Chapter III: Act 1 (2)

_Kate._ Suspicion! yes: it is a suspicion, but one that must forever separate us. It may be you are right, and something at my heart tells me you are; but this suspicion will forever darken my life. No, Sept.; much as I love you, it were better we should forever dismiss the hope. For, whether further proof should be found or not, every hope of happiness would be blasted by the fear--the dread--that you might be my brother. Sept., you shall always find in me a sister, a loving sister; ever watchful for your comfort, ever praying for your happiness; but, for Heaven’s sake, no more of a warmer tie. (_Exit, R._)

_Sept._ Have I lost her? What can I do? where turn to escape from this bewildering maze? Upon this I am determined: I will not accept this man’s bounty, or acknowledge his claim. (_Enter RAYMOND, C._)

_Mr. R._ My dear boy, I’ve just despatched a messenger to town with the glad tidings; and to-morrow we’ll leave this barren spot, and hie to the gay scenes of city-life. Gad! boy, we’ll make a gentleman of you. You must drop that outlandish name of September: you shall be Alden Raymond, jr.

_Sept._ You go to town?

_Ray._ Yes, to-morrow: I’m impatient to show my city friends the fine lad I found down by the sea.

_Sept._ I cannot share your gratification, sir, for I shall remain here.

_Ray._ Remain here! what for?

_Sept._ Because I belong here. Mr. Raymond, I am extremely obliged to you for the kind interest you have manifested in me; but I cannot accept your claim. I do not believe I am your son.

_Ray._ Not my son! why, boy, you are crazy. There cannot be the least doubt of it: you came in the vessel with my wife; there was no other infant on board.

_Sept._ That you are not certain of.

_Ray._ Certain! of course I am. I tell you, boy, there can be no mistake.

_Sept._ There may be; there must be. I do not feel towards you the love of a son for his father; and, until some other proof is found, I shall remain here, and bear the only name to which I feel I have a right,--that of September Gale. (_Exit, L._)

_Ray._ But, boy--Sept., come here. Confound him! Here’s a pretty predicament. Here’s an ungrateful scamp who refuses to acknowledge his father. I’ll disinherit him--oh, pshaw! what does he care for that? He’s a noble fellow, and he must be my son. (_Exit, R. Enter CAPTAIN, C., with KITTY on his arm._)

_Kitty._ Well, I declare, Captain, you are the most delightfulest beau that ever I saw.

_Capt._ No, wealy: ’pon honor, you overwhelm me; you do, wealy, you dear, delightful little nymph of the sea.

_Kitty._ You’re the sweetest man: your conversation is so sugary.

_Capt._ Yes, jest so: ’pon my honor, I don’t know the weason, but the ladies in the city are very fond of me. I am quite a flower in the city.

_Kitty._ (_Aside._) A sunflower! Oh, I do wish that March could see us!

_Capt._ Yaas, you should go to the city; such a beautiful cweature is wasting her sweetness on the desert air in this howid place, that smells so of fish.

_Kitty._ Now, do you think so, Captain? Well, I’ve always thought I was born for a higher sphere.

_Capt._ You were, weally. Your beauty would be the admiration of the whole city: it would, weally.

_Kitty._ O Captain! you flatter now.

_Capt._ Flatter? ’pon honor, no. Do let me take you to the city in my _wacht_: the trip would be delightful.

_Kitty._ What! (_Aside._) I do believe the man wants me to run away with him. (_Enter March, C._)

_Capt._ Yaas, we could slip away from here, go to the city, see all the sights, and return, without any of these people being the wiser.

_March._ (_Aside._) Confound his picture! he’s trying to run off with Kitty.

_Kitty._ Why, what an idea! I run off with a man!--

_Capt._ Who loves you to distraction; he does, weally.

_Kitty._ What would Miss Kate say?

_Capt._ Who cares what she says? ’Tis you I love, you whom I adore.

_Kitty._ Why, what would March say?

_March._ (_Coming between them._) He’ll be cursed if you do any thing of the kind.

_Kitty._ March! you here?

_Capt._ That howid fisherman!

_March._ Yes, that howid fisherman, you confounded old goggle-eyed sculpin! And as for you, Kitty Sands, I’m ashamed of you. A pretty pair you are! Want to run off, do you?

_Capt._ Come, come, sir! you’re impertinent.

_March._ Oh! I’m impertinent, am I? Wall, I ain’t near-sighted, and I don’t wear eye-glasses, and I can see your nose plainly. (_Takes off his coat, and rolls up his sleeves._)

_Kitty._ Why, March! what are you doing?

_March._ I’m just going to open your nose in the most approved style of the manly art! (_Squares off._)

_Capt._ Lord, gwacious! I believe the fellah’s going to fight!

_Kitty._ March, if you touch him, I’ll call father just as loud as ever I can.

_March._ Well, you call: you’ll get a pretty talking to, I tell you. (_Advances to Capt._)

_Capt._ Here, you stop, you fellah! Stop, I say! (_Retreating towards door, C._)

_March._ I’ll teach you to skulk round here with your airs! (_Advances._)

_Kitty._ Father, father! quick, quick!

_Capt._ That’s right: call your father, or I’m a dead man! (_Enter, C., Jean Grapeau with a large bundle._)

_Grap._ Ha! ze top of ze morning, gentlefolks! How you vas? how you vas?

_Kitty._ A peddler.

_March._ Hallo, Frenchy! where did you drop from?

_Capt._ (_Aside._) They seem to be busy: I’ll just step out. (_Exit, L._)

_Grap._ Ah, sacre! I am ver mouch fatigue, ver mouch all ovar. I have travel all ze day wiz my pack, and not sell ze fust thing; and I see your door open, and I slip in to show you my goods. You pardon me ver mouch.

_March._ Well, old chap, sit down. I’ve got a little job here. Why, the Captain’s gone!

_Kitty._ Yes, he has gone. You’re a pretty fellow, you are!--scared him about to death.

_March._ I’ll scare him if I catch him!

_Kitty._ No, you won’t!

_March._ Yes, I will! Making love to you, darn him!

_Kitty._ Pooh! I don’t care for him. I’m only amusing myself while Bige Parker’s away.

_March._ Bige Parker? Confound him! I’ll lick him, too!

_Kitty._ Oh! will you? You tried that once before, you know.

_Grap._ Sacre! what for you scold, hey? You ver mouch angry, ver mouch. Now, you jest keep yourself quiet, and I sal show you what I has in my pack. Silks for ze leetle girl and shawls for ze leetle girl, brazelets for ze leetle girl.

_Kitty._ Oh, do let me see them!

_March._ See! Why, you’ve got no money to buy.

_Grap._ Nevar mind, nevar mind. I will show zem all ze same for ze plesure I have to please ze leetle girl. Ha, sacre! I be ver mouch fatigue. My old legs, zay have what you call ze shakes. Parbleu! I remember ze time when I vas ver spry,--ver active,--ver robust. In mine own France, ven I vas young, I vas ze great acrobat. I dance on ze cord elastique, zis way,--you see,--zis way! (_Imitating._) Oh, sacre! it is what you call no go, ver mouch. My legs be very old.

_March._ How long you been here?

_Grap._ I have ben in zis country, let me see, ten--twenty--more years ago. I have leave my own home wiz ze grand acrobatic trope zat nevar reach ze land,--nevar.

_March._ Acrobats! why, them’s circus chaps!

_Grap._ Circus chaps! vat you call circus chaps, hey? I no comprend circus chaps.

_March._ Why, the fellers that turn flip-flaps in the tan.

_Grap._ Flip-flaps in ze tan? what for, hey?

_March._ Oh! no matter: let’s see your goods.

_Grap._ (_Attempts to untie bundle._) Sacre! my pack has ze ver hard knot. I must take off my coat! (_Takes off coat_). Parbleu! I am grow old ver fast ver much.

_Mrs. Gale_ (_outside, L._). Kitty! Kitty!

_Kitty._ Oh, gracious! there’s mother. What shall we do? She can’t abide peddlers.

_March._ That she can’t. Old gent, you’ll have to tramp.

_Grap._ Tramp! what for I tramp?

_March._ You’ll get broomed out if you don’t. Here’s a pretty kettle of fish!

_Grap._ Keetle of fish? I see no keetle of fish. (_Enter MRS. GALE, L._)

_Mrs. Gale._ What! a peddler in my house! Get out of this, quick! Out of this, I say!

_Kitty._ It’s only a poor old Frenchman.

_Mrs. Gale._ But he’s a peddler; and I won’t have a peddler in my house. Start! Where’s my broom? (_Exit, L._)

_Grap._ What for she get her broom, hey?

_March._ You’ll find out: quick, run for it!

_Grap._ What for I run for it? Oh, sacre! I see ze old woman wiz ze broom, and I comprend, I comprend! (_Darts out door, C. Enter MRS. GALE, with broom, L._)

_Mrs. Gale._ Where is he? where is he? (_Darts out door, C._)

_Kitty._ Hide the old gentleman’s pack, March, quick! Mother will pitch it into the water. (_March carries it off, L., as MRS. GALE enters._)

_Mrs. Gale._ The idea of a peddler! I’ve had enough on ’em; but they won’t cheat me again in a hurry, I can tell ’em. (_Exit, L._)

_Kitty._ What a blind, silly goose March Gale is!--fighting Bige Parker, and going to fight the Captain, because I encourage their attentions, and can’t see that it’s all to make him speak. So jealous of everybody! If he loves me, why don’t he tell me so? (_Enter Capt., C._)

_Capt._ Ah, ha, my little beauty! you see I have returned.

_Kitty._ Like a dear, charming Captain, as you are.

_Capt._ Where’s that howid fisherman?

_Kitty._ Oh! you needn’t be afraid of him: he’s gone.

_Capt._ Gone, has he? and left the coast clear? What a chawming opportunity!

_Kitty._ Charming opportunity for what?

_Capt._ To tell you, divine cweecher, how I love you.

_Kitty._ You’ve told me that a hundred times.

_Capt._ Let me tell you a hundred times more. (_Sees Grapeau’s coat._) Hold! what’s that?

_Kitty._ Why, your coat,--isn’t it?

_Capt._ Mine? what an howid idea! The idea of my wearing such a coat as that! (_Slips it on._) And such a hat! good gracious! (_Puts on hat._) Don’t I look queer!

_Kitty._ Oh, my! what a queer-looking chap you are! You wouldn’t feel much like making love in that suit,--would you, Captain?

_Capt._ Make love to you, my chawmer! Yes, in any dress.

_Kitty._ Oh, capital! It would be so jolly to have a lover on his knees at my feet, dressed as you are!

_Capt._ On my knees!

_Kitty._ Yes, on your knees. (_Aside._) Don’t I wish March could catch him there! Down on your knees! Quick, or I’ll run off!

_Capt._ (_L._) Well, then, here I am. (_Kneels._) What a howid idea! (_Enter Mrs. Gale, with broom._)

_Mrs. Gale._ That horrid old peddler here again?

_Capt._ Beautiful nymph of the sparkling sea!

_Mrs. Gale._ I declare, he’s sparking our Kitty!

_Capt._ Captivating cweecher! I do love you,--’pon my honor, I do! Your beauty charms me! your bewitching manner stwikes--stwikes--stwikes--st--

_Mrs. Gale._ (_Rushes at him, knocks his hat over his eyes with broom._) I’ll strike you, you tarnal varmint! Get out of my house I say!

_Capt._ (_Gets on his feet, tries to get hat off._) Murder! murder!

_Mrs. Gale._ (_Strikes his hat down again._) Out of my house! You scamp, you villain, you cheat! (_Beats him off, R., the Captain yelling “Murder!”_)

_Kitty._ (_Sinking into chair._) Ha, ha, ha! what a comical figure the Captain does cut! He won’t make love to me again in a hurry. (_Enter Grapeau, C._)

_Grap._ Whist, leetle girl! I have come back for my pack and mine hat and mine coat. Sacre! I have run ver much from ze old lady wiz ze broom. Where she be, hey?

_Kitty._ (_Aside._) Oh, dear! what shall I say?--the Captain’s run off with them. (_Aloud._) My brother has put them away somewhere: you must wait till he returns.

_Grap._ Sacre! I sal get me head break ver much, if I stay here.

_Kitty._ No, mother has just gone out.

_Grap._ Oh! the old lady have gone out? Parbleu! I feel all ze better, ver much; I feel quite ze comfortable. Ha, you be ver pretty girl!

_Kitty._ Oh, pshaw!

_Grap._ What for you say ‘pshaw’? You know I speaks ze truth all ze time! You break ze young men’s hearts all to pieces ver much.

_Kitty._ No, I don’t, Mr. Frenchman.

_Grap._ Ah, ma chere, but you do, you leetle rogue! Did I not see ze young man viz ze red hair? He be ver much in love all over.

_Kitty._ He,--March--in love with me! You are quite mistaken.

_Grap._ Ah, but he be ver much. I see it in his eyes. (_Enter MARCH, C._)

_Kitty._ March love me? No, sir! He’s a selfish--

_Grap._ Take care, ma chere,--take care! You leetle rogue, you love him,--you know you do!

_Kitty._ I don’t, one bit.

_Grap._ Ha, you do! Vat for you plague him so if you no love him? Ha! your eyes,--zay tell ze tale.

_Kitty._ I don’t care if I do: he’s a booby! He don’t love me.

_March._ (_Aside._) Don’t I, though!

_Grap._ Vat for you say that, hey?

_Kitty._ Because he never told me.

_March._ (_Rushing down C._) Then, by jingo! he tells you so now. Kitty Sands, you’re the idol of my heart. There’s a devouring passion in my bosom that gnaws--Oh, pshaw! I can’t imitate the Captain. But, Kitty Gale, I do truly and sincerely love you.

_Kitty._ Why, March Gale! you’ve been listening.

_March._ A little bit, Kitty,--just enough to find out what a fool I’ve been: but it’s all right now. And you’ll marry me one of these days.

_Kitty._ One of these days? When?

_March._ Well, when I find my father.

_Kitty._ Oh, yes, I’ll marry you then, never fear.

_Grap._ Ha! zat is good,--zat is very much better.

_Kitty._ Oh, dear, March! here’s mother coming again.

_Grap._ Ze old lady wiz ze broom? Sacre! I sall get my head broke ver much!

_March._ Old gentleman, you’ll have to make a run of it.

_Grap._ But I have not ze coat nor ze hat. I will catch ze death of cold in mine head! (_Sneezes._) Sacre! I have him now! (_Sneezes._)

_March._ Where is his hat and coat, Kitty?

_Kitty._ I don’t know, but I suspect mother has them now.

_Grap._ Ze old lady wiz my coat? Sacre! zat is ver much too bad,--ver much too bad!

_March._ Run and hide him somewhere,--in the wash-room,--anywhere; for here comes Mother Gale.

_Kitty._ Come, old gentleman! I’ll hide you. (_Exit, with JEAN, L._)

_March._ What a confounded ninny I have been! If I had known this before, I might have saved Bige Parker the trouble of giving me the thrashing I intended for him. But ain’t it jolly! I’m so happy I could sing for joy! (_Sings._)

“Oh, my name was Captain Kyd.”

(_Enter MRS. GALE, R., with broom, which she claps upon MARCH’S head._)

_Mrs. Gale._ I’ll Kyd you!

_March._ Mother Gale, what are you about?

_Mrs. Gale._ About mad. Where’s Kitty? Such a caper! Oh dear, oh dear! I’ve been and chased and chased that confounded peddler way down to the water; and when he gets there, he strips off his coat and hat, and--would you believe it?--it was the Captain!

_March._ Why, Mother Gale! what have you done? what will he say?

_Mrs. Gale._ He didn’t stop to say any thing: he jest gave one leap into the water, and swam for his yacht!

_March._ This is bad. What will Daddy Gale say?

_John Gale._ (_Outside, C._) Now, what’s the use of talking about Sept.?

_Mr. Raymond._ (_Outside._) But I tell you I will be obeyed! (_Both enter, C._)

_March._ Hallo! here’s a breeze.

_Ray._ It’s all your doing, you rusty old sea-horse! You’ve made the boy disobey his father.

_John Gale._ I tell you, Sept. is his own master; and, if he doesn’t choose to go, why here he stays.

_Ray._ It’s a conspiracy to defraud me of my son, and I won’t stand it!

_Mrs. Gale._ What’s the matter?

_John Gale._ Matter? Matter enough! Sept. won’t own his father: that’s what’s the matter!

_Ray._ By your advice! Now, don’t tell me! I know it’s your doing. You envy me the possession of such a son, and you try all you can to keep him here. (_Enter SEPT., C._)

_John Gale._ Do I? Well, here’s the boy now to speak for himself. Look here, Sept. Gale, you’re an ungrateful young scamp! Here’s a father boiling over with love, and rich as an alderman, waiting to take you to his arms. _He_ says I’m trying to keep you here.

_Sept._ Mr. Raymond knows well you have nothing to do with it. I do not acknowledge his claim, because I see no proof. (_Enter KATE, C._)

_Kate._ What’s the matter, father?

_Ray._ Matter? Your brother refuses to acknowledge me as his father, or you as his sister.

_Kate._ Indeed!

_Ray._ Yes, indeed! But I’ll find a way to make him. Hark you, Kate! Capt. Dandelion has again proposed for your hand, to _me_ this time, and I have accepted him: so you can look upon him as your future husband.

_Kate._ Capt. Dandelion!--my husband?

_Sept._ Her husband! I thought it would come to that.

_Ray._ Yes, your husband! You cannot object to the match: he is rich and highly accomplished.

_Kate._ But I do object. He is rich; but, when I marry, it shall be a man, and not a money-bag.

_Ray._ You refuse to obey me?

_Kate._ In this, yes. You have ever found me an obedient child, ready and eager to obey you: but this is a matter in which the heart commands; and mine bids me obey a higher law, which not even a father has power to set aside.

_Ray._ Well, here’s another! The son refuses to acknowledge his father, the daughter her husband! I tell you, girl, you shall marry this man!

_Kate._ I will not! I love another.

_Ray._ And that other?--

_Kate._ September Gale.

_Sept._ True, true as steel.

SITUATION.

(_KATE, R. RAYMOND, R. C. SEPT., C. JOHN GALE, L. C. MARCH, L.
C. MRS. GALE, L. Enter KITTY and GRAPEAU, L., KITTY trying to
screen him as they creep toward door, C. MARCH attracts MRS.
G.’S attention, who seems inclined to turn around._)

_Ray._ Your brother. Confound it, you’re all crazy! Do you want to drive me mad?

_Kate._ He is not my brother.

_Ray._ But I say he is: every circumstance goes to prove it,--“The Diana,” the wreck, the child found upon the sands. I tell you he must be my son.

_John Gale._ Now, what’s the use of talking about the wreck? Wa’n’t there two on ’em? Couldn’t there have been a baby born on board? Couldn’t your wife have made a mistake in the vessel? I don’t see your proof. She might have sailed in “The Gladiator.” (_GRAP. rushes down, C._)

_Grap._ “Ze Gladiator?” What for you say “Ze Gladiator”?

_John Gale._ Hallo! who’s this?

_March._ The old Frenchman’s caught.

_Mrs. Gale._ That plaguy peddler here! Where’s my broom?

_March._ Hold on, Mother Gale! The old gentleman has done me a service, and I’ll stand by him.

_Ray._ What does he know of “The Gladiator”?

_Grap._ “Ze Gladiator”? Sacre! I have know “Ze Gladiator” too much,--ver too much. I have sailed from my own France ever so long ago in ze ship call “Ze Gladiator.”

_John Gale._ When was that?

_Grap._ Oh, sacre! ten, twenty-one, two, three years ago.

_Ray._ Twenty-three years ago?

_Grap._ Oui, oui! But, sacre? she was vat you call wreck; she all go to ze pieces on ze sands, and I have to make ze passage on ze leetle frail hen-coop.

_March._ Oh, it’s coming,--it’s coming! Say, old man,--Frenchy,--look here! where was this?

_Grap._ Parbleu! I do not know ze place. I have sail on ze hen-coop far, far away from ze wreck before I picks myself up.

_March._ But--O Lord! somebody hold me!--the passengers?--any babies aboard?

_Grap._ Babies? passengers? Oui, oui! zere vas ze passengers,--ze lady and ze little baby; but ze poor lady die before ze ship all go to ze pieces.

_Ray._ Died! This lady,--do you know her name?

_Grap._ Oh, sacre, no! ze membrance fail me ver much. Ze beautiful lady,--she was so pale and so young, mine heart feel ver much for her. Her name--sacre!--oh, it have gone from me. She was ze kind lady, for I vas ver sick. Her name--She was ze light--ze light--Oh, sacre! I have ze name. What ze sun do when he shine,--when he shine? He shoot--he shoot de--de--oh, sacre! my poor old head!--He shoots de--

_Kitty._ Rays?

_Grap._ Ha, ze little rogue,--ze pooty leetle girl! Zat vas her name,--Ray--Ray--Ray--

_Ray._ Heavens, man, speak! Was it Raymond?

_Grap._ Oui, _oui_! Ze Raymond,--ze beautiful Madam Raymond!

_Ray._ Gracious heavens! My wife! But the child, old man?--the child?

_Grap._ Ze child? ah, ze poor lady,--she have made ze grand mistake: she have engage a passage in ze oder ship vich sail ze same day; but ze stupid driver take her to ze wrong ship, too late for her too make ze change. Ze fatal mistake; for ze unlucky ship met wiz disaster upon disaster,--ze very long passage, and ze wreck at last.

_John Gale._ Long passage! I should think so; six months behind time!

_Ray._ But the child?

_Grap._ Oui, ze child! Ven ze poor lady die, ze capitan, he take ze leetle boy, and he say, “I do not know zis child or his mozar, but ze child sall be remembered.” So, wiz ze needle and ze ink, he prick upon ze leetle arm of ze leetle boy ze leetle red anchor.

_Ray._ Sept. Gale, speak the truth! Have you such a mark upon your arm?

_Sept._ No, no,--thank Heaven, no!

_March._ (_Rushing to C._) One minute! Just somebody watch me, for I know it’s coming! (_Throws off his coat and rolls up his sleeves._) It’s no use trying to deceive me any longer! I am the child! See the little red anchor!

_All._ The anchor!

_Ray._ My boy, my boy!

_John Gale._ } Our March!
_Mrs. Gale._ }

_Sept._ Heaven be praised!

_Kate._ My dear, dear brother!

_Grap._ (_Patting March on the back._) Ha! ze leetle baby have grown ver much,--ver much. Zis is vat you call jolly.

_March._ Jolly, old Frenchy? That’s so, and I owe it all to you. But where’s Kitty?

_Kitty._ (_Up stage, C._) Here, March.

_March._ What are you skulking back there for? You know what you told me to-day.

_Kitty._ But I didn’t think you’d ever find your father; and now you’re rich, and I’m only a poor girl.

_March._ Father, you’ve found a son to-day, and that son has found a wife. You must take both, or neither: which shall it be?

_Mrs. Gale._ What! our Kitty!

_John Gale._ Yes, our Kitty.

_Ray._ Well, I don’t know. I must have time to consider.

_March._ No, you mustn’t. Speak quick, or you lose us. I wanted a father bad enough; but thus far I have done without one, and I rather think--

_Ray._ Now, stop! don’t _you_ disobey me. I’ll take you both.

_Kate._ That’s a dear father! I know I shall love Kitty dearly; and March and I have been like brother and sister,--haven’t we, March?

_March._ Ay, that we have,--you and I and Sept. By the by, what’s to become of Sept.? Where’s _his_ father?

_Sept._ Don’t trouble yourself about me. I’ve got a father here in John Gale.

_Ray._ And here’s another, if you’ll own him. Sept., here’s my daughter, who refused to obey me. I’d give her to you, only, as she has refused to obey me, and--

_Kate._ Dear father, I wouldn’t refuse again for the world.

_Ray._ Then take her, Sept. You deserve her. Well, John Gale, what have you got to say to this?

_John Gale._ Now, what’s the use talking about what I’ve got to say? What will the Captain have to say? (_Enter Capt., C._)

_Capt._ Quite a family party, I declare!

_Ray._ Why, Captain! where have you been?

_Capt._ I’ve just been aboard my wacht, to change my clothing; that’s all. ’Twas a little chilly.

_Mrs. Gale._ Why, Captain! you looked warm enough when I saw you last.

_Capt._ That howid old woman!--she’s poking fun at me: I know she is.

_Ray._ Well, Captain, I mentioned your proposal to my daughter; but she positively refuses to marry you.

_Capt._ I’m doosed glad of it; for I’ve found a beautiful cweecher, who suits me better.

_Ray._ Who is that, pray?

_Capt._ Miss Kitty Gale.

_March._ You’re too late, Captain: she’s engaged to me.

_Capt._ You?--a howid fisherman!

_Ray._ You are mistaken. This young man is my son. It’s all out at last.

_Capt._ Well, it’s doosed plain that I’m out too: so I’ll get up anchor, and off for the city again in my wacht.

_Grap._ Ze Capitan seems what zay call ver much over ze come.

_John Gale._ Old lady, it strikes me, if we are to have any dinner to-day--

_Mrs. Gale._ Land sakes! I forgot all about it. You, March, run--Oh, dear! what shall I do without March?

_John Gale._ Never mind March: we’ve got Sept. left.

_Kate._ But suppose I take him away?

_John Gale._ O Lord! what shall we do without Sept.?

_Sept._ You shan’t do without him. We began life here in the old shanty; and, whatever fortune may have in store for him, this is his home.

_Ray._ I begin to like this place. We’ll set the men at work, and put up a house on the bluffs, large and roomy.

_John Gale._ That’s right; for this union of the Gales will be likely to end in a squall.

_Ray._ It shall be a family house, with room enough for Sept. and his wife, March and his wife, John Gale and his wife, I and the Captain; and, once a year at least, we’ll all meet there, to talk over old times, and return thanksgiving for the treasures found down by the sea.

DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS:

R. KATE, SEPT., CAPT., RAY., JOHN GALE, MRS. GALE, MARCH, KITTY, L.

A CLOSE SHAVE.

A FARCE.

CHARACTERS.

CRUSTY (a man of means, generally considered a mean man).
TONSOR (a barber).
MCGINNIS (his assistant).
ZEB (a colored apprentice).
HEAVYFACE (a hypochondriac).
SIMPER (an exquisite).

SCENE.--_Tonsor’s barbershop. Two barber’s chairs, C., facing
audience. Table, L., with two hand-mirrors upon it. Table,
R., with razors, strop, shaving-cups, towels, &c. MCGINNIS
discovered dusting._

_McGinnis._ Now, isn’t this illigant! It’s a moighty foine lift I have in the worrld, onyhow. Mike McGinnis, who’s curried the horse and fed the pig, toted the hod and tinded the cows, promoted to the illigant position of a man-shaver! Oh! be jabbers, it’s moighty foine intirely,--what much I know ov it, and that’s moighty little. Faith, when Mr. Tonsor’s assistant was took wid the faver, it was at his wit’s ends he was intirely. Sez he to me, sez he,--for it’s always moighty fond he was of me whin I lived wid his father,--“Mike,” sez he, “did iver yer shave?”--“Is it meself?” says I: “faith, yes,--wid a pair of scissors.” “No, no!” sez he: “did ever yer shave anybody?” “Faith, yes,” sez I--“the pig.”--“Oh, murther!” says he: “I mane a man.”--“Niver a wun,” sez I; “but I could soon learn.” And so he took me in here to learn the business; but it’s precious little I’m learning, for the mashter does all the shaving: but the time must come, and then look out for yoursilf, Mike McGinnis. (_Enter Tonsor, R._)

_Ton._ Ah, Mike! Brushing up? That’s good. I do like to see a busy man. Where’s Zeb?

_Mike._ Faith, I don’t know. It’s moighty little he’s shown of his face at all, at all.

_Ton._ The lazy scamp! that’s just like him. No doubt he’s down at the Corners dancing jigs, or turning flip-flaps for coppers.

_Mike._ Faix, that’s what yer might call turning an honest penny!

_Ton._ Any customers this morning, Mike?

_Mike._ Sorra a wun.

_Ton._ It’s a little early. They’ll soon be dropping in. Heigho, Mike! was you ever in love?

_Mike._ Ah! away wid yer, now! Ask an Irishman such a silly question as that! Musha, it’s nearly kilt I am wid the love of Nora Honey. Ah! but the ould man’s got rich _peddling panuts_.

_Ton._ A rich father, who does not encourage your attentions!

_Mike._ Sorra a bit. “Mike,” sez he,--and it’s moighty winning he is in his way,--“the front uv my door is illigantly painted on the outside,--much finer than the inside; and you’d do well to examine it whin you’re passing by,--whin you’re passing by, mind.”

_Ton._ Meaning, “I won’t turn you out, but you can’t stay here.”

_Mike._ That’s jest what he meant. Faith, it’s well posted yez are in the trials and tribulations uv the tinder passion.

_Ton._ Yes, Mike; I can sympathize with you. I’m desperately in love myself.

_Mike._ You?

_Ton._ Yes, and with the daughter of a rich man, and my love is returned. Ah, Mike! she is the paragon of loveliness!--the otto of roses!--the pink of purity.

_Mike._ The shaving-cream uv perfiction, and the hair-oil uv illigance! Oh, murther! they’re all alike till they find you’ve no money.

_Ton._ Ah! but she’s entirely different, Mike. She is willing--nay, anxious--to share my humble fortunes. ’Tis I who dread to take her from all the rich comforts she has enjoyed, and ask her to share--

_Mike._ Love in a cottage, wid bacon and greens! Faith, you’re right: it’s a mighty foine picter, but hard of digestion. What says the ould gintleman?

_Ton._ He knows nothing about it.

_Mike._ And yer haven’t asked his consint?

_Ton._ No: it would be useless. He has declared his daughter shall marry only a rich man; that he will not let her walk, ride, or receive the visits of any young man; that he will cut her off with a shilling should she marry _without his consent_.

_Mike._ The taring ould heathin!

_Ton._ He is encouraging the attentions of young Simper, whom the young lady detests, and whom he only tolerates because he has a rich father.

_Mike._ The miserable ould varmint! But who is he?

_Ton._ One of my customers,--old Jotham Crusty.

_Mike._ What! that ould skinflint? His consint? It’s precious little he’d give onyhow.

_Zeb._ (_Outside, R._) Ain’t yer ’shamed yerself, yer great, overgrown? Fie!--for shame! Yer ought to be redicleish!

_Ton._ Hallo! here’s Zeb. What’s the matter now? (_Enter ZEB, R., shaking his head and fighting imaginary foes outside._) Where have you been? and what is the matter?

_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess--Who-o-o-’s a nigger? Who--who’s a nigger? Dar ain’t no niggers now: didn’t de prancepation krocklemation make ’em white folks, hey?

_Ton._ Here, what’s the matter?

_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess--a parcel of ignumramuses a-yellin’ and a-shoutin’ as ef dey nebber seed a tanned man afore. What does de Declamation of Indempendence say,--hey?

_Ton._ No matter what it says. You just take off your jacket and go to work, or you’ll find out what a tanned man is. (_ZEB takes off his jacket, R._)

_Mike._ Faith, Zeb, it’s plaguing uv yez the b’ys have been.

_Zeb._ Yes, well I guess--Who’s a nigger? what does the Constitution say,--hey?

_Ton._ Look here, Zeb! if you open your mouth again, it won’t be healthy for your constitution.

_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess!--

_Ton._ Shut up quick, and hone those razors! (_ZEB goes to table, R._) We’ve had just enough of your talk. (_Enter CRUSTY, R._)

_Crusty._ Oh! you’re here, are you? Pretty time this is to get your place open,--ain’t it? You forget it’s the early bird that catches the worm.

_Zeb._ Worms? worms? Going a-fishing, Massa Crusty.

_Ton._ You Zeb!--

_Zeb._ By golly, I know where ’em are!--flounders as big as a slab; and eels, golly,--what whoppers!

_Ton._ Shut up, and mind your business! Yes, Mr. Crusty; first chance for you this morning.

_Crusty._ Yes, I should think so! I tell you what, Tonsor, you don’t go to work right to make a fortune. Do as I did,--early to bed, and early up in the morning. You live too fast: you should sober down. Why don’t you get married?

_Ton._ Ah, Mr. Crusty, that’s the very thing I would like to do. A nice little wife, a nice home, every thing comfortable,--ah, sir! a man must be happy.

_Crusty._ Of course he must, and make money too. Why don’t you try it? There’s plenty of girls about here anxious to get a husband.

_Ton._ I know that, sir; but I’ve already made my choice.

_Crusty._ Oh! you have? Then why don’t you get married, have a little comfort, and not poke along in this way, with no company but a thick-headed Irishman and a ball of blacking?

_Mike._ Faith, it’s mighty complimentary is the ould gint, onyhow.

_Zeb._ Yes, well I guess! Ball of blacking,--blacking! What does the Declamation--

_Ton._ Shut up, Zeb!

_Crusty._ Say, Tonsor, why don’t you get married?

_Ton._ Well, sir, you see, sir--

_Crusty._ Oh, bother! why don’t you speak out?

_Mike._ Faith, Mr. Crusty, I’ll be afther telling uv yez: it’s mighty bashful is the masther. Ye say, sir, it’s all along uv the young lady’s father.

_Crusty._ Well, what of him?

_Mike._ Ye say, sir, he’s wealthy and concaited, and manes the daughter shall niver marry anybody but a rich man.

_Crusty._ Not when such a likely young man as Tonsor offers? The mean old scamp!

_Mike._ That’s thrue for yez, sir. He won’t let her go wid a young man, or have a young man come uv courtin’ her.

_Crusty._ The miserable old scoundrel!

_Mike._ And swears by all that’s blue that he’ll cut her off widout a shilling if she marries widout his consent.

_Crusty._ The miserly old vagabond! Look here, Tonsor, you must marry this girl directly.

_Ton._ Marry her!

_Crusty._ Marry her?--yes! Confound you! don’t you want to?

_Ton._ But her father--

_Crusty._ Who cares for him? The mean old scamp! I’d like to play him a trick, and I will too. Here, you just take my chaise,--it’s at the door,--get the young lady, go down to Hobson, get a license, and then be off to Parson Sanborn, and get married at once.

_Ton._ But, Mr. Crusty, her father will not consent to this.

_Crusty._ Confound her father! Who cares for him or his consent? I give mine, and that is enough. I’m the richest man in the place; and, if anybody complains, let ’em sue me for damages. I won’t have such a confounded mean old cuss--

_Ton._ Take care, Mr. Crusty!

_Crusty._ --tomer in town!

_Ton._ You will back me in this?

_Crusty._ Back you?--of course I will! Do you suppose I’ll stand by and see youth and honesty and worth given the go-by, by an old, mean--

_Ton._ Don’t, Mr. Crusty,--don’t call him names.

_Crusty._ Here, I’ll give you a note to Parson Sanborn, and another for old Hobson. They’ll help you along. I’ll tell the parson to tie the knot strong. (_Goes to table, R._) A mean, contemptible scamp!

_Zeb._ By golly, the old man’s crazy sure for sartain! See him eyes roll!

_Ton._ Mike, I’ve a great mind to take the old man at his word.

_Mike._ If yer don’t, yer a goose. He gives his consent, and ye’ll have it in writin’, too. Go it, honey!

_Crusty._ There you are: there’s a note for the parson, and another for old Hobson. Give my regards to the lady, and tell her she’s a goose if she misses such a chance of getting a husband.

_Ton._ Thank you, Mr. Crusty. I’ll be off at once. Mike, you look after the shop. Don’t let old Crusty out of here for half an hour, mind.

_Crusty._ Come, come! I want that horse and chaise in half an hour.

_Ton._ All right, sir. I’ll be back before then. Mike, give the old gentleman a shave. Good-by! I’m off. (_Exit, R._)

_Mike._ Good luck to yez! Here’s an old shoe for luck. (_Throws a shoe off, R., which hits ZEB in head._)

_Zeb._ Stop, yer fool--will yer? By golly, you almos’ broke my jaw!

_Mike._ Faith, if I had, ’twould been a savin’ for the shop.

_Crusty._ The young man’s off. Good joke on the girl’s father! Well, it won’t cost me any thing; so I can afford to give my consent. (_Takes off handkerchief and dicky._) Now, my man, I’ll trouble you for a shave.

_Mike._ A shave! (_Aside._) Oh, murther! how could I go to work to shave this ould rhinoceros?

_Crusty._ Come, be lively! I want to get out of this at once. I’m wanted at the house.

_Mike._ Oh, murther and Irish! at the house is it? (_Aside._) Faith, that’ll niver do. (_Aloud._) Here, sit down here, sir.

_Crusty._ (_Sits in chair, R. C._) A close shave, mind!

_Mike._ A close shave is it? (_Aside._) By the blissed St. Patrick, what’s that? (_Enter SIMPER, R._)

_Simper._ Now, weally, ’tis disgustingly vulgaw,--it is weally,--the ideah of a wefined gentleman being compelled to entaw such a howid place, to have his chin shaved, and his whiskaws twimmed: it is weally!

_Mike._ Your turn next, sir: take a seat.

_Simper._ My turn next? Do you weally mean to say that I must wait? Aw!

_Mike._ Faith, honey, you must: there’s niver a wun to shave you at all, at all!

_Simper._ But I can’t wait,--I can’t weally. I have a pwessing engagement. A dear, delightful cweecher is fondly waiting my coming,--she is weally.

_Crusty._ (_Aside._) Then all I’ve got to say, she’s got a job. Here, you slow coach! am I never to have a shave?

_Mike._ In a minit, sir: the wather’s could. (_Puts wrappers, towel, &c., round him._)

_Simper._ Yes, weally, you must attend to me. The dear cweecher will die: I know she will.

_Crusty._ Then let her die, or shave yourself!

_Mike._ Faith, sir, I can’t help it. Oh, murther! that’s Zeb. It’s high time he had his hand in. Here, Zeb! shave that gintleman.

_Zeb._ What dat you say, hey?

_Mike._ Oh, bother! Shave that gintleman.

_Zeb._ Shabe him,--shabe him? me shabe him? By golly! in coose,--in coose! (_To SIMPER._) Dar’s de cheer. Hist yerself,--hist yerself!

_Simper._ Do what?

_Zeb._ Hist yerself, honey! Discompose yerself in dat are cheer.

_Simper._ Now, weally, the ideah of placing myself in the hands of such a howible cweecher! It’s too bad,--it is weally. (_Sits in chair, &c. ZEB puts wrapper and towel about him._)

_Simper._ Now, Mr. Bawbaw.

_Zeb._ Mr. Which?

_Simper._ Use despatch.

_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess not; we use razors hea, we do.

_Crusty._ Come, come, hurry up.

_Mike._ Yes, sir, intirely, sir. (_Lathers him. ZEB lathers SIMPER, putting it plentifully in his mouth._)

_Simper._ Ph--ph--ph--! deuse take you; do you want to choke me with your nasty soap?

_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess not. It’s jest as wholesome as flap-jacks and sirup. (_To MIKE._) I’ve got him lathered: what will I do with him now?

_Mike._ Do, you spalpeen?--do wid him as I do wid de _other_ chap. (_Takes the razor._) Now for my first attimpt at shaving. Blessed St. Patrick, befrind me, or I be afthir cuttin’ his wizen.

_Zeb._ (_Goes to table, taking razor._) I’m to do as Mike does: golly, I kin do dat jist. (_During the next speeches he runs between the two chairs, watching MIKE, and shaving SIMPER._)

_Simper._ Now, bawbaw, do your neatest; for, in a few minutes, I shall be at the feet of a divine cweecher.

_Zeb._ Screecher! does she play on de banjo too.

_Simper._ Be careful now, don’t destwoy the symmetwy of my whiskaws.

_Zeb._ (_aside_). Sim--sim--sim--what am dat? By golly, Mike’s taking de whiskers off dat chap of his’en.

_Simper._ I say, bawbaw: in a few minutes I shall thwow myself at the feet of this divine cweecher; and I shall say--

_Crusty._ Confound you, stupid, you’ve cut me--

_Mike._ Oh, murder! it was the razor. Bedad, I wish I was well out of this.

_Simper._ Oh!--murder!--murder! you’ve cut me hawwibly!

_Zeb._ By golly, so I has. (_Aside._) Must do jes as Mike does.

_Simper._ Be careful, bawbaw: don’t spoil my complexion; for it would be hawwible to meet my chawmew, the divine Kate Cwusty, with a howwid cut.

_Crusty._ Kate! this must be Simper. (_CRUSTY and SIMPER having their heads back in the chairs are supposed not to see each other._)

_Simper._ Yes, bawbaw, the rich Miss Kate Cwusty. Her fathaw’s immensely wich,--a gay old boy, who likes to save his money; but we’ll teach him better when we are mawwied.

_Crusty._ (_Aside._) Will you? confound you! we’ll see about that.

_Simper._ Bawbaw, be a little more gentle, if you please; handle my ambwosials very carefully.

_Zeb._ Ambrose who? Ambrose! by golly, I used to know an Ambrose down Souf,--a molasses-darkey, about your complex--

_Simper._ Why, you, bawbaw, do you mean to compare me to a negwo?

_Zeb._ Molasses-color, molasses-color! dat’s all.

_Simper._ Why, you infuwnal nigg--

_Zeb._ Hey! what’s dat you call? Hey! what’s dat, what den’s the Constitution say. Hey! (_flourishing razor._)

_Simper._ Good gwacious! put down that wazor!

_Zeb._ What did the ’mancipation krocklamation do, hey? (_Flourishing razor._)

_Simper._ Dear me! will you put down that wazor?

_Zeb._ Nigah! by golly, if you ain’t dark complexed yourself I’d--I’d--

_Simper._ Help! murdew! put down that wazor!

_Mike._ Faith, Zeb, if yer not quiet, out yer go.

_Zeb._ Ob course, ob course! what’s the dec--

_Mike._ Oh! whist wid yer blarney, and shave the man.

_Crusty._ Come, come, hurry up: will you never get through?

_Mike._ In a minute: aisy, aisy, sir! (_Enter HEAVYFACE._)

_Heavy._ Oh, yes! of course: all full, just as I expected! That’s the way the world over: there’s nothing but disappointment; every thing goes against me.

_Mike._ Your turn next, sir.

_Heavy._ Now, I suppose you call that consolation. I tell you the world is all going wrong; there’s nothing but misery and deceit in it. (_Takes a chair, and seats himself between the two barber’s chairs._) A man’s got no real friends in this world: your riches are deceitful, your dearest friend may be your foe. Now, I suppose you two chaps feel perfectly comfortable in those chairs, with a pair of grinning fiends standing over you with razors, ready at the slightest provocation to plunge them in your throats.

_Simper._ Oh, hawaws! } _Together rising up._
_Crusty._ What do you mean? }

_Mike._ (_Pushing back CRUSTY._) Aisy, now, honey: it’s all right; don’t be timorous.

_Zeb._ (_Pushing back SIMPER._) It’s all right, all right! don’ be timbertoed.

_Heavy._ Oh, yes! of course they say it’s all right, and you believe them; but I tell you it’s all wrong: wickedness and deceit are hid beneath the most smiling faces. I’ve heard horrible stories of barbers: they have been known to murder their customers in their chairs.

_Crusty._ } _Starting up._ { Goodness, gracious!
_Simper._ } { Oh, hawwible!

_Mike._ Now, do be aisy: I’ll finish you directly.

_Crusty._ No, you won’t! I object to being finished by you. Put down that razor: I’ve had quite enough. You’ve been long enough on my face to plough an acre of land.

_Mike._ (_Aside._) Faith! it’s about as tough a job,--but I haven’t finished.

_Crusty._ Well, then, you shan’t; wipe my face! quick! quick, do you hear? (_MIKE wipes face._)

_Simper._ Bawbaw, I’ve had quite enough: wipe my face, and give me a mirraw. (_ZEB wipes face._)

_Zeb._ All right, massa! all right!

_Heavy._ Quite enough! I should think you had! Men generally do get enough in this world of misery! nothing but misery! We’re all going to the bad. There’s that barber, Tonsor, instead of attending to his customers, he is off on a spree. I met him with a young woman, and I’ll bet he’s off to get married. He’s bound for perdition.

_Crusty._ Good, good, good!

_Heavy._ Good! suppose he’s run off with somebody’s daughter!

_Crusty._ I know he has!

_Heavy._ You know he has? You are a pretty man,--you are! perhaps you aided and abetted him. How should you like it if it was your daughter, instead of old Crusty’s?

_Crusty._ (_Starting up._) My daughter?

_Simper._ Old Cwusty’s daughtaw?

(_They both start up, and speak together. CRUSTY has one side of face shaved clean of whiskers, the other untouched. SIMPER has one of his whiskers and half of his mustache gone; they sit, and look at each other. HEAVYFACE between, ZEB, L., and MIKE, R._)

_Heavy._ Well, you’re a pair of beauties,--you are!

_Simper._ Old Cwusty here--as I’m alive! it’s all up with me. (_ZEB hands him mirror._)

_Crusty._ My daughter! I see it all! What a confounded fool I’ve been! gone and helped that Tonsor to run off with my daughter. It’s horrible! I shall be the laughing-stock of the whole village!

_Simper._ (_Looking in mirror._) Good gwacious! horwible! what do I see! my whiskaws and my beautiful mustache totally wuined! totally wuined!

_Crusty._ After all the money I have spent for her education!

_Simper._ Good gwacious! after all the hair-oil I’ve poured ovaw them!

_Crusty._ The masters I’ve given her!

_Simper._ The care I’ve bestowed upon them!

_Crusty._ Every accomplishment has been given her!

_Simper._ They’ve been twimmed and curled day aftew day!

_Crusty._ And to lose her thus! It’s too bad!

_Simper._ And to be shorn and mangled thus! It’s hawwible!

_Crusty._ (_Sees his face in the glass._) What’s this? my whiskers gone! O you idiot! you infernal scoundrel, what have you done?

_Mike._ Faith, it’s the bist I could do: it’s mighty little I’m acquainted round here.

_Crusty._ I’ll teach you to mangle me in that way, you scoundrel! (_Runs after MIKE, who gets under table, L._)

_Mike._ Aisy, Mr. Crusty: yer wanted a close shave; and, ’pon my word, I’d a ’gin it to yer if you’d waited!

_Zeb._ By golly! Mike’s under de table. Well, I guess I better look out for squalls. (_Gets under table, R._)

_Simper._ Where’s that horrid bawbaw? (_Sees ZEB under table, R._) The scoundwel! you black imp!--

_Zeb._ Hold yer hush! hold you hush! what dous the Declamation--

_Crusty._ Come out of that, or I break the table about your head.

_Mike._ If you plaze, Mr. Crusty, I’d rather stop here. (_Enter TONSOR, L._)

_Crusty._ Oh! you’re back,--are you? Now, you villain, what do you mean by running off with my daughter?

_Ton._ I beg your pardon, sir; but I couldn’t help it: I was tempted.

_Crusty._ Tempted by who?

_Ton._ The writer of this note (_reads_). “Dear Parson, Marry this couple quickly, and marry them strong. The young man is worthy of any young lady in the place. The father of the lady, an ugly old scamp, objects; but I’ll give my consent and will pay all damages. Yours, Jotham Crusty.” These were my instructions, which I have carefully obeyed. I’ve brought back your chaise; and you’ll find my wife in it ready to thank her dear father for his thoughtful attention in giving her the husband of her choice.

_Heavy._ (_Who has taken barber’s chair vacated by CRUSTY._) Crusty, you are slightly done.

_Crusty._ Oh, yes! this is nuts for you, you sour old hypochondriac. You think you are going to crow over me; but you shan’t. I’ve lost a daughter, but I’ve found a son. Here, Tonsor, here’s my hand: the old man’s sold, and must own up. Sell out this business, shut up shop, and come home.

_Ton._ Thank you! I’ll sell at once. Here’s Mike: he shall have it.

_Crusty._ He! why, look at my face!

_Ton._ We’ll set him up in business with Zeb.

_Simper._ That horrid bawbaw! look at my ambwosials.

_Mike._ Faix! I go into business wid dat black son of Africa?

_Zeb._ Hold yer hush! hold yer hush! dare’s no brack, now. What doz the Declamation of Indecempendence say?

_Ton._ No matter what it says: you shall have the business. So, after thanking all here for their kind attention to my business while away, I will retire, as there is only one thing I require,--their kind plaudits.

_Crusty._ Hold on, Tonsor: there’s something else. Here’s Simper: he’s lost a wife and half his whiskers; I’ve lost a daughter and half mine; so I’ll take the chair.

_Heavy._ Hold on! hold on! it’s my turn next!

_Crusty._ Why, you’ve just been railing at barbers and razors and the wickedness of the world: will you put yourself in their hands?

_Heavy._ To be sure I will. We’re all going to the bad. I’m reconciled, and they can’t hurt me.

_Crusty._ Well, have your turn; and, after you get through, I’ll see if I can’t have what I came here for.

_Ton._ What was that, father-in-law?

_Crusty._ A clean shave.

DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS.

R., ZEB, SIMPER, CRUSTY, TONSOR, HEAVY, MIKE, L.

CAPULETTA; OR, ROMEO AND JULIET RESTORED.

AN OPERATIC BURLESQUE.

CHARACTERS.

CAPULET, a Gentleman of Verona.
ROMEO, } Gay Lords of Verona.
MERCUTIO, }
JULIET, Capulet’s Fair Daughter.

_Costumes to suit the taste of the performers._

SCENE 1. _Garden in front of CAPULET’S house. Door, C.
Balcony (the balcony is a shed with poles and lines filled
with clothes drying), R. C. Set bushes or trees, L. C. Enter
CAPULET, C., in dressing-gown, carrying a lantern._

_Cap._ Now is the winter of my discontent
Made glorious summer by this dark night sent,
And all the troubles gathering o’er my house
In inky darkness I may bid _varmouse_.
Now on my brows my night-cap sets at ease;
My bruised arms no more my _fire_-arms seize;
No stern alarms to wake me from a nap,
To spring wild rattles, and revolvers snap;
Stern visaged war--Why, what am I about?
I did not come out, Richard III. to spout.
I am the father of a daughter dear,--
Dear! yes, she costs a thousand pounds a year.
They call her fair, they praise her auburn tresses,
And go in raptures o’er her handsome dresses.
Her hats outdo Verona’s richest lasses--
So small they can’t be seen without opera glasses.
She sports in silks and satins of the best
That can be made by Madam Demor_est_.
Verona’s gallants seek to flirt and flout
With this dear _gal_, when’er her _aunt_ is out.
They’d like to catch her with a wedding-ring;
And so they come at night to spout and sing.
But I won’t have it: under lock and key,
This floating _belle_ shall _ring_ for none but me.
I am her father; and my lawyer knows,
Paying for her dresses, I can keep her _close_.
All’s safe to-night, and so I’ll tramp to bed--

(_Moon rises._)[1]

What’s that? the moon is rising overhead,
And coming up in such a smashing way,
It rivals the Museum’s famous Peep o’ Day.
So I’ll to bed, and should marauders roam,
Let them beware; for Capulet’s at home.

(_Exit, C._)

_JULIET appears on balcony with a jar of pickled limes._

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “No one to Love.”_

No one to woo, none to address
A tender young maid in the greatest distress.
Hard is my lot; beaux I have none;
On this piazza I’m sitting alone.
No gentle man, no tender lad,
Comes here to woo: ’tis really too bad.
No one to woo, none to address
A tender young maid in the greatest distress.
Hard is my lot, beaux I have none;
On this piazza I’m sitting alone.

_Jul._ Ah, me! Ah, me! Ah, me! Oh, my!
I cannot sleep, nor tell the reason why.
’Tis now the very _witching_ hour of night,
_Which_ is to say, it would be if ’twas light.
Why, there’s the moon, quite dear to me, I’m sure:
I never felt she was so _near_ before.
O beauteous queen! descend from thy high sphere,
And taste a pickled lime with me, my dear.
I’ll tell thee lots of scandal and of fashion,
And whisper in thine ear my tale of passion;
For I’m in love; in love with a dear feller
I met one night while seeing Cinderella.
Oh, such a dear! dear me, I’m in a flutter.
He’s young and rich, and sweet as fresh June butter:
His name is Romeo; he’s the idol of the town;
I’ll sing his praise. Prythee, dear, come down.

_ROMEO (outside), L. sings._

We won’t go home till morning,
We won’t go home till morning,
We won’t go home till morning,
Till Juliet doth appear.

_Enter ROMEO and MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Shut up, old chap, this strain will never do:
’Twill get us both locked up in Station Two.

_Rom._ Mercut_h_, old chap, I’ll own I’m rather airy,
And feel as limber as a Black-Crook fairy.
’S all right, old fel’, I’m deuced glad you’re here:
Fact is, I hardly know which way to steer.