Chapter IV: Act 1 (3)

_Mer._ Oh, ho! I see King Lager’s been with you,
And on his beer you’re settled fast and true.
He is the Dutchman’s idol, and he puffs
In shape as monstrous as Jack Falstaff’s stuffs.
His throne’s a monstrous cask of his own brew,
With courtiers drawing him by two and two.
His crown Dutch cheese, his sceptre’s a Bologna.
His subjects--well, they’re _mustered_ in Verona.
His drink is Bock, his food is sour krout,
Pretzels his lunch, his night-cap, gin, without.
And in this guise he keeps a jolly pace,
Shaking his sides, a grin upon his face.
Great in our land as is our famous eagle,
He sings in opera, and he fights mit Sigel.

_Rom._ Steady, my boy, you’re really getting dry.
My stars! old fellow, what’s that in the sky?

_Mer._ The moon, of course--

_Rom._ But I see two, I’ll swear.

_Mer._ Then you see double.

_Rom._ There’s the other there (_points to Juliet_).

_Mer._ Another? Bless me! ’tis too brilliant far.
Call that a moon? It is a glorious star.

_Rom._ Call that a star? by what arrangement, pray?

_Mer._ Why, don’t you know? The star of our new play.

_Rom._ You speak in _meteor_-phor, now pray have done.
What is’t o’clock?

_Mer._ Four-quarters after one.

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “Five o’clock in the Morning.”_

My father is snugly in his bed,
Taking his morning nap;
My aunt has stuffed her waterfall
Under her snow-white cap;
The crickets are singing merrily;
While I, all danger scorning,
Sit quietly eating pickled limes,
At two o’clock in the morning.

Then what care I for costly gems,
Or silks and satins fine?
I know full well when daylight comes
That those will all be mine.
Alone on my father’s balcony,
Far, far, from fashion’s warning,
I’m happier far with my pickled limes,
At two o’clock in the morning.

_Rom._ Mercutio, it’s really getting late:
You know that your mamma for you will wait;
You’d better go.

_Mer._ Oh, no! I thank you, chum!
My ma will look for me when I’m to _hum_.
I’ll stay a while.

_Rom._ Mercutio, listen now,
’Tis not the time of night to pick a row.
There’s an old proverb, really ’tis well done,
That two is company, and three is none.
Now, pray consider--

_Mer._ You are right, ’tis so:
As two is company, you’d better go.

_Rom._ Oh, pshaw! Mercutio have no more such fun.

_Mer._ He’s scared at jests who never made a pun.

_Rom._ But, soft! what light in yonder window lies?
It is the (_y_)east.

_Mer._ There’s something on the rise.

_Rom._ It is the east, and Juliet is the sun--
Arise! fair sun.

_Mer._ Oh, murder! do have done;
Of grammar you are making fearful slaughter.
What gender makes a son of Capulet’s daughter?

_Rom._ Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon--

_Mer._ You are getting to the killing part too soon.

_Rom._ Who is already sick and pale with grief--

_Mer._ Then give it a dose of Radway’s Ready Relief.

_Rom._ She speaks, yet she says nothing--

_Mer._ Nary word;
Upon my life, such silence ne’er was heard.

_Rom._ See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

_Mer._ Because she’s tired: can’t you understand?

_Rom._ Oh! would I were some gloves upon thy--

_Mer._ _Pause!_
Or else old Capulet’ll have us in his claws.

_Rom._ That I might print a kiss upon that cheek!

_Mer._ Hold on a moment ere you further speak:
You’re getting cheeky with your warm address.
If you must print, go try the printing-press.

_Jul._ Ah, me! ah, me! ah, me! oh, my!

_Rom._ She speaks.

_Mer._ She’s got a meteor in her eye.

_Rom._ Oh, speak again, bright angel!

_Mer._ So I will:
You’ll catch the rheumatism by standing still.

_Rom._ Shut up; she speaks.

_Jul._ O Romeo! Romeo, say
Wherefore, oh, wherefore art thou Romeo, pray?

_Rom._ Well, really, madam, that’s a poser, rather:
I really think you’d better ask my father.

_Song, “Romeo.” Air, “Pat Molloy.”_

At fourteen years of age I was a tall and strapping lad:
My father had the oil-fever, and had it awful bad.
“I’m hard up, Romeo,” says he, “and cannot raise the tin:
My copper stocks are getting low; I really must give in.”
He put my best clothes in a bag, and put it on my back,
And, with his knotty walking-stick, gave me a parting whack.
“Get out of this, my boy,” says he, “and remember, as you go,
Old Montague’s your daddy, and your name is Romeo.”

_Jul._ Deny thy father, and refuse thy name,
Call thyself Smith or Jones, ’tis all the same;
Or, if thou art inclined to give it me,
I’ll pack my trunk and go along with thee.

_Rom._ Shall I hear more, or had I better--

_Mer._ Wait,
Give her a chance, she’ll pop the question straight.

_Jul._ What’s in a name?

_Mer._ Why, often there’s a letter.

_Jul._ Pickles by any other name taste all the better,
And so would Romeo--

_Mer._ Oh, dear! here’s a row:
She’s got you in a precious pickle now.

_Jul._ Romeo, doff thy name now, that’s a dear;
For Mrs. Montague would sound so queer:
I do not like it; for thy name mine take;
A better bargain you did never make.

_Rom._ I’ll take thee at thy word: I’ll change my nature,
And get my name changed by the legislature.

_Mer._ Not in _our_ General Court can you, I’ll swear:
They change not names, but only color, there.

_Jul._ What lads art thou beneath my window met?

_Mer._ Lads! With a ladder we’d be nearer yet.

_Rom._ I know not how, dear saint, to tell you that,
Because my name is written in my hat,
And you don’t like it. I would rub it out,
If there was any rubber here about.

_Jul._ Whist! how came you here, and why?
My father’s fence is very sharp and high,
And should he find you here--

_Mer._ The ugly cuss
Would straight salute us with a blunderbuss.

_Rom._ With love’s light wings did I the fence o’erleap
On sounding pinions--

_Mer._ Ain’t you getting steep?

_Jul._ I cannot hear you; pray come nearer, love.

_Rom._ Oh! that I had wings to mount above.

_Mer._ Wings? Pshaw! a stouter platform you will need
If that fond purpose in your eye I read.

(_Rolls in barrel of flour from L.; places it beneath balcony, and assists ROMEO to mount it._)

Here is the article, and just the size,
Placed in your east, ’twill help you to _arise_.
Now mount, my hero, spread your softest talk,
And, while you’re busy, I’ll go take a walk.
Be careful of your feet, or, by the powers,
Our next tableau’ll be “love among the _flours_.” _Exit, L._

_Jul._ By whose direction found you out this spot?

_Rom._ ’Tis put down in the Directory, is it not?

_Jul._ If you are found here, you’ll be murdered straight,
So pray begone--

_Rom._ I think I’d rather wait.
Fear not for me my jewel, on my word,
Your eyes cut deeper than the sharpest sword.
Oh! beauteous Juliet, fairest of the fair,
Within my heart a roaring flame I bear.
I’m over ears in love within this hour. (_Stumbles on barrel._)

_Jul._ Be careful, you’ll be over ears in flour.

_Rom._ If thou wouldst have me paint the home
To which I’d bear thee when our nuptials come,
Listen. In a deep vale where huckleberries grow,
And modest sun-flowers blossom in a row,
Where blooming cabbage rears its lofty head,
And fragrant onion spreads its lowly bed,
A yellow cottage, with a chimney tall,
Lifts to eternal summer its shingled wall.
From out a bower made musical with frogs,
Who chant their wild lays in the neighboring bogs,
At noon we’d sit beneath the arching vine,
And gather grapes to make our winter wine;
And when night came we’d guess what star
Should next attract us to the op--era;
And then--

_Jul._ Oh, pshaw! give o’er,
Your yellow-covered cottage is a bore;
For cabbages and onions find new names:
I mean to have rooms at the new St. James.
And if you love me it is surely fair--

_Rom._ Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear--

_Jul._ Oh! swear not by the moon.

_Rom._ Well, then, I won’t.
What shall I swear by?

_Jul._ Swear not at all, my dear.

_Rom._ What! not a swear? Oh, this ain’t love, ’tis clear!

_Cap._ (_outside_). Ho, Juliet! Juliet, are you there?
I cannot find my night-cap anywhere.

_Rom._ Who’s that?

_Jul._ My father. Oh, the deuse’s to pay!

_Rom._ I wish the old man was _farther_ any way.

_Cap._ (_outside_). Juliet!

_Jul._ Coming, coming soon.

_Rom._ I wish old Capulet was the man in the moon.

_Jul._ Good night, dear Romy; tie your ears up tight.

_Rom._ And wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? ’taint right.

_Jul._ What satisfaction canst thou have, my blade?

_Rom._ Why, that of giving you a serenade.

(_“Mocking Bird,” Whistling serenade, by ROMEO._)

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “Listen to the Mocking Bird.”_

My father now has spoken, has spoken, has spoken,
My father now has spoken,
And the whistling lad is ringing in my ear.
I feel like one heart-broken, heart-broken, heart-broken,
I feel like one heart-broken,
For my Romey can no longer linger here.
Listen to the whistling lad,
Listen to the whistling lad,
The whistling lad who pipes his merry lay.
Listen to the whistling lad,
Listen to the whistling lad,
Who whistles where the yellow moonbeams play.

I’m dreaming now of Romey, of Romey, of Romey,
I’m dreaming now of Romey,
And the tender, tender words he spake to me.
To the opera he shall beau me, shall beau me, shall beau me,
To the opera he shall beau me,
And I the happiest maid in town will be.
Listen to the whistling lad, &c.

_Cap._ (_without_). Juliet, I say, ho! Juliet, do you hear?

_Jul._ Coming, papa; and now good-night, my dear.
_Exit._

_Rom._ Good-night, good-night; parting were such sweet sorrow,
I’ll come again and try it on to-morrow.

_Exit, L._

_Enter MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Is this a bottle which I see before me?
The nozzle towards my mouth. Come, let me pour thee.
I have thee not; and yet I’ll swear I saw
Thee just as plain as this which now I draw.

(_Draws bottle from his pocket._)

_Song, “Mercutio.” Air, “Rootle tum, tootle tum ta.”_

Mercutio, you have been told,
Was a gay boy of old:
One Shakspeare his story has told
In a humorous sort of a way.
He was fond of a nice little game,--
Any game you can name,
Would see you, and go it again.
Rootle tum, tootle tum tay.
For frolic or fighting quite ready,
You could hardly, I think, call him steady.
Rootle tum, tootle tum, tootle tum, tootle tum,
Tootle tum, tootle tum tay.

Of his virtues we oft have been told
By this wise bard of old;
But his vices he didn’t unfold,
But just kept them out of the way.
A patron he of the race-horse,
And the turf,--what is worse,
Was given to betting, of course.
Rootle tum, tootle tum tay;
So a moral to put if you’re willin,
I’ll make him a sort of a villain.
Rootle tum, tootle tum, &c.

Ha! ha! ha! this Romeo, silly looney,
Has, on old Capulet’s daughter, got quite spooney;
And now to wed her he is nothing loth.
Ha! ha! he’ll find my fingers in the broth.
He’s ordered cards for Wednesday--Park-st. Church:
Mayhap his bride will leave him in the lurch;
I’ll marry her myself, or rot in prison.
Why should’nt she be mine as well as his’n?
I do remember an apothecary, or rather orter,
Who, somewhere hereabouts, sells soda-water.
I’ll hie to him, and high this bottle fill,
With laughing gas. Ha! ha! my heart be still.
We’ll block this little game, that’s very plain;
Conscience, avaunt! Mercut_h_’s himself again.

_Turns and meets CAPULET, who has entered from door, C., with revolver._

_Cap._ So, so, my early bird you’ve caught a worm;
Keep still, you stupid, don’t begin to squirm;
Explain this early visit if you can.

_Mer._ “Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.”

_Cap._ Oh! that won’t do, shut up, you silly elf:
I do the old man’s business here myself.
Your business here? My name is Cap--

_Mer._ --You let
Me off, and I won’t come again, you bet.
I came to look at yon revolving moon.

_Cap._ You’ll get a taste of my revolver soon.

_Mer._ You have a daughter--

_Cap._ What is that to you?

_Mer._ Nothing, but she is very fair to view:
Her name is Juliet--

_Cap._ I knew that before.

_Mer._ You did? Well, you’re a smart old man, I’m sure.
A pretty name; what is her dowry, pray?

_Cap._ A hundred thousand on her wedding-day.

_Mer._ The noble Plaster Paris seeks her hand?

_Cap._ Yes, and to marry him is my command.

_Mer._ O wild old man! I came to ope your eyes,
To save you from a fearful sacrifice.

_Cap._ How, now? speak out! you rouse my wildest fears!

_Mer._ Hush, hush, old man! they say the walls have ears.
To save you fifty thousand dollars, I agree,
If for one moment you will list to me.
Paris to take her gets a hundred thousand plum:
I’ll marry her for just one-half the sum. _Exit, L._

_Cap._ Get out, you scamp! I am completely sold:
I’ll back to bed, for it is bitter cold,
And I’ve been bit already; but to-morrow
I’ll give that girl a taste of early sorrow;
Pack up her crinoline, and off she’ll go
To Di----o Lewis, or Professor Blot.

_Exit, R._

_Enter JULIET from house._

_Jul._ O Romeo, Romeo! I forgot to say--
Why, he is gone--oh! for the trumpet’s bray,
The watchman’s rattle, or the fire-alarm,
To lure him back--

_Enter MERCUTIO, L. (wrapped in a domino), eating a
sandwich._

_Mer._ It’s really getting warm.
How tender sweet taste sandwiched tongues by night
To hungry stomachs!--now I feel all right.

_Jul._ Romeo--

_Mer._ My sweet.

_Jul._ When shall we wedded be?

_Mer._ What’s that? when wedded? Dear me, let me see.
Hush! love, a fearful tale I have to tell,
That but a moment since on me befell.
Your father swore point blank that you should marry
Only that spooney, the young Plaster Paris.

_Jul._ Never! I’ll be an old maid first.

_Mer._ Now, don’t you fret:
I’ll fix his flint; we may be happy yet.
Just take this bottle, wrap your shawl around,
And hie you off to Capulet’s burying-ground.

_Jul._ What is it, ketchup or Peruvian dye?

_Mer._ No matter, dear: just ketch it up and fly.
When you get there, imbibe a goodly dose,
Then near the tomb of Capulet hide you close.
Just read the label, sweet, before ’tis taken:
My precious jewel, it must be well shaken.
Hush! I hear a voice, a footstep too, beware!
Remember, burying-ground and gas, you’ll find me there.

_Duet, “Mercutio and Juliet.” Air, “We Merry-hearted Marched Away.”_ (_Grand Duchess._)

_Jul._ Well, well, my love, I’ll start away,
Your strange request to quick obey;
Equip myself in hat and shawl,
And meet you ’neath the church-yard wall.

_Mer._ She don’t suspect--it is all right;
I’ll be a happy dog to-night;
Rob Romeo of his darling spouse,
And ’neath the church-yard wall carouse.

“_I Love the Military._”

_Both._ Oh, I’ll } run for my } millinery,
you’ll } your }

Run for my } millinery, run for my } millinery;
your } your }

Oh yes, I’ll } quickly run and get my } shawl.
you’ll } your }

(_Repeat, and Dance off, R._)

_Enter ROMEO, L._

_Rom._ My sweet, my dove.

_Enter JULIET, R._

_Jul._ What, back again so soon?
Why, you’re as wayward as the silver moon.

_Rom._ My dear, I came to fix our wedding-day.

_CAPULET appears at door, C., with pitch-fork._

_Cap._ I’ll fix you!

_Rom._ Murder!

_Jul._ Don’t, father, pray.

_Rom._ Oh, dear!

_Jul._ Oh, my!

_Cap._ Well, sirrah, how is that?

_Rom._ Help, help, Mercutio!

_Cap._ You are cutting fat.

_Enter MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Holloa, old man! ’tis time you were in bed:
Just let me fix your night-cap on your head.

_Pulls his night-cap over his eyes._

_Chorus. Air, “Sabre du mon pére.”_

Pull on your night-cap, your night-cap, your night-cap!
Pull on your night-cap, and take yourself to bed.

(_Repeat._)

(_Quick change._)

SCENE 2. _A Wood._

(_Should it be found necessary to drop the curtain, scene 2 and
scene 3 can be run into one._)

_Enter MERCUTIO, L._

If I had a beau for a soldier would go,
Do you think I’d marry him? No, no, no!
And so must not Miss Juliet, that is flat,
Bestow her hand, her money, and all that,
On such a reckless, foolish, soft young man
As Romeo, who would join the Klux Klux Kahn
Because old Capulet, o’er his gin and water,
Has vowed he shall not carry off his daughter.
Such carryings-on are very bad, no doubt;
And so my little game I’ll carry out.
Oh, ch!--this midnight roaming suits not me,
This influenza shall not influence me,
Ah, ch--would I were safe in bed!
There’s cold without and cold within my head.
’Tis time this little maid should be along:
I’ll while away the time with a ch--ch--song.

_Song, “Mercutio.” Air, “French Sneezing-Song.”_

I’m really very stiff and cold
As you can very plainly see;
This mild spring weather here, somehow,
Has raised the very deuse with me.
My eyes are getting red and weak,
My nose appears inclined to freeze;
And, when I seek to raise my voice,
I only raise a sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.
Too ral la, too ral la, &c.

O Juliet Capulet! my love,
To keep me waiting ’tis a sin:
This May-day weather will, I fear,
Put out the flame of love within.
My heart with love is burning high,
My bones with cold are like to freeze:
For you I seek to raise a sigh,
But only raise a sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.
Too ral la, too ral la, &c.

Mercutio, you’re a silly goose
To choose a maid so very cruel:
This midnight prowl for you, I fear,
Will end in rheumatiz and gruel;
And then, should Romeo cross your path,
Prepare to face another breeze:
He’d cut you down in his great wrath,
Nor give you time to sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.
Too ral la, too ral la, &c.

SCENE 3. _CAPULET’S burying-ground. Tomb, C., on which is
written, “No one allowed to pick here without permit of
the proprietor.” Graves, R. and L., with headstones facing
audience. On R. is painted, “To be occupied by JULIET CAPULET;”
on L., “To be occupied by ROMEO MONTAGUE.”_

_Enter JULIET, L., with basket, bottle, and candle._

_Jul._ Here is the place (_dog barks_), our plaguy _Spot_, I say.
You should not follow your mistress in this way.
(_Clock strikes._) One, two, ’tis now the very time, I think,
When I was bid this sleeping draught to drink.
Oh, dear! suppose this should not work at all;
Suppose this evening Romeo should not call;
Suppose, suppose--oh! I’ll leave off supposing,
For really I begin to feel like _dozing_:
And so I’ll take a _dose_ (_drinks_). Why, this is queer!
What new-found sherry-cobbler have we here?
Narcotic music in my head is ringing
Such blissful airs, I cannot keep from singing.

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “O Mio Fernando.”_

Oh mio Romeo, my galliant loverier!
My father’s house I’ve slipped for to meet thee;
But oh! my ducksey, do you be tenderer
Or else a broken-hearted maid I’ll be.
If by this cup my senses be capsized
When I have drank this sherry-cobbler down,
Oh! do not, dearest, do not, be surprised,
But wake me gently, Romeo, from my nap.

_Jul._ To bed, to bed! it’s really getting late. (_Knock._)
What knocking’s that? The watchman’s at the gate.
What is undone can’t be done up, ’tis said.
My hair is down, and so to bed, to bed!

_Lies down on grave, blows out candle, R. Enter MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Rest, my maid, lie still and slumber:
Now for my carriage. I’ve forgot the number:
That is too bad, I ne’er can find mine,
So many are ordered for just half-past nine.
What’s to be done? I’m getting in a muss,
I know. I’ll take her off instanter in a buss.
Halloo, halloo! Why, here’s the deuse to pay,--
Man with a light, and coming down this way!
I’ll step aside and of this light keep dark.

(_Hides R._)

_Enter ROMEO, L., dragging child’s carriage, containing a large bottle of MRS. WINSLOW’S Soothing Syrup._

_Rom._ Bah! I’m chilled through, and hungry as a shark.
I do remember where an oysterman did dwell
Who opened Providence Rivers passing well,
Concocted luscious stews and toothsome roasts
And “Fancys,” which are oysters laid on toast.
I would that I to-night within his stall
Might seat myself, and for a good roast call;
But I’m forbid, for I to-night must stir up,
My fainting soul with Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.
My Juliet, poisoned, in this church-yard lies;
And I, poor silly fellow!--I--I--cries.
I’ll weep no more, but to my Juliet flee.

_Knocks down gravestone at head of JULIET._

Get out, you pale-faced slab, make way for me!

_Enter MERCUTIO, R._

_Mer._ Halloo, my gallant youth, is that the way
You with old Capulet’s costly marbles play?

_Rom._ What wretch art thou that thus beseemst the night?

_Mer._ Why, wretch yourself! it seems to me you’re tight.

_Rom._ Are you Mercutio’s kinsman, Plaster Paris?
Or are you Villikins?

_Mer._ Thank you, I am nary;
But I am Mercutio, who, upon my life,
Had nearly made that maid there be my wife
But for your coming. Now that you have come,
And I’m not wanted, I think I’ll go home.

_Rom._ Stay, vile Mercutio, I see what you’re about:
With this ’ere maid you tried to cut me out;
But you shall find that I can cut as well.
A game of turn him out, we’ll have, my swell.
You are a sneak, so be a little bolder:
Let’s see you knock that chip from off my shoulder.

(_Mercutio blows chip off._)

_A blow._ We’ll try the manly art.

_Mer._ The manly art?--oh, no!
We can’t do that: it’s not for us, you know.
Our legislators keep it for their public play:
’Tis _More-easy_ taught in Washington to-day.
Talking of cutting you out here with this lass
I call an insult; but we’ll let that pass.
I’ll have a pass, and with a cutlass too,

_Produces a pair of cutlasses from side._

Draw, villain, draw! I’ll have a bout with you,--
The old stage combat, that’s the sort,
With an accompaniment on the piano forte.

_Combat to the tune of, “Wood up.” MERCUTIO’S stuck._

Hold on! I’m stuck, as narrow as a church-pew,
And hardly deep enough: well, it will do.
Ask for me to-morrow, if you will;
And, if I’m not gone, I’ll be here still.
I’m _peppered_ sore, and nearly _mustered_ out.
Now, gentle Romeo, mind what you’re about!
You have a country house, and one in town:
A plague on both your houses! burn ’em down!
Have you a cigar? I think I’ve got a match.

_ROMEO gives MERCUTIO a cigar, and holds up his foot, on which MERCUTIO strikes a light, and then lights his cigar._

Thank you, you are a perfect hen to scratch.
From all the many ills of married life
I would have saved you, carried off your wife;
But that’s all over, wish you joy, I’ll swear.
Good-by! I’m going home to die--my hair.

_Exit, L._

_Rom._ So young to die! Farewell, my gentle friend:
Now to my business I will straight attend.
Here lies my love so snugly covered up,
And near her sits the fatal poisoned cup.
Eyes, look your last; but do not look too long.
If ’twon’t disturb you, love, I’ll sing a song.

_Song, “Romeo.” Air, “Captain Jinks.”_

My Juliet at last I’ve found,
Stretched out at full length on the ground:
She shows no signs of coming round,
Which causes me much trouble.
But I’ve a quietus, you see,
tus you see,
tus you see
And Winslow’s Soothing Syrup for me
Will soon end all my trouble.
It will be a story to tell the marines
That we were driven to such extremes,
And came to our end by poisonous means,
Through drinking too much of the balmy.

_Rom._ Come, fatal syrup, soothe my aching breast;
Come, Mrs. Winslow, come and give me rest.
Here’s to my love, hip, hip, hip, hurray!

_Tumbles on grave, L._

That’s given me a settler any way.

_Enter CAPULET, L., ringing a bell._

_Cap._ Lost, lost, lost, strayed, stolen, or run away!
A daughter, anybody seen her, pray?
Robed in a muslin dress, a tender maid,
Of all male creatures very much afraid.
I cannot find her: I am tempest tossed,
And so I toss this bell--lost, lost, lost!

_Trio: Air, “Dear Father come home.” JULIET, ROMEO, and CAPULET._

_Jul._ Father, dear father! go home, will you, now?
You’ll get a bad cold in your head:
I’ve put out the candle, and, covered up warm,
I’m resting so nicely in bed!

_Rom._ You’d better clear out, old Capulet, now,
There hardly is room here for you;
Disturb not the rest of a poisoned young pair,
But clear out instanter, now, do!

_Jul._ { Come do, now do, dear father, sweet father, go home!
_Rom._ { Will you, will you, old buffer, old buffer, go home?

_Cap._ Now, do hear the words of this pair,
Which his fingers[2] repeat as they roam.
I’ll be blessed if such nonsense I’ll stand, any way,
No, looneys, I will not go home.

_Jul._ { Come father, dear father, go home.
_Rom._ { Old buffer, old buffer, go home.

_Cap._ Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish, I’ll swear.
Juliet Capulet, what are you doing there?

_Jul._ (_Sitting up._) I’m poisoned, waiting here for Romeo.

_Rom._ (_Sitting up._) Well, here I am: I guess we’d better go.

_Song, “Romeo and Juliet.” Air, “Billy Taylor.”_

_Rom._ Now, Juliet, that we’re free from poison,
We will quickly wedded be.
The loveliest maid man ever set his eyes on
I’ll marry in style, quite gorgeously.
Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, li, do.

_Jul._ Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, la.

_Rom._ Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, li, do.

_Tombs._ Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, la.

_Jul._ O Romeo! though you’re my deary,
Prithee, listen unto me.
When I go to get my wardrobe, I shall feel quite scary
If it’s under lock and key.

_Chorus._--Tiddy, iddy, &c.

_Cap._ Humbug! Do you two young ones ’spose
I’ll have this billing under my very nose?
Vile Montague, begone, or you shall sweat!
I’m on my native heath, my name is Capulet.

_Jul._ Give me my Romeo, or I shall die:
I’ll cut him up in little stars--

_Rom._ Oh, my!

_Cap._ No, no, my child, you’ll cut up no such capers:
Do you want to figure in the Boston papers?
Go home and sew, and so your morals mend:
This fool I’ll straight about his business send.
If you two marry--why, then, I’m a noodle,
Who dare dispute me--

_Song. Tomb opens, and MERCUTIO appears as Yankee Doodle. (Allegorical dress of America.)_

_Mer._ Only Yankee Doodle!
Old man, within my home across the water,
I’ve had my eye upon your handsome daughter,
And sighed to think that two fond lovers here
Should find a home within a tomb so drear.
And so I’ve opened it to have it aired:
Really, old gent, you should have it repaired.
Being on a yacht race in “The Henrietta,”
To give you a passing call, I thought I’d better.
I’m of a race that likes to see fair play:
My fair one, can I serve you any way?

_Rom._ Why, that’s Mercutio!

_Mer._ Shut up, will you, now!
I’ve only doubled, don’t you make a row.

_Rom._ But you were killed--

_Jul._ And now have come to life.

_Mer._ Some one spoke, I think--

_Rom._ It was my wife.

_Mer._ Don’t puzzle yourselves, I’ll straightway make it clear.
You know the Spiritualists hold meeting here;
You rapped me, and I went, is that not plain?
So with another _wrap_, I come again.

_Cap._ Entranced youth, you are not wanted here,
So quickly you had better disappear.
I want my daughter--

_Mer._ So does Romeo too;
And he shall have her straight, in spite of you.

_Cap._ Come, sir, you meddle! Mind what you’re about!
I’m a belligerent--

_Mer._ Oh! that’s played out.
It will not do all wrongs to redress:
You’ll find America in any mess.
So, Romeo, take your wife, and pack your bag;
We’ll give you shelter ’neath a starry flag.

_Rom._ What say you, Juliet? shall we westward go?
Speak up, my darling, do not color so.

_Jul._ I like those colors well, I do confess:
Those stripes are just the style of my new dress.

_Rom._ To seek that blissful land, I think we’d orter.

_Jul._ But I’m so horrid sick upon the water!

_Mer._ Come, Capulet, your blessing I command;
Then pack up trunks, and off for Yankee land.

_Cap._ What! end a tragedy without a death?
It’s horrible: you take away my breath!

_Mer._ Then we shall have one sure, let’s move along:
We’ll end our tragedy with a yachting song.

_Finale, “A Yankee Ship and a Yankee Crew.”_

A Yankee yacht and a Yankee crew,
Tally, hi, ho, you know,
Can beat the world on the waters blue.
Sing high, aloft and alow.
Her sails are spread to the fairy breeze,
The spray sparkling as thrown from her prow;
Her flag is the proudest that floats o’er the seas;
Her way homeward she’s steering now.

_Chorus._--A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, &c.

_Curtain._

[1] Half a cheese box covered with cotton cloth, on which is painted a very jolly face, with the letters S. T. 1860 X. upon it, illuminated by a candle placed behind, and drawn up by a pully and string, is the original moon prepared for this piece.

[2] The pianist or leader of the orchestra.

THE GREAT ELIXIR.

CHARACTERS.

WALDIMER WIGGINS (the seventh son of a seventh son).
GUNNYBAG GREENBAX, } Wiggins’ patients.
NERVOUS ASPEN, }
MAJOR FINGERS (a discontented Bridegroom).
CHARLES FREEDLEY (a dissatisfied heir).
HARRY QUILLDRIVER (an author).
HERBERT EASEL (his friend).
DENNIS MCGRATH (the Doctor’s help).
BOB (the Doctor’s boy).

COSTUMES.

_Wiggins._--Eccentric gray wig, with cue, white necktie, crimson
vest, dressing-gown, and slippers.
_Greenbax._--Long brown coat, gray wig, broad brimmed hat.
_Aspen._--Brown wig, nankeen pants and vest, dark coat, hat and cane.
_Fingers._--(Very short man.) Undress uniform.
_Freedley, Quilldriver, and Easel._--Modern costume.
_Dennis._--Red wig, white jacket, yellow vest, dark pants.

SCENE.--_Wiggins’ Office. Table, C. Chairs, R. and L. of table.
Entrances, R. and L. Letters and bottles on table._

_Enter WIGGINS, L._

_Wiggins._ I am a lucky man! I should like to know how many times an hour, by the most approved rules of computation, that sentence escapes my lips; to how many mirrors have I uttered those memorable words; how many sheets of paper have been devastated with that _multum in parvo_ of sentences, I am a lucky man? Look at me, Waldimer Wiggins, seventh son of Waldimer Wiggins, the blacksmith, who was the seventh son of Wigglesworth Wiggins, the cooper. I, who have been knocked about the world like a shuttlecock, buffeted by everybody and everything; who never saw but one schoolhouse in all my life, and that from the outside,--here am I puzzling all the learned doctors, creating a frenzy among the apothecaries, and setting the whole town to taking medicine by the pint, quart, and even demijohn, and hauling greenbacks into my capacious pockets with an agility and velocity that would astonish the father of greenbacks. I am the lucky possessor of the greatest remedy of modern times,--a medicine that will cure anything and everything, anybody and everybody; and where there is nothing to cure, will make something, and then cure that. Men praise it, women dote on it, and children cry for it. I am the lucky possessor of this treasure, and yet I never received a diploma, or even amused myself with the graceful but rather monotonous exercise of the pestle and mortar. As I before suggested, it’s all luck. I’ll tell you all about it (_seats himself familiarly before the audience_). Like Byron, that beautiful but dyspeptic poet, “I had a dream.” It was one night after I had partaken of oysters. I generally indulge in a light supper before retiring. Upon this occasion it consisted of cold chicken, mince pie, pigs’ feet, and, as I before remarked, oysters. I had retired to my downy couch, when the following striking tableau was presented in a vision. I beheld the great Barnum, surrounded by greenbacks. On his right were the Albino woman and Joyce Heath, on his left, Tom Thumb and his Bride; while the “What is it?” a little elevated, was crowning the great showman with a wreath of posies. Of course my attention was first attracted to the free exhibition of curiosities, but after a careful examination of them, my eyes were fixed upon the great “Supporter of the Moral Drama,” by whom I was greeted with this characteristic original remark, “How are you, Wiggins?” to which I answered, as is customary in all polite circles, “How are _you_, Barnum?” “Wiggins,” said he, “do you want to make a fortune?” to which I responded, “I do.” “Then look in ‘The Daily Slungshot,’ outside, first column, top line, and obey the injunction there given.” I thanked the great man, signified to him that I thought him an immense individual, but that he could not keep “The Aquarial Gardens.” He pronounced my remark very of _fish_ ous; and with this scaly joke, vanished. I awoke, purchased “The Slungshot,” sought the designated spot, and read this cabalistic word, “Advertise.” It was enough. I remembered a recipe an Indian woman had given me when a child. It was for curing corns. I resolved to make a fortune from that. Now everybody is not afflicted with corns; so, to have a striking effect on all diseases, I call my medicine “The Great Elixir,” and warrant it to cure everything. I might easily show you how all diseases are first taken into the system through the medium of corns, but as it would take some time to convince you, I will not make the attempt. Advertising has done the business for me, and now everybody is taking The Great Elixir and blessing the name of Waldimer Wiggins. (_Rises, takes a seat at table R., and opens letters, making memorandums on each as read._) Now, here is a string of correspondents that would puzzle a regular physician, but which I, with my superior skill, can dispose of in a very few moments. (_Reads._) Hm! an old lady has fits. (_Mem._) Take The Elixir three times a day. (_Reads._) An old gentleman with a bald head wants his hair to grow. (_Mem._) Apply The Elixir externally and internally three times a day. (_Enter DENNIS, L._) Well, Dennis, what is it?

_Dennis._ Faith, I don’t know; there’s the kitchen fire don’t burn at tall, at tall, and there’s a gintleman wants to say the dochter.

_Wiggins._ Show the gentleman in here, and put “The Great Elixir” on the fire. If that wont make a blaze, then nothing will. (_Exit, R., with letters._)

_Dennis._ Faith it’s an illigant man is the dochter. It’s the--the learning he has onyhow, and it’s the fine physic he makes. The Great Elixir. Put it in the fire? by my sowl, I will do that same; and--and in the blacking and in the soup. It’s meself that has a mind to take a wee dhrap meself, for the sthrong wakness I have for Judy Ryan. Bless her purty face! (_Enter CHARLES FREEDLEY, L._)

_Charles._ Did you tell Dr. Wiggins I wished to speak with him?

_Dennis._ Indade I did, sir, and he’ll say yez in a minute. (_Exit, L._)

_Charles._ So this is the office of the Great Doctor. Great Fiddlesticks! He’s no more a doctor than I am, and he shall own it, too, before I’ve done with him. There’s my Aunt Hopkins, whose heir I expect to be, crazy about this Dr. Wiggins. Calls his “Great Elixir” delightful, and vows she will leave him a legacy. Now I have set my heart on possessing all the property of Aunt Hopkins, and have no idea of parting with it to such a humbug as this; and here I am on a voyage of discovery, which will, I hope, end in the unmasking of this quack. (_Enter WIGGINS, R., slowly, his eyes fastened on an open book in his hand._)

_Wiggins._ Why is the privacy of the Seventh Son of the Seventh Son thus intruded upon?

_Charles._ Privacy? Why, aint you a regular physician?

_Wiggins._ I am, very _regular_. My office hours are from 10 A. M. to 2 P. M. The balance of my time is devoted to the study of the human system; to poring over the open book of nature, or to gazing in quiet, tranquil solitude upon the sublime spectacles performed by stars of the first magnitude.

_Charles._ Oh! you mean at the theatres.

_Wiggins._ Theatres, sir! No, sir, the study of the heavens is enough for my inquiring mind. What want you with me?

_Charles._ I have a very painful malady.

_Wiggins._ What is it?

_Charles._ An itching sensation in my hand. (_Aside._) Itching to get hold of you.

_Wiggins._ Let me look at it (_offering to take it_).

_Charles_ (_raising his arm quick, hits the doctor in the stomach_). It hurts me when I raise it thus.

_Wiggins_ (_jumping back_). Oh! confound you! Then why in the deuce do you raise it thus?

_Charles._ I want it cured.

_Wiggins_ (_looking very wise_). Let me see. Mars in the seventh heaven, and Jupiter in an eclipse, Venus in a brown study, and Mercury in the blues. Young man, the stars tell me you can be cured.

_Charles._ Much obliged to the stars. How?

_Wiggins_ (_speaking very quick, as though repeating an old story_). By a plentiful application of “The Great Elixir,” which will cure coughs, colds, burns, bruises, consumption, fits, fevers, earache, heartache, headache, toothache, corns, bunions, etc., etc. Whose virtues are known and appreciated from one end of the continent to the other. Prepared under the special directions of the stars, and sold by all respectable druggists at the low price of one dollar a bottle.

_Charles_ (_aside_). Just as I thought, an ignorant quack. (_Aloud._) I will procure a bottle, and give it a fair trial. (_Aside._) I’d sooner take poison than his infernal stuff. (_Exit, L._)

_Wiggins._ It is thus that science blesses her devotees with the glow of success. (_Looking at watch._) 10 o’clock! We must prepare for the patients. Here, Dennis (_Enter DENNIS, L._), prepare the paraphernalia.

_Dennis_ (_puzzled_). The what is it?

_Wiggins._ Prepare the paraphernalia.

_Dennis._ Yis, sir, directly (_going, L._).

_Wiggins._ Where are you going?

_Dennis._ For the razor, sir.

_Wiggins._ Razor! What do you want of a razor?

_Dennis._ To pare your nails ouv course. You wouldn’t expect me to bring an axe.

_Wiggins._ Oh, pshaw! Set out the table and put the instruments upon it; it is time to receive patients.

_Dennis._ Oh, yis, sir. (_Aside._) Why don’t he spake his mother tongue in the first place (_sets table in C., takes from a drawer in the table a long carving-knife, a saw, and other instruments, places them upon the table. Wiggins seats himself at back of table pompously. Bell rings outside_).

_Wiggins._ Our first patient. Show him in, Dennis.

_Dennis._ Yis, sir. (_Exit, L._)

_Wiggins._ Talk about your colleges! What is the good of them while there’s newspapers to advertise in, and people with throats large enough to swallow anything. (_Enter DENNIS with GREENBAX, L._) Hallo, who’s this?

_Dennis._ Here you are, sir; that’s the doctor; be quick, for he’s awful busy.

_Greenbax._ Dizzy! I should think so; it’s enough to make anybody dizzy climbing so many stairs. Where’s the doctor?

_Dennis._ There he is in his place!

_Greenbax._ Wrong place! Why didn’t you tell me so before?

_Dennis._ What a stupid ould man.

_Wiggins_ (_coming forward_). Here’s a queer customer. What do you want?

_Greenbax._ Hey?

_Wiggins._ Do you want the doctor?

_Greenbax._ Of course I do (_going_).

_Wiggins._ Hold on, I am the doctor.

_Greenbax._ Hey?

_Wiggins._ I am the doctor.

_Greenbax._ Yes, yes, I want the doctor.

_Wiggins_ (_very loud_). I am the doctor. Stupid!

_Greenbax._ No, no! Dr. Wiggins, not Dr. Stupid.

_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). I am Dr. Wiggins. Who are you?

_Greenbax_ (_holding out his hand_). Pretty well, I thank you; a little deafness for you to cure, that’s all.

_Wiggins._ How long have you been so?

_Greenbax._ Yes, it does look like snow, but I think it will turn to rain.

_Wiggins._ How long have you been in this condition?

_Greenbax._ Awful bad condition. I went over shoes in mud getting here.

_Wiggins._ Oh, pshaw! what’s to be done with him? (_Still louder._) Does your deafness increase?

_Greenbax._ Hey?

_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). Do you keep getting worse?

_Greenbax._ Oh, yes! I keep a horse,--fast one, too.

_Wiggins._ I am speaking about your ear.

_Greenbax._ Yes, I’ve had him about a year. He has the heaves a little.

_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). I’m talking about you--you--you!

_Greenbax._ Me! oh, no! I never had the heaves.

_Wiggins._ Oh, dear, dear! what shall I do? (_Shouting._) Have you ever tried The Elixir?

_Greenbax._ No, sir, I never do. The hostler he licks her sometimes.

_Wiggins_ (_desperately takes bottle from table_). Here, take this three times a day.

_Greenbax._ Certainly, with pleasure. I’ll take it to Mr. Day. Go right by his house.

_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). No, no; take it yourself.

_Greenbax._ Oh, yes; for my ear.

_Wiggins._ Apply it externally and internally.

_Greenbax_ (_looking at bottle_). It does have an infernal look. Oh, I’ve tried this, it wont do. Must have something stronger,--something to shake me up.

_Wiggins._ I must try something else. What shall it be? I’ll mix something to warm him up. I will return in a moment. (_Exit, R._)

_Dennis._ What an ould heathen! he’s as deaf as ould Mother Mullin’s cow, that was so deaf she couldn’t say straight. What’s the matter wid his ears? they’re long enough onyhow. (_To Greenbax._) Servant, sir!

_Greenbax._ Hey?

_Dennis._ It’s a fine day, sir.

_Greenbax._ No. Nothing to give away. Go to the poorhouse.

_Dennis._ Poorhouse, is it, you thaif!

_Wiggins_ (_outside_). Dennis!

_Dennis._ Coming, sir. Away wid yez, you deaf ould haddock. (_Exit, R._)

_Greenbax._ So many beggars about. Strange the police will allow it. (_Re-enter DENNIS, R., with a phial._)

_Dennis._ I’m to give the deaf fellow, then, this bottle, and he’s to follow the directions. What’s that? (_Reads label._) “To be well shaken before taken.” Faith, my boy, I’ll do that same for yez. (_Seizing Greenbax and shaking him._) Ye’d have me go to the poorhouse, would yez?

_Greenbax._ Murder, murder!

_Dennis_ (_shaking him_). Howl away, ye spalpeen. ’Twill help the circulation.

_Greenbax._ Murder, murder!

_Dennis._ Once more, ould man, and then ye’ll do.

_Greenbax._ Murder, help, murder! (_Enter WIGGINS, R._)

_Wiggins._ What are you doing, you scamp?

_Dennis._ Faith, obeying orders, to be sure. “To be well shaken before taken.”

_Wiggins._ You stupid blockhead! I meant the medicine, and not the patient.

_Dennis._ Oh, murder! I thought it was the ould man.

_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). I’m sorry this happened; ’twas all a mistake.

_Greenbax._ Yes. It was a pretty good shake.

_Wiggins._ My man will be more careful in future. (_Gives him phial._)

_Greenbax._ Shall I take this?

_Wiggins._ Yes, morning and night.

_Greenbax._ Oh, no! I wont get tight. I belong to the temperance society. Good-by. (_Exit, L._)

_Wiggins._ There’s one disposed of. Who’s the next, Dennis?

_Dennis._ Mr. Aspen, the shaky gintleman.

_Wiggins._ Oh, yes! Show him in, Dennis. (_Exit DENNIS, L._) My nervous patient; we must shake _him_ up a little. (_Re-enter Dennis with Aspen, who is very nervous; drops first his hat, in picking that up drops his cane, and then his gloves (to be continued). Wiggins takes his seat at back of table. Dennis sits R. of table, and during the scene with Aspen flourishes the carving-knife, scrapes it on the table, etc., to frighten Aspen._)

_Wiggins._ Good-morning, Mr. Aspen. Take a seat. How do you feel this morning?

_Aspen_ (_sits L. of table_). Oh, I don’t know, I guess--I think--I should say--I must be-er--kind-er--sort-er--I don’t know.

_Dennis._ Faith! He’s getting no better very fast.

_Wiggins._ A decided improvement. How much of the Elixir have you taken?

_Aspen._ Two dozen bottles.

_Wiggins._ Not enough. You must take a gross.

_Dennis._ Not enough. You must take a gross (_flourishing knife_).

_Aspen_ (_shaking_). A gross? Oh, dear!

_Wiggins._ Perhaps a barrel.

_Dennis._ A barrel (_flourishing knife_).

_Wiggins._ Your nervous, bilious organization is completely prostrated by sudden and repeated attacks of dorrammomphia, and an enlargement of the ambigular excrescences in the influctions of the cornicopia.

_Dennis._ D’ye mind that now? (_knife._)

_Wiggins._ You must continue the Elixir night and day, and in six or seven years you will be entirely cured.

_Dennis._ Yes, skewered (_knife_).

_Aspen._ But it makes me so horrid sick.

_Wiggins._ What if it does?

_Dennis._ What if it does? (_knife._)

_Aspen_ (_rising_). Well, no matter, I’ll take it. Take a barrel of that nasty stuff. Oh, dear! (_Exit with Dennis, L._)

_Wiggins._ That is one of my best patients. With a little moral suasion, I shall be able to make him swallow a hogshead of the Elixir. (_Enter Dennis, L._) Well, Dennis, who now?

_Dennis._ Major Fingers, sir. (_Exit Dennis, L._)

_Wiggins._ Major Fingers! who the deuce is Major Fingers? It must be a military man. I’m afraid of those chaps. I’ll tell Dennis I can’t receive him. (_Starts for door, L., and nearly upsets Major Fingers, who enters._) Excuse me, sir, I didn’t see you.

_Major_ (_fiercely_). Didn’t see me, stupid, swords and bayonets! Is this the way you receive patients?

_Wiggins._ Excuse me, sir; but you are so diminutive.

_Major._ Diminutive, sir! Look at my face! look at that moustache! Is there anything diminutive about that? I’d have you know, sir, that I am the equal of any man, in intellect, sir.

_Wiggins._ I really beg your pardon. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?

_Major._ My name is Fingers. I called to see you about my wife.

_Wiggins._ Your wife? You mean your mother.

_Major._ Swords and bayonets! sir, what do you mean? My wife, I said. Didn’t you know I was married? I thought everybody knew it. Married in New York. Great _eclat_. Everybody turned out. Married in style, style. Yes, sir, style.

_Wiggins_ (_aside_). What a young bantam.

_Major._ Now, sir, I have come to you on a very important matter. No listeners about, hey?

_Wiggins._ Not a soul.

_Major._ Then listen. When I was married I took a beautiful young lady of my own size. Perhaps you’d like to know the reason. I had been my own master so long that I could not bear to have a woman rule over me, so, although I have had many ladies at my feet, I waited until I met my “Vene.”

_Wiggins._ Your Vene?

_Major._ Yes, my “Vene,”--short for Lavinia, my wife.

_Wiggins._ Oh! I see. Short wife, short name.

_Major_ (_fiercely_). Sir!

_Wiggins._ Oh, no offence intended.

_Major._ Well, sir, soon after my marriage, my “Vene” undertook to tell _me_, her lord and master, that if I stopped out after ten o’clock, she would turn the key on me. Think of that!

_Wiggins._ It’s outrageous.

_Major._ Now, sir, seeing the advertisement of your “Great Elixir,” I have called to see if it will do what it pretends,--a miracle,--and make a tall man of me.

_Wiggins._ Make a tall man of you? (_Aside._) Here’s a job. What’s to be done? I must get him for a customer; he’s rich. (_Aloud._) Yes, sir, the Elixir will cause you to grow right out of your boots. You shall see a specimen of its working. Dennis! (_Enter Dennis, L._) Where’s Bob?

_Dennis._ Down-stairs, sir.

_Wiggins._ Send him up. (_Dennis going._) And hark you, Dennis. (_Whispers._)

_Dennis._ All right. I understand. (_Exit, L._)

_Wiggins._ Be seated, major, and you shall see a specimen of the miraculous effects of the Elixir. (_Enter Bob, with a long cloak on his shoulders and a fur cap on his head._) What are you doing in that rig? Do you think it is winter?

_Bob._ Please, sir, I can’t help it. I’ve got the influendways awful, and I’m so cold.

_Wiggins._ I’ll soon warm you. (_Takes bottle from the table._) Here, show this gentleman its power as a growing medicine. (_Bob takes the medicine and grows._)[3]

_Bob._ Oh, dear! oh, dear! Stop me,--stop me! Give me air,--give me air! (_Exit, L._)

_Wiggins._ Well, major, what do you say to that?

_Major._ It’s wonderful. But will it do the same for me?

_Wiggins._ Certainly it will.

_Major._ Then send a dozen bottles to my hotel, at once. Oh, “Vene,” “Vene,” you shall find _I_ am the head of the family. (_Struts out, L._)

_Wiggins._ That’s a queer case; first of the kind on my list. Hope it will prove a success. (_Enter Dennis, L._)

_Dennis._ There’s two snobs want to see the doctor.

_Wiggins._ Snobs? Come, come, sir, a little more respect.

_Dennis._ Well, then, gents.

_Wiggins._ Bring them in, and I will see them in a moment. (_Exit, R._)

_Dennis_ (_calling, L._). Hallo, you, this way. (_Enter Harry and Herbert, L._) The doctor will see you in a jiffy. (_Exit, L._)

_Herbert._ So, Harry, you have at last followed the fashion and been caught by the advertisement of a quack?

_Harry._ Not caught, as you imagine. The fact is, Herbert, I want something novel for my new play, and hearing this fellow pretends to be an astrologer, I want to know what he can tell me through the medium of the stars.

_Herbert._ Stars? I should think you were pretty well posted regarding them. By the way, what is the plot of your new piece?

_Harry._ About as usual. A man who possesses a secret, another who would go through fire and water to find it out.

_Herbert._ Blood and thunder school?

_Harry._ Rather. But my villain,--he’s a character,--he does the murder admirably.

_Herbert._ Murder! (_Enter Wiggins, R._)

_Wiggins._ Murder! (_Starts back and conceals himself, R._)

_Harry._ Listen. (_In melodramatic style recites._) “He possesses the secret by which I might obtain gold! gold! gold! He keeps me from that secret. But I have him in my power. I am now beneath his roof. I know all the secret windings of the various passages, and at the dread hour of midnight I will steal to his apartment, and with my dagger over his head will shout in his ear, Blood! Blood! Blood! and bury it in his heart. Then the secret is mine and mine alone.” Sh! (_Enter Wiggins, R._) The doctor.

_Wiggins_ (_aside_). Oh, dear! I see it all. I’m a doomed man. It’s all up with me. But I must appear calm. (_Trembles violently._) Wh-wh-wh-at d-d-d-o you w-w-want?

_Harry._ Are you the physician?

_Wiggins._ Yes. That is--no--no--oh! Blood! Blood! Blood!

_Harry._ Blood? I thought it was Wiggins.

_Wiggins._ It is. It is Wh-Wh-Wh-ig-ig-ins.

_Harry._ I have a nervous affection for which I wish to be doctored. A spasmodic moving of the arm at times.

_Wiggins._ Yes, I know. “At the dread hour of midnight.”

_Harry._ What shall I do for it?

_Wiggins_ (_fiercely_). Go home, put your head in a basin of gruel--no--no; put a basin of gruel on your feet and--The dread hour of midnight! Oh! oh! (_Sinks into a chair._)

_Harry._ Why, what’s the matter?

_Wiggins_ (_jumps up_). Matter? Murder, robbery, cold steel! That’s what’s the matter. Go home; stay at home. Your disease is fatal if you stir from home for the next fourteen years, especially (_aside_) at the dread hour of midnight. (_Sinks into chair._)

_Harry._ But the remedy, your great secret?

_Wiggins_ (_aside_). There it is, my great secret (_jumping up_). Go home, I say. Do as I tell you, or your life isn’t worth a lucifer match.

_Harry._ This is a very queer doctor. Come, Herbert, let’s go. I will call again, when you are more calm and quiet. (_Exit Harry and Herbert, L._)

_Wiggins._ Yes, I know, “at the dread hour of midnight.” What’s to be done? This sanguinary ruffian who is bound to obtain the secret of “The Great Elixir.” I always had an idea that I should be martyred for the knowledge I possess. I wish I was rid of the Great Elixir. Oh, Wigglesworth Wiggins, I wish you had been in the seventh heavens, ere you had made me the seventh son of a seventh son! (_Enter Dennis, L., with lunch on a waiter._)

_Dennis._ Here’s your lunch, sir (_places it on table_).

_Wiggins._ Lunch! A pretty time to think of lunch. (_Aside._) I must make a confidant of Dennis. Perhaps he can assist me. Dennis!

_Dennis._ Yes, sir.

_Wiggins._ What would you do to get hold of such a secret as that of the Great Elixir?

_Dennis._ Faith! I’d go through fire and water to get a hould of it.

_Wiggins_ (_aside_). Oh, murder! Suppose he should forestall the ruffians! Would you shed blood, blood, blood?

_Dennis._ No, no, no, divil a hape.