, who are in our senses,
Mock our consorts' violences;
Pishing at their moods and tenses,
Our own will we follow.
When the husband, once, gives way
To the wife's capricious sway,
For his breeches he, next day,
May go whoop and hollo!
AIR X. SABATINO.
King Arthur from my fury,
Not Merlin's pow'r shall save,
My boist'rous hurry-durry,
Shall dig his kingdom's grave.
AIR XI.
On a
nothing,
such as this is,
Shall my girl her love misplace?
In a bridal-bed, the bliss is,
To have SOMETHING to embrace.
AIR XII. Duetto.
LIAR, avaunt!
Thy saucy taunt
Is a proof of Tom's desert.
He will break
That scurvy neck,
If on him thou dar'st fling dirt.
Yes, yes, I go,
But, Madam! know,
(Since your majesty's so pert,)
That a flood
Of your pet's blood;
To allay the storm, shall spurt.
Go to hell!
O mighty well!
Thither hie to feed the blaze!
I am glad I know your ways.
My sweet creature
To bespatter,
Quick or dead, I'll ne'er forgive.
'Tis my nature,
Not to flatter,
Take my word, he shall not live.
I'll ne'er forgive.
He shall not live.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
AIR I.
IN that dear hope, how many live
Whom wedlock's slavish fetters gall!
O what would some fine ladies give
To deck an odious husband's pall!
Then succeeds
Gay gallanting,
Widow's weeds,
Oh enchanting!
A modish wife, e'er one spouse die,
Will have another in her eye.
AIR II.
Doodle-doo.
AS adown the mill-race quâaking
Duck and drake swim close, love-making;
So will we, in blanket cuddle,
Miss Plumante with her Doodle.
Doodle, doodle—doo.
AIR III.
To its own Tune.
YES, yes, whole days and nights and years
I'll eat her up with love,
And still my raptures 'twill improve
That rivals shake their ears.
Such a banquet of joy,
Can ne'er cloy;
Like a glutton the whole I'll devour:
And replete
With the sweet,
As a babe at the teat,
Tho' bursting, will whimper for more.
AIR IV.
Moggy Lauder.
'TIS politic to walk incog.
Beneath one hood, two faces;
Be who will miller, I'll be dog,
Thus great one's keep their places.
I'll kiss
, and take the oath
To Po
y and to Caesar,
So playing cat in pan to both,
Am vicar still of Bray, sir.
AIR V.
Pallido II Sole. By
HASSE.
PALE death a prowling;
Dire omens scowling.
Doom thee to slaughter,
Thee, thy wife and daughter;
Furies are growling.
With horrid uproar.
Grizzle's rebellion
What need I tell ye on?
Or, by a cow red,
Tom Thumb devoured!
Hark! the cock crowing,
I must be going.—
I can no more.
AIR VI.
French Ballad.
IF a man could foreknow,
What he must undergo,
And escape it so,
Good it were to know;
But if though he know,
He must undergo,
What good is't to know,
He must undergo.
AIR VII.
Heigh-ho.
WOULD you know the obstruction that hinders
Her blood in its channels to flow;
Why she craunches lime, chalk, and coal-cinders,
And mopes, and sits sighing heigh-ho!—
I'll tell you, sir, where the shoe pinches,
(My own feelings witness, 'tis so,)
Prescribe her an husband,—that drench is
Probatum for curing heigh-ho!
AIR VIII.
A French Burletta.
LONG against my will, in keeping,
(Of the Gew-gaw tir'd, to weeping,)
I, without joy,
Have held my virgin-toy.
'Twas my dread
Apes in hell to lead,
The common fate of an old maid:
But thank my stars, that fright,
Little Tom puts to slight:
He, with new delight,
At night,
Will set all these matters right.
AIR IX.
By
MARSH.
YET, tho' you win the hero to your arms,
Hope not t'engage him wholly by your charms;
Various his duty, various his delight,
Now, 'tis his turn to kiss,—and now to sight,
Anon, to kiss afresh.—So, mighty Jove,
When, with excessive thundering, tir'd above,
Slips down to earth, just takes a snack, and then,
Up to his trade of thundering mounts again.
AIR X.
A Ballad.
IN hurry I post for a licence,
In hurry, ding dong, I come back.
For that you sha'nt need bid me twice hence,
I'll there be, and here, in a crack.
Hey jing!
My heart's on the wing,
I now could leap over the moon:
Let the chaplain
Set us a grappling,
And we'll stock a baby-house soon.
AIR XI.
TO drop such broad hints of your vigour!
For shame!—do but see how I blush,
Yet, I think, you should be a thought bigger,
On labours so arduous to rush.
Howe'er, if you'll stick to your promise,
To people, with Thumbs the whole land,
Pro Patria,—sweet father Thomas!
I cannot deny you my hand.
AIR XII.
The Lad for me.
That pettifogging Grizzle, I find, is your gallant,
Who, like an hedge-attorney, cogs my title to supplant:
Shall he with you, join issue?—no, by my soul, he sha'nt.
For Tommy is the lad, the lad for thee.
AIR XIII.
Christ-Church Bells.
O the vixen, pigmy brat,
Of inches scarce half six!
To slight me for a chit like that!
Ah, Mr. Tom, are these your tricks?
O the coarse salacious trull,
Who giant spouses ten and ten
To bed can pull,
With hugs can lull,
Yet still would gull
Young gentlemen.
Little, little, little, little, little tho' I be,
I scorn the sturdy strum;
Nor ever, she
My dear, from thee
Shall debauch thy true Tom Thumb.
O the vixen &c.
O the coarse &c.
Little, little, &c.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III.
AIR I.
By
MARSH.
KING Arthur's in love, knuckle deep, speed the plough!
Glumdalca's his doxy, his punky;
Our queen Dollalolla's as drunk as a sow,
And a-bed with Tom Thumb, Missy Munky.
AIR II.
Ghosts of every Occupation.
LONG, I will not wear the willow,
Long, I will not hug the pillow;
In my breast a strom is brewing,
Which shall spread fire, sword and ruin
O'er those desolated coasts.
This proud Arthur down shall knuckle,
Dollalolla too shall truckle,
Huncamunca shall knock under,
Her I'll ravish, them I'll plunder.
In fierce battle,
I will rattle,
Sinking, damning,
Slashing, cramming
Ev'ry chink of hell with ghosts.
AIR III.
A French Burletta Tune.
MY ambition to fire, since he ventures,
'Tis a lion, he plucks by the beard,
I'll be crown'd, or interr'd.
If with me the Lists he once enters,
I will so mash him,
Abash him;
So crash him,
So smash him,
And hash him,
That where to sculk he shall not know;
His brows adorn,
Each night and morn,
With the horn
Of scorn.
How I'll equip him, time will shew.
AIR IV. Duet.
Of a Noble Race was Shenkin.
COME, don't be coy or mulish;
I love you past expressing,
By granting soon,
The am'rous boon,
YOU will enhance the blessing.
I'm sure I must look foolish,
By thus slap-dash complying;
But all my life,
Spinster, or wife,
I never lik'd denying.
Dull forms we can abolish,
Time's lost, if we defer it;
Then here's my sist,
I can't resist
I lad of such true spirit.
Dull forms we can abolish.
Time's lost, if we defer it.
Then take my fist.
Then take my fist.
I never kiss'd
I can't resist
A wench of nobler spirit.
A lad of such true spirit.
AIR V.
In Infancy.
In bed when women lye awake,
(We wives can't always sleep)
At ev'ry little noise we quake,
And close and closer creep.
When press'd and warm,
In spousy's arm,
(Let thunders rock the house)
We mock at frights,
We value sprights,
Not three skips of a louse.
AIR VI.
I saw an Old Woman toss'd up in a Blanket.
It is not the being six feet, or six inches,
That can the prowess decide of a man;
Him the true hero we call, who ne'er flinches,
What tho' his size be as short as my fan.
If all your
True valour,
Resides in the blood,
Which whisking,
And frisking,
Denotes bottom good.
Tom Thumb for my money!—his furious attacks,
Make women their faces, and men turn their backs.
AIR VII.
Come let us prepare.
I wish your cause well,
But, I'd see it to hell,
E'er the scussle, my sword I would draw in.
No.—I'll wait to divide,
On majority's side,
And then pay it off, with huzzaing.
AIR VIII.
Was ever Nymph like Rosamond.
My deeds in liquid warbling's sung,
Before the beauteous and the brave,
My praise the theme of Eunuch's tongue,
Ha! ha! ha'-d! in my grave.
With caro here, and bravo there,
Encore!
Encore!
O that would make a dead man stare,
AIR IX.
By
ARNE
MY body is a bankrupt's shop,
My cruel creditor's grim death,
Who puts to life's brisk trade a stop,
And will be paid with this last breath.
AIR X.
Roast Beef
A chine of roast beef is the Englishman's food,
The Englishman's drink is a cup of home brew'd,
This diet to love and war kindles our blood.
O the roast beef, &c.
AIR XI.
Flocks are Sporting.
Safe from quarrels,
Crown'd with laurels,
Full of love and full of play.
(Too long from me)
Comes my Tommy
Welcome as the flowers in May.
AIR XII.
Babes of the Wood.
Behind his back
She made th' attack,
The while he huss'd and bluster'd,
And at one sup,
Swallow'd him up,
As Aldermen do custard.
AIR XIII.
Dirge.
Woe! woe! woe! woe!
To his long home,
Gone is Tom Thumb.
Alas! why did he go?
'Midst groaning,
And moaning,
Death stride's, triumphant, now,
For, by grim fate,
Lies Tom the Great,
Entomb'd in the red Cow.
May belly-ach,
Her bowels rake,
May gripes her entrails swell!
While we in pity,
How I this ditty,
At his wake,
All tolling! ding, dong, bell.
AIR XIV.
Pantomime Tune.
How like a fool upon his throne,
Looks a king, his subjects gone;
None but a coward, would survive,
When only he is left alive.
VAUDEVILLE.
Hey for potent Necromancie!
Our short life to that we owe:
Merlin's art, and brilliant fancy,
Have produced this PUPPET SHOW.
Nor, is't strange, his incantations,
Should of senseless logs make players;
What but logs in corporations,
Are dull Aldermen and Mayors?
Chorus, Hey, &c.
Courtiers, soldiers, politicians,
Meer logs now we justly call,
Lawyers, Churchmen, and Physicians,
What but Graduates of Log-Hall.
Chorus, Hey, &c.
Ladies only are exempted,
From wit's general defect,
They, from such as dare attempt it,
Will our PUPPET-SHOW protect.
Hey for potent Necromancie!
Our short life to that we owe;
Merlin's art, and brilliant fancy,
Have produced this PUPPET-SHOW.