Chapter XXII: Act I

SCENE.--_Quarter-deck of H.M.S. Pinafore. View of Portsmouth in
distance. _Sailors_, led by BOATSWAIN, discovered cleaning
brasswork, splicing rope, etc._

CHORUS.

We sail the ocean blue,
And our saucy ship’s a beauty;
We’re sober men, and true,
And attentive to our duty.
When the balls whistle free o’er the bright blue sea,
We stand to our guns all day;
When at anchor we ride on the Portsmouth tide,
We have plenty of time to play.

_Enter LITTLE BUTTERCUP, with large basket on her arm._

RECITATIVE.

Hail, men-o’-war’s men--safeguards of your nation,
Here is an end, at last, of all privation;
You’ve got your pay--spare all you can afford
To welcome Little Buttercup on board.

ARIA.

For I’m called Little Buttercup, dear Little Buttercup,
Though I could never tell why,
But still I’m called Buttercup, poor Little Buttercup,
Sweet Little Buttercup, I.
I’ve snuff, and tobaccy, and excellent jacky;
I’ve scissors, and watches, and knives;
I’ve ribbons and laces to set off the faces
Of pretty young sweethearts and wives.
I’ve treacle and toffee and excellent coffee,
Soft tommy and succulent chops;
I’ve chickens and conies and pretty polonies,
And excellent peppermint drops.
Then buy of your Buttercup--dear Little Buttercup,
Sailors should never be shy;
So buy of your Buttercup--poor Little Buttercup,
Come, of your Buttercup buy!

_Boat._ Ay, Little Buttercup--and well called--for you’re the rosiest, the roundest, and the reddest beauty in all Spithead.

_But._ Red, am I? and round--and rosy! Maybe, for I have dissembled well! But hark ye, my merry friend--hast ever thought that beneath a gay and frivolous exterior there may lurk a cankerworm which is slowly but surely eating its way into one’s very heart?

_Boat._ No, my lass, I can’t say I’ve ever thought that.

_Enter DICK DEADEYE. He pushes through _Sailors_._

_Dick._ _I_ have thought it often. (_All recoil from him._)

_But._ Yes, you look like it! What’s the matter with the man? Isn’t he well?

_Boat._ Don’t take no heed of _him_; that’s only poor Dick Deadeye.

_Dick._ I say--it’s a beast of a name, ain’t it--Dick Deadeye?

_But._ It’s not a nice name.

_Dick._ I’m ugly too, ain’t I?

_But._ You are certainly plain.

_Dick._ And I’m three-cornered too, ain’t I?

_But._ You are rather triangular.

_Dick._ Ha! ha! That’s it. I’m ugly, and they hate me for it; for you all hate me, don’t you?

_Boat._ (_crossing_). Well, Dick, we wouldn’t go for to hurt any fellow-creature’s feelings, but you can’t expect a chap with such a name as Dick Deadeye to be a popular character--now, can you?

_Dick._ No.

_Boat._ It’s asking too much, ain’t it?

_Dick._ It is. From such a face and form as mine the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved imagination. It is human nature--I am resigned.

RECITATIVE.

_But._ (_looking down hatchway_).
But, tell me--who’s the youth whose faltering feet
With difficulty bear him on his course?
_Boat._ (_crossing_).
That is the smartest lad in all the fleet--
Ralph Rackstraw!
_But._ Ha! that name! Remorse! remorse!

_Enter RALPH from hatchway._

MADRIGAL.--RALPH.

The nightingale
Loved the pale moon’s bright ray,
And told his tale
In his own melodious way!
He sang “Ah, well-a-day!”

_All._ He sang “Ah, well-a-day!”

The lowly vale
For the mountain vainly sighed;
To his humble wail
The echoing hills replied.
They sang “Ah, well-a-day!”

_All._ They sang “Ah, well-a-day!”

RECITATIVE.

I know the value of a kindly chorus,
But choruses yield little consolation,
When we have pain and trouble too before us!
I love--and love, alas, above my station!

_But._ (_aside_). He loves--and loves a lass above his station!

_All_ (_aside_). Yes, yes, the lass is much above his station!

BALLAD.--RALPH.

A maiden fair to see,
The pearl of minstrelsy,
A bud of blushing beauty;
For whom proud nobles sigh,
And with each other vie,
To do her menial’s duty.

_All._ To do her menial’s duty.

A suitor, lowly born,
With hopeless passion torn,
And poor beyond concealing,
Has dared for her to pine
At whose exalted shrine
A world of wealth is kneeling.

_All._ A world of wealth is kneeling!

Unlearnèd he in aught
Save that which love has taught.
(For love had been his tutor)
Oh, pity, pity me--
Our captain’s daughter she,
And I that lowly suitor!

_All._ And he that lowly suitor!
[_Exit LITTLE BUTTERCUP._

_Boat._ Ah, my poor lad, you’ve climbed too high: our worthy captain’s child won’t have nothin’ to say to a poor chap like you. Will she, lads?

_Dick._ No, no, captains’ daughters don’t marry foremast hands.

_All_ (_recoiling from him_). Shame! shame!

_Boat._ (_crossing_). Dick Deadeye, them sentiments o’ yourn are a disgrace to our common natur’.

_Ralph._ But it’s a strange anomaly, that the daughter of a man who hails from the quarter-deck may not love another who lays out on the fore-yard arm. For a man is but a man, whether he hoists his flag at the maintruck or his slacks on the maindeck.

_Dick._ Ah, it’s a queer world!

_Ralph._ Dick Deadeye, I have no desire to press hardly on you, but such a revolutionary sentiment is enough to make an honest sailor shudder.

_Boat._ (_who has gone on poop-deck, returns_). My lads, our gallant captain has come on deck; let us greet him as so brave an officer and so gallant a seaman deserves.

RECITATIVE.

_Capt._ My gallant crew, good morning.

_All_ (_saluting_). Sir, good morning!

_Capt._ I hope you’re all well.

_All_ (_as before_). Quite well; and you, sir?

_Capt._ I am reasonable in health, and happy
To meet you all once more.

_All_ (_as before_). You do us proud, sir!

SONG.--CAPTAIN.

_Capt._ I am the Captain of the Pinafore!

_All._ And a right good captain, too!

_Capt._ You’re very, very good,
And be it understood
I command a right good crew.

_All._ We’re very, very good,
And be it understood
He commands a right good crew.

_Capt._ Though related to a peer,
I can hand, reef, and steer,
And ship a selvagee;
I am never known to quail
At the fury of a gale,
And I’m never, never sick at sea!

_All._ What, never?

_Capt._ No, never!

_All._ What, _never_?

_Capt._ Hardly ever!

_All._ He’s hardly ever sick at sea!
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!

_Capt._ I do my best to satisfy you all--

_All._ And with you we’re quite content.

_Capt._ You’re exceedingly polite,
And I think it only right
To return the compliment.

_All._ We’re exceedingly polite.
And he thinks it’s only right
To return the compliment.

_Capt._ Bad language or abuse,
I never, never use,
Whatever the emergency;
Though, “bother it,” I may
Occasionally say,
I never use a big, big D----

_All._ What, never?

_Capt._ No, never!

_All._ What, _never_?

_Capt._ Hardly ever!

_All._ Hardly ever swears a big, big D----
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the well-bred Captain of the Pinafore!

[_After song exeunt all but CAPTAIN._

_Enter LITTLE BUTTERCUP._

RECITATIVE.

_But._ Sir, you are sad. The silent eloquence
Of yonder tear that trembles on your eyelash
Proclaims a sorrow far more deep than common;
Confide in me--fear not--I am a mother!

_Capt._ Yes, Little Buttercup, I’m sad and sorry--
My daughter, Josephine, the fairest flower
That ever blossomed on ancestral timber,
Is sought in marriage by Sir Joseph Porter,
Our Admiralty’s First Lord, but for some reason,
She does not seem to tackle kindly to it.

_But._ (_with emotion_).
Ah, poor Sir Joseph! Ah, I know too well
The anguish of a heart that loves but vainly!
But see, here comes your most attractive daughter.
I go--Farewell! [_Exit._

_Capt._ (_looking after her_). A plump and pleasing person!

_Enter JOSEPHINE on poop. She comes down, twining some flowers which
she carries in a small basket._

BALLAD.--JOSEPHINE.

Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
Sad is the hour when sets the sun--
Dark is the night to earth’s poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters!
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!

_Capt._ My child, I grieve to see that you are a prey to melancholy. You should look your best to-day, for Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B., will be here this afternoon to claim your promised hand.

_Jos._ Ah, father, your words cut me to the quick. I can esteem--reverence--venerate Sir Joseph, for he is a great and good man; but oh, I cannot love him! My heart is already given.

_Capt._ (_aside_). It is, then, as I feared. (_Aloud._) Given? And to whom? Not to some gilded lordling?

_Jos._ No, father--the object of my love is no lordling. Oh, pity me, for he is but a humble sailor on board your own ship!

_Capt._ Impossible!

_Jos._ Yes, it is true--too true.

_Capt._ A common sailor? Oh, fie!

_Jos._ I blush for the weakness that allows me to cherish such a passion. I hate myself when I think of the depth to which I have stooped in permitting myself to think tenderly of one so ignobly born, but I love him! I love him! I love him! (_Weeps._)

_Capt._ Come, my child, let us talk this over. In a matter of the heart I would not coerce my daughter--I attach but little value to rank or wealth, but the line must be drawn somewhere. A man in that station may be brave and worthy, but at every step he would commit solecisms that society would never pardon.

_Jos._ Oh, I have thought of this night and day. But fear not, father. I have a heart, and therefore I love; but I am your daughter, and therefore I am proud. Though I carry my love with me to the tomb, he shall never, never know it.

_Capt._ You _are_ my daughter, after all. But see, Sir Joseph’s barge approaches, manned by twelve trusty oarsmen and accompanied by the admiring crowd of female relatives that attend him wherever he goes. Retire, my daughter, to your cabin--take this, his photograph, with you--it may help to bring you to a more reasonable frame of mind.

_Jos._ My own thoughtful father. [_Exit JOSEPHINE._

BARCAROLLE (_without._)

Over the bright blue sea
Comes Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B.,
Wherever he may go
Bang-bang the loud nine-pounders go!
Shout o’er the bright blue sea
For Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B.

[_During this the _Crew_ have entered on tiptoe, listening
attentively to the song._

CHORUS OF SAILORS.

We sail the ocean blue,
And our saucy ship’s a beauty;
We’re sober men, and true,
And attentive to our duty.
We’re smart and sober men,
And quite devoid of fe-ar,
In all the Royal N.
None are so smart as we are.

_Enter SIR JOSEPH’S _Female Relatives_. They dance round stage._

_Rel._ Gaily tripping,
Lightly skipping,
Flock the maidens to the shipping.

_Sail._ Flags and guns and pennants dipping
All the ladies love the shipping.

_Rel._ Sailors sprightly
Always rightly
Welcome ladies so politely.

_Sail._ Ladies who can smile so brightly,
Sailors welcome most politely.

_Enter SIR JOSEPH with COUSIN HEBE._

_Capt._ (_from poop_).
Now give three cheers, I’ll lead the way.

_All._ Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurray! (_Repeat._)

SONG.--SIR JOSEPH.

I am the monarch of the sea,
The Ruler of the Queen’s Navee,
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants.

_Cousin H._ And we are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

_Rel._ And we are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

_Sir J._ When at anchor here I ride,
My bosom swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers at a foeman’s taunts.

_Cousin H._ And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

_All._ And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

_Sir J._ But when the breezes blow,
I generally go below,
And seek the seclusion that a cabin grants!

_Cousin H._ And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

_All._ And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
His sisters and his cousins,
Whom he reckons up by dozens,
And his aunts!

SONG.--SIR JOSEPH.

When I was a lad I served a term
As office boy to an attorney’s firm.
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so carefullee
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

CHORUS.--He polished, etc.

As office boy I made such a mark
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk.
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand--
I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee.

CHORUS.--He copied, etc.

In serving writs I made such a name
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
For the pass examination at the Institute.
And that pass examination did so well for me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

CHORUS.--And that pass examination, etc.

Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip
That they took me into the partnership,
And that junior partnership, I ween,
Was the only ship that I ever had seen.
But that kind of ship so suited me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

CHORUS.--But that kind, etc.

I grew so rich that I was sent
By a pocket borough into Parliament.
I always voted at my party’s call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
I thought so little, they rewarded me
By making me the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

CHORUS.--He thought so little, etc.

Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn’t fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule--
Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be Rulers of the Queen’s Navee!

CHORUS.--Stick close, etc.

_Sir J._ You’ve a remarkably fine crew, Captain Corcoran.

_Capt._ It _is_ a fine crew, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ (_examining a very small midshipman_). A British sailor is a splendid fellow, Captain Corcoran.

_Capt._ A splendid fellow indeed, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ I hope you treat your crew kindly, Captain Corcoran.

_Capt._ Indeed, I hope so, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ Never forget that they are the bulwarks of England’s greatness, Captain Corcoran.

_Capt._ So I have always considered them, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ What percentage of words are spelled phonetically? No bullying, I trust--no strong language of any kind, eh?

_Capt._ Oh, never, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ What, _never_?

_Capt._ Hardly ever, Sir Joseph. They are an excellent crew, and do their work thoroughly without it.

_Sir J._ (_reproving_). Don’t patronize them, sir--pray, don’t patronize them.

_Capt._ Certainly not, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ That you are their captain is an accident of birth. I cannot permit these noble fellows to be patronized because an accident of birth has placed you above them and them below you.

_Capt._ I am the last person to insult a British sailor, Sir Joseph.

_Sir J._ You are the last person who did, Captain Corcoran. Desire that splendid seaman to step forward.

_Capt._ Ralph Rackstraw, come here.

_Sir J._ (_sternly_). If what?

_Capt._ I beg your pardon----

_Sir J._ If you _please_.

_Capt._ Oh yes, of course. If you _please_. [_RALPH steps forward._

_Sir J._ You’re a remarkably fine fellow.

_Ralph._ Yes, your honour.

_Sir J._ And a first-rate seaman, I’ll be bound.

_Ralph._ There’s not a smarter topman in the navy, your honour, though I say it who shouldn’t.

_Sir J._ Not at all. Proper self-respect, nothing more. Can you dance a hornpipe?

_Ralph._ No, your honour.

_Sir J._ That’s a pity: all sailors should dance hornpipes. I will teach you one this evening, after dinner. Now, tell me--don’t be afraid--how does your captain treat you, eh?

_Ralph._ A better captain don’t walk the deck, your honour.

_All._ Hear!

_Sir J._ Good. I like to hear you speak well of your commanding officer; I dare say he don’t deserve it, but still it does you credit. Can you sing?

_Ralph._ I can hum a little, your honour.

_Sir J._ Then hum this at your leisure. (_Giving him MS. music._) It is a song that I have composed for the use of the Royal Navy. It is designed to encourage independence of thought and action in the lower branches of the service, and to teach the principle that a British sailor is any man’s equal, excepting mine. Now, Captain Corcoran, a word with you in your cabin, on a tender and sentimental subject.

_Capt._ Ay, ay, Sir Joseph. Boatswain, in commemoration of this joyous occupation, see that extra grog is served out to the ship’s company at one bell.

_Boat._ Beg pardon. If what, your honour?

_Capt._ If what? I don’t think I understand you.

_Boat._ If you _please_, your honour.

_Capt._ What!

_Sir J._ The gentleman is quite right. If you _please_.

_Capt._ (_stamping his foot impatiently_). If you _please_!

_Sir J._ For I hold that on the seas
The expression, “If you please,”
A particularly gentlemanly tone implants.

_Cousin H._ And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

_All._ And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!

[_Exeunt CAPTAIN and SIR JOSEPH into cabin._

_Boat._ Ah! Sir Joseph’s a true gentleman: courteous and considerate to the very humblest.

_Ralph._ True, Boatswain; but we are not the very humblest. Sir Joseph has explained our true position to us. As he says, a British seaman is any man’s equal excepting his; and if Sir Joseph says that, is it not our duty to believe him?

_All._ Well spoke! well spoke!

_Dick._ You’re on a wrong tack, and so is he. He means well, but he don’t know. When people have to obey other people’s orders, equality’s out of the question.

_All_ (_recoiling_). Horrible! horrible!

_Boat._ Dick Deadeye, if you go for to infuriate this here ship’s company too far, I won’t answer for being able to hold ’em in. I’m shocked! that’s what I am--shocked!

_Ralph_ (_coming forward_). Messmates, my mind’s made up. I’ll speak to the captain’s daughter, and tell her, like an honest man, of the honest love I have for her.

_All._ Hurrah!

_Ralph._ Is not my love as good as another’s? Is not my heart as true as another’s? Have I not hands and eyes and ears and limbs like another?

_All._ Ay, ay.

_Ralph._ True, I lack birth----

_Boat._ You’ve a berth on board this very ship.

_Ralph._ Well said--I had forgotten that. Messmates, what do you say? do you approve my determination?

_All._ We do.

_Dick._ _I_ don’t.

_Boat._ What is to be done with this here hopeless chap? Let us sing him the song that Sir Joseph has kindly composed for us. Perhaps it will bring this here miserable creetur to a proper state of mind.

GLEE.--RALPH, BOATSWAIN, BOATSWAIN’S MATE, AND CHORUS.

A British tar is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird!
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word.
His nose should pant and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.

CHORUS.--His nose should pant, etc.

His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,
His brow with scorn be wrung;
He never should bow down to a domineering frown,
Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl,
His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude! (_Pose._)

CHORUS.--His foot should stamp, etc.

[_All strike attitude and then dance off to hornpipe down
hatchway, excepting RALPH, who remains, leaning pensively
against bulwark._

_Enter JOSEPHINE from cabin._

_Jos._ It is useless--Sir Joseph’s attentions nauseate me. I know that he is a truly great and good man, but to me he seems tedious, fretful, and dictatorial. Yet his must be a mind of no common order, or he would not dare to teach my dear father to dance a hornpipe on the cabin table. (_Sees RALPH._) Ralph Rackstraw! (_Overcome by emotion._)

_Ralph._ Ay, lady--no other than poor Ralph Rackstraw!

_Jos._ (_aside_). How my head beats! (_Aloud._) And why poor, Ralph?

_Ralph._ I am poor in the essence of happiness, lady--rich only in never-ending unrest. In me there meet a combination of antithetical elements which are at eternal war with one another. Driven hither by objective influences--thither by subjective emotions--wafted one moment into blazing day by mocking hope--plunged the next into the Cimmerian darkness of tangible despair, I am but a living ganglion of irreconcilable antagonisms. I hope I make myself clear, lady?

_Jos._ Perfectly. (_Aside._) His simple eloquence goes to my heart. Oh, if I dared--but no, the thought is madness! (_Aloud._) Dismiss these foolish fancies, they torture you but needlessly. Come, make one effort.

_Ralph_ (_aside_). I will--one. (_Aloud._) Josephine!

_Jos._ (_indignantly_). Sir!

_Ralph._ Ay, even though Jove’s armoury were launched at the head of the audacious mortal whose lips, unhallowed by relationship, dared to breathe that precious word, yet would I breathe it once, and then perchance be silent evermore. Josephine, in one brief breath I will concentrate the hopes, the doubts, the anxious fears of six weary months. Josephine, I am a British sailor, and I love you!

_Jos._ Sir, this audacity! (_Aside._) Oh, my heart, my heart! (_Aloud._) This unwarrantable presumption on the part of a common sailor! (_Aside._) Common! oh, the irony of the word! (_Aloud._) Oh, sir, you forget the disparity in our ranks.

_Ralph._ I forget nothing, haughty lady. I love you desperately, my life is in thy hand--I lay it at your feet! Give me hope, and what I lack in education and polite accomplishments, that I will endeavour to acquire. Drive me to despair, and in death alone I shall look for consolation. I am proud, and cannot stoop to implore. I have spoken, and I wait your word!

_Jos._ You shall not wait long. Your proffered love I haughtily reject. Go, sir, and learn to cast your eyes on some village maiden in your own poor rank--they should be lowered before your captain’s daughter!

DUET.-JOSEPHINE AND RALPH.

_Jos._ Refrain, audacious tar,
Your suit from pressing,
Remember what you are,
And whom addressing!
Proud lords to seek my hand
In throngs assemble,
The loftiest in the land
Bow down and tremble!
(_Aside._) I’d laugh my rank to scorn
In union holy,
Were he more highly born
Or I more lowly!

_Ralph._ Proud lady, have your way
Unfeeling beauty!
You speak and I obey,
It is my duty!
I am the lowliest tar
That sails the water.
And you, proud maiden, are
My captain’s daughter!
(_Aside._) My heart with anguish torn
Bows down before her,
She laughs my love to scorn,
Yet I adore her.

[_Repeat refrain ensemble, then exit JOSEPHINE into cabin._

RECITATIVE.--RALPH.

Can I survive this overbearing
Or live a life of mad despairing,
My proffered love despised, rejected?
No, no, it’s not to be expected!
(_Calling off._)
Messmates, ahoy!
Come here! Come here!

_Enter _Sailors_, HEBE, and _Relatives_._

_All._ Ay, ay, my boy,
What cheer, what cheer?
Now tell us, pray,
Without delay,
What does she say--
What cheer, what cheer?

_Ralph_ (_to COUSIN HEBE_).
The maiden treats my suit with scorn,
Rejects my humble love, my lady;
She says I am ignobly born,
And cuts my hopes adrift, my lady.

_All._ Oh, cruel one!

_Dick._ She spurns your suit? Oho! Oho!
I told you so, I told you so.

_Sail. and Rel._
Shall {we} submit? Are {we} but slaves?
{they} {they}
Love comes alike to high and low--
Britannia’s sailors rule the waves,
And shall they stoop to insult? No!

_Dick._ You must submit, you are but slaves;
A lady she! Oho! Oho!
You lowly toilers of the waves,
She spurns you all--I told you so! (_Goes off._)

_Ralph_ (_drawing a pistol_).
My friends, my leave of life I’m taking,
For oh, for oh, my heart is breaking.
When I am gone, oh, prithee tell
The maid that, as I died, I loved her well!
(_Loading it._)
_All_ (_turning away, weeping_).
Of life, alas! his leave he’s taking.
For, ah! his faithful heart is breaking.
When he is gone we’ll surely tell
The maid that, as he died, he loved her well.

(_During chorus he has loaded pistol._)

_Ralph._ Be warned, my messmates all
Who love in rank above you--
For Josephine I fall!

(_Puts pistol to his head. All the sailors stop their ears._)

_Enter JOSEPHINE._

_Jos._ Ah! stay your hand! I love you!

_All._ Ah! stay your hand--she loves you!

_Ralph_ (_incredulously_).
Loves me?

_Jos._ Loves you!

_All._ Yes, yes--ah, yes--she loves you!

ENSEMBLE.

SAILORS AND RELATIVES, AND JOSEPHINE.

Oh, joy! oh, rapture unforeseen!
For now the sky is all serene;
The god of day--the orb of love,
Has hung his ensign high above,
The sky is all a-blaze.
With wooing words and loving song,
We’ll chase the lagging hours along.
{I find}
And if {we find} the maiden coy,
I’ll}
We’ll} murmur forth decorous joy
In dreamy roundelays!

DICK DEADEYE.

He thinks he’s won his Josephine,
But though the sky is now serene,
A frowning thunderbolt above
May end their ill-assorted love
Which now is all a-blaze.
Our captain, ere the day is gone,
Will be extremely down upon
The wicked men who art employ
To make his Josephine his coy
In many various ways.

_Jos._ This very night,

_Hebe._ With bated breath

_Ralph._ And muffled oar--

_Jos._ Without a light,

_Hebe._ As still as death,

_Ralph._ We’ll steal ashore.

_Jos._ A clergyman

_Ralph._ Shall make us one

_Boat._ At half-past ten,

_Jos._ And then we can

_Ralph._ Return, for none

_Boat._ Can part us then!

_All._ This very night, etc.

(_DICK appears at hatchway._)

_Dick._ Forbear, nor carry out the scheme you’ve planned,
She is a lady--you a foremast hand!
Remember, she’s your gallant captain’s daughter,
And you the meanest slave that crawls the water!

_All._ Back, vermin, back,
Nor mock us!
Back, vermin, back,
You shock us!
Let’s give three cheers for the sailor’s bride
Who casts all thought of rank aside--
Who gives up house and fortune too
For the honest love of a sailor true!
For a British tar is a soaring soul
As free as a mountain bird!
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word!
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl,
His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude. (_Pose._)

(_General Dance._)