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Hittle Plans
Hor Xittle Actors,
2
BY MISS CORNER,
Ellustrated by
HARRISON WEIR anp J. V. BARRET.
mI NIRS NS NIV SONI RII,
Srries the Second,
LSI VIN INI II NS
LONDON:
DEAN & SON, 11, LUDGATE HILL, f&. oc.
Educational Bock and Print Publishers.
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HITTINGTON IN THEIR ¥
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Whittington & bis Cat
AN ENTERTAINMENT FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
By MISS CORNER,
AND EMBELLISHED
By ALFRED CROWQUILL, ESQ.
The Second of ihe Series of Hittle Plays for Pittle Actors.
LONDON :
DEAN AND SON, #1, LUDGATE HILL,
THREE DOORS WEST OF OLD BAILEY.
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Mr
RICHARD WHITTINGTON . 4 poor country boy.
MR. FITZWARREN . . . . A London merchant.
CAPTAIN OF THE SHIP.
THOMAS oe YL ye Dee. Pelewerren’s fooiman,
SAILOR.
COUNTRYMAN.
eel ey ee ess oe A, erred ecangirer:
COOK.
DAME HOMELY.
\
BROS
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Ir nappened, during the last Christmas holi-
days, that I was present on several occasions
when a party of young people, from about
eight to twelve years of age, contrived to
amuse themselves, as well as the elder portion
of the company, very agreeably for the greater
part of an evening, by acting charades. The
clever and spirited manner in which they
represented a variety of characters, confirmed
me in an idea I had previously
entertained, of arranging some of
the most popular and favourite stories
of our childhood for similar per-
formances. It struck me, that, in
personating our old friends Whitting-
ton, Mr. Fitzwarren,
X PREFACE.
and the cross Cook, or Cinderella, her proud Sisters, and
her fairy Godmother—the younger branches of many a family,
especially in the country, might, during the winter season,
_ find an innocent and lively recreation. Their memories would
be improved by the necessity of learning perfectly the parts
assigned them; and their ingenuity would be exercised in
adapting their resources to the arrangement of the scenes to
be represented.
I am aware that some persons object to juvenile amuse-
ments that bear any affinity to theatricals ; but this appears
to me an objection that favours the present purpose, since most
children of talent and lively disposition are fond of assuming
imaginary characters, inventing incidents, and framing dialogue
suited to the illusion. Acting, among children, is therefore
no novelty; and if proper subjects be selected, and care taken
that they convey some useful or moral lesson, I am con-
vinced, from experience as well as reflection, that such per-
formances would be calculated to do good rather than harm.
Children want to be amused; and I believe that amusement
is beneficial to them, provided it has no bad tendency. I
also believe that a very important part of education consists
in promoting innocent and agreeable occupation for leisure
hours, in order to prevent any disposition to indolence, either
of mind or body. With these views and opinions, I offer
my little plays as a pastime for the approaching holidays ;
and I sincerely hope they may prove the means of furnishing
entertainment for many of my young friends in the long
evenings of the present winter.
JULIA CORNER.
GENERAL DIRECTIONS.
In the getting up of these plays, the arrangement of the scenes must of
course depend in great measure on the sort of room in which the per-
formance takes place. Nothing could be better adapted to the purpose
than two rooms opening into each other with folding doors, the stage
being that into which the doors open, as they would form places for the
exit of different actors, who might retire behind the doors instead of
all going off the stage at the same point. These would also answer
the purpose of a curtain, some person being stationed behind each
to open and close them between the scenes. The prompter might also
stand behind one of the doors. If, however, the play is to be acted in
a singleroom, a curtain might be contrived to separate the stage from
the part occupied by the audience; or rather two curtains to close
in the middle, and draw to each side. They might be drawn on a
string fastened by hooks from one side of the room to the other.
Painted scenery would be a great advantage, but if this cannot be
obtained, a few hints are given at the beginning of each scene as to
the best mode of supplying the deficiency. The actors should learn
their parts very perfectly, and rehearse the play at least three times
before performing it to an audience.
ir a
WHITTINGTON AND WIS CAT.
SCENE THE FIRST.
[This scene being intended to represent the vicinity of a country
village, a few broken boughs of trees, two or three handfuls of
straw, some baskets, gardening tools, and other signs of rustic
occupation should be strewn over the stage; and the effect might
be heightened by making a green hedge, which could be done with
very little trouble by getting some large bunches of laurel, holly,
and other evergreens, tying then to the backs of chairs, and
placing them in a row at the back of the stage. |
| The doors open and discover Whittington in ragged clothes
sitting on the ground. |
| inter CoUNTRYMAN, in @ blouse and wide awake hat, with a
whip in his hand. |
Countryman. The waggon’s loaded, and I’m ready quite
To start for London now—so that’s all right.
| Looks at WHITTINGTON.
Well, my fine fellow, what have you to say?
Have you a mind to go to London—hey ?
Whittington (rising.) Yes, I should like it—but I do not
know -
How far it is, sir, nor which way to go.
14 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Countryman. Why, what can such a little chap as you
In that great city be agoing to do?
Who do you know there; come, speak out my lad,
And if I can, P’ll help you, and be glad.
Whittington. I don’t know any body there I’m sure,
I am an orphan boy and very poor.
But perhaps I may get rich, for I’ve been told
The streets of London are all paved with gold.
Countryman. Pooh! nonsense! gold, indeed—why, if
they were,
I’d get some on't myself when I go there ;
The silly folks are very much to blame
Who fill boy’s heads with fancies—what’s your name?
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. © 15
Whittington. Dick Whittington.
Countryman. Dick, is it? well I'll show
The way to London if you wish to go;
So, come with me, and you shall walk beside
My waggon—when you're tired, you may ride. [ Have.
Whittington. That’s kind indeed—so I'll to London go,
Whether the streets are paved with gold or no. [ Beet.
[The curtain is then drawn, or folding doors are closed, and as the
next scene is supposed te be a street in London, all signs of
the country village must be removed. The room door will serve
for the door of Mr. Fitzwarren’s house, and a step may be easily
made by placing two foot stools before it and covering them
with a. white cloth to look like white stone. |
DIS SSIS ISS SLL INI IRINA SS
SCENE THE SECOND.
| When the doors open, WHITTINGTON ts on the stage. |
Whittington, Oh, dear! Iam so tired, and hungry toc ;
I don’t know where to go—what shall I do?
How busy all the people seem to be,
Perhaps they have no time to notice me,
For if I ask for work, they say they’ve none;
And if I beg, they tell me to be gone.
Pe ; a
a a SS SS SS
16 | WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. .
, ¢
ee I
Suppose I should not meet with any pity,
What will become of me in this great city?
I shall be almost starved to death, I fear.
. Oh! how I wish I never had come here.
[He sits down on the step of the door.
Enter Mr. FITZ WARREN.
Mr. Fitzwarren. How now, young fellow, what are you
about, |
Loitering at people’s doors? no good, I doubt.
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. Ly
It is such idle vagabonds as you, .
Who will not work, that so much mischief do ;
Be gone at once, or [’ll to prison send you ;
A little wholesome punishment may mend you.
[ WHITTINGTON 77ses ae Mr. FItzwaRrRen 1s speaking
and moves ad paces. |
Whittington. Send me to ipeiion ! oh, no; pray, sir, don’t,
I won’t come here again, indeed I won't ;
I am not idle, but acountry boy |
Come up. to London, sir, to seek employ,
And should be very glad to work for you,
If you could give me anything to do. :
Mr. Fitzwarren. To work, you say? Ah, that’s a dif-—
ferent case ; |
If you want work, I'll soon find you a place.
What are your parents?
a (wiping his eyes with the betel of his hand).
Please, sir, they are dead.
Mr, Filzwarren. You’ are an orphan, then, in want of
bread,
Willing to work for lodging, food, and clothes,
If any one would take you, I suppose?
- Whittington. Yes, sir, indeed ; I should be very glad,
And would do anything—— 2 |
Mr. Fitzwarren. That’s right, my lad.
What do you say to living here with me?
W. ae Oh! thank you, sir; ; how happy I should be!
18 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Mr. Fitzwarren. My servants will, perhaps, find you of
use
To run on errands, and to brush the shoes.
I hope you are an honest boy, and then
You'll prosper—honest boys make thriving men. __
Whittington. Yes, sir, my mother always told me so,
And I am very honest, that I know.
Mr. Fitzwarren. Well, then, I think I'll trust you, so
| come in,
And you'shall have some dinner to begin ;
Then you may go to work, my little man,
And make yourself as useful as you can.
[ He goes into the house, and WuittT1neton follows him.
INDI LVL LLIN IN LOL INIA I INLD IO
SCENE THE THIRD.—A Kitchen.
[A common table, two wooden chairs, and any other kitchen furniture
might be introduced in this scene, so as to give the stage the
appearance of a kitchen. ]
[WHITTINGTON runs in, followed by the Cock, who is beating
him with a large wooden spoon or a ladle. |
Cook. You idle jackanapes—what ; muttering still ;
I'll teach you to be saucy—that I will.
Whittington. I was not saucy, Mrs. Cook
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. | 19
Cook. | - You were.
Now let me see you crying, if you dare—
For here comes Mistress Alice ; I will tell her
You are a lazy good-for-nothing fellow.
[ The Cook, being an ignorant person, may pronounce thes word
teller. | é
Enter ALICE.
Alice. What is the matter, Pickard ?
[ee turns away wiping 5 his as
Nay, come here;
You have not been behaving well, I fear.
What hag he done, Cook? let me hear the trath,
But pray remember, he’s a friendless youth,
And should be ‘kindly treated.
20 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Whittington. Thank you, ma’am.
I’m sure I did not think it any harm
To run into the street to see a show—
Cook. He idles all his time away, ma’am, so.
Alice. you should not leave your work to look at shows,
But it was very tempting, I suppose.
There, dry your tears, look cheerful, and we'll see
If you can do an errand well for me ;
Carry this medicine to Mistress Payne,
Ask how she is, and make haste back again.
[ He takes the bottle which AuicE gives him, bows,
and goes out.
Cook, you are cross to that poor boy, I think ;
I hope he has enough to eat and drink ;
If he does wrong, me or my father tell ;
But I desire that you will use him well. [ coed
Cook. So here’s a pretty piece of work she makes
About a paltry beggar boy—he takes
Her fancy I suppose—but Pll soon show
Who’s mistress in the kitchen, or I’ll know
The reason—use him well, too—lack-a-daisy !
Such fellows are enough to drive one crazy. | Hace.
WHITTINGTON returns.
Whittington. That cross, ill-natured cook— I do my best
To please her, yet she lets me have no rest ;
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 21
And sometimes for my dinner makes me eat
Dry crusts of bread without a bit of meat.
And if I can’t help crying, then she beats me;
I'd tell young Mistress Alice how she treats me,
But that would make her worse, I am afraid ;
Besides she’d contradict all that I said,
So I must bear it.
Enter DAME HomELy with a cat in her arms.
Whittington. What a pretty cat!
Dame H. Yes, she’s a perfect beauty—sleek—and fat !
And gentle as a lamb; just feel her paw.
Tis soft as velvet, yet you never saw
A better mouser.
ae WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Whittington. Will she really kill
The mice, I wonder ?
Dame H. Ay, boy, that she will;
So, if the cook’s at home, just go and tell her
I have a cat that I should like to sell her.
Whittington (eagerly). What would you sell her for ?
Dame H. Why, let me see,
Sixpence ; and a great bargain she would be.
Whittington (in a tone of disappointment). Sixpence ;
oh dear! I’ve only got a penny,
Or else I’d buy her—for there are so many
Mice in the loft, that all night long they keep
Running about me so, I cannot sleep ;
And then I am so tired in the morning,
Cook often scolds, and beats me too, for yawning.
Dame H. If that’s the case, poor boy, I pity you;
And though I am in want of money too,
I willingly would help you for all that,
So I will take your penny for the cat
And trust you for the rest; perhaps some day
You may be rich enough the debt to pay.
Whittington. Then I may have her; oh, I am so glad!
Here is the penny. [ Gives it and takes the cat.
Dame. Well, good-bye, my lad ;
My name is Homely, you can hear of me
From Davy Wright, the blacksmith; so, you see
When you grow richer you need not forget
You are a trifle in Dame Homely’s debt. [ Hat.
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 23
Whittington (stroking the cat). Poor puss! «your coat
is very nice and soft,
But I must go and hide you in the loft,
Where you must kill the mice, puss, if you please,
That I may sleep a little more at ease.
Of all my victuals you shall have a share,
But Cook must never know that you are there:
For, if she did, I don’t know what she’d say,
But I’m quite sure she’d soon take you away. [ Ext.
[In the foregoing scene the exits and entrances must not all be by the
same door; and this may be easily avoided by leaving sufficient
space behind the folding doors for any one to stand, or contriving
a screen at one side of the room. ‘The cat may be a real one, if
there should happen to be one in the house quiet enough to perform
the part with credit; if not, a toy cat should be procured. ]
INGVNINA I NIND ININININI A ANI NINI NA AD
SCENE THE FOURTH.—A Counting-house.
[Mr. FirzwaRReEn ts sitting at a table covered with books
and papers, reading a letter. He rises, and comes
forward. |
Mr. Fitzwarren. This letter tells me that my ship will
sail ue
To-morrow ; may it be a prosperous gale
To fill her sails, and waft her o’er the sea!
The Captain’s trusty, and if this should be
24 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
A profitable voyage, I shall clear
At least a thousand pounds: but who comes here?
Enter CAPTAIN.
Good morning, Captain. Well, what news?
Captain. All’s right ;
We’ve shipped the cargo, and shall sail to-night
Just down the river; so I’ve come to see
If you have any more commands for me.
Mr. Fitzwarren. This only ; all my people have a mind
To send out something in this ship, I find,
Hoping to make a little money by it.
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. oy
se a cl tt napintas eS
Captain. Well, there is no objection they should try it;
I like their spirit: and will surely do
The best I can for them, I promise you.
Where are their packages? for they must go
Directly—I’ve a sailor down below
Will take them—
Mr. Fitzwarren (pointing to some boxes or packages
in a corner). Here they are: one, two, three, four,
Five, six—there certainly should be one more ;
I’ve seven servants here in my employ:
Oh! I perceive it is the errand-boy
Who is left out ; but that must never be.
| He goes to the door and calls.
Here, Thomas! send up Whittington to me.
[ Shuts the door and comes back.
The lad shall have his chance, as well as they.
Captain. Yes, to be sure; I like to see fair play.
Mr. Fitzwarren. And so do I——
Whittington (opens the door). Please, sir, do you want
me? | |
Mr. Fitzwarren. Yes, boy, come in; how is it that I see
Nothing of yours here ?
Captain. Would you like to send
Something to sea with me, my little friend ? :
The merest trifle may sometimes be sold
Among the Blacks for a large piece of gold. |
Mr. Fitzwarren. What have you got?
26 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Whittington. I’ve nothing but a cat,
And please, sir, I don’t like to part with that.
Captain (laughing). A cat! ha, ha!—a cat! I hardly
know
What we could do with her
Mr. Fitzwarren. _ Well, let her go.
At least you'll have your chance, my boy ; and what
You send, in my opinion, matters not.
Go fetch your cat.
[ Exit Wurrtineton, slowly and sorrowfully.
Now, Captain, let us see
If everything is right ’twixt you and me.
[They sit down to the table, and busy themselves in looking
over some papers, occasionally handing them over to
each other. While they are thus occupied, Wutt-
TINGTON comes in with the cat in his arms, and comes
to the front of the stage. |
Whittington. Oh, pussy, dear, it almost breaks my heart
To think that you and I are going to part.
The nasty mice will come again, I know,
As soon as you are gone. Why must you go?
I wish I had not said a word about you,
And then the Captain would have gone without you.
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. a7
Enter Autcr. (She admires and strokes the om)
Alice. What a sweet pretty creature! who does she
Belong to? i :
Whittington. Please, ma’am, she belongs to me ;
But I’m afraid that she is going away,
Unless you would be kind enough to say
I'd rather keep her here; and then I know
My master would not say that she must go.
Alice. But, Richard, he is doing it for your good :
Perhaps you have not rightly understood
Why she’s to go abroad.. Have you been told
What she is going for ?
Whittington. . Yes, ma'am; to be sold.
Alice. Well, that is what the Captain means to do,
And then he’ll bring the money home to you.
Suppose he makes your fortune! you would be
Extremely glad you sent her then, you see.
Whittington. I'll do what you think best——
Alice. Then, let her go;.
The Captain will be kind to her, I know.
| Captain (rising and coming forward). Yes, re mis-
tress Alice; I would do
Anything in the world to pleasure you.
So, only say the word; and for your sake,
I’d feed the animal on wine and cake. |
Alice (laughing). Nay, I don’t wish you should with
| kindness kill her. |
28 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Captain. Well then, I must not with such dainties
fill her. | )
‘Now, run down stairs, boy; give her to the care
Of a young sailor you'll find waiting there.
Mr. Fitzworren. Then come and take these boxes; but
make haste,
For there i is not a moment’s time to waste.
Alice (giving her hand to the Captain). Well, good
bye, Captain, may your courage earn,
A happy voyage, and a safe return.
Captain. Fair lady, your kind wishes I receive
With many thanks, and thus I take my leave.
es innit hol ag al ea ee Ae ee ee
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 29
[ Kisses her hand. She makes a parting curtsey and leaves
the room. WHITTINGTON meanwhile is coming in
and out, taking away the packages..|
Captain. Mr. Fitzwarren, I await your leisure. |
Mr. Fitzwarren (rises from the table). I will attend
you, Captain, now with pleasure,
And, ere we part, we'll drink a cup of wine
To the success of this good ship of mine.
[ They go out together.
SCENE THE PIFTH.— Holloway.
[In this scene the most conspicuous object must be the famous stone,
on which WuiTrINcTon was seated when he heard the bells
proclaiming his future dignity as Lord, Mayor of London. The
stage should be arranged much the same as in the first scene; and
the stone, which should be placed in the centre, might be very well
represented by a music stool with a white cloth pinned closely
round it. |
Enter Wurrtincron.—( He looks about him.)
Whittington. It is broad daylight now—this place looks
dreary, |
And I begin to feel quite sad and weary. |
When they find out I’m gone, what will they say?
I almost wish I had not run away.
[ Sets down on the stone.
30 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
ee
petite ES SE ae
ee — =a SY
NSS ee Se
Yet Cook’s ill usage was so hard to bear—
I dare say breakfast is just ready there,
I’m getting hungry—hark ! Bow bells are ringing,
They sound to me like merry voices singing.
[ Some young lady must play the bells on the piano, and sing
to them :—
‘‘Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London ;
Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London ;â€â€™
while Wuittincton gets up and listens, turning
from side to side, and looking up in the arr. |
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. ol
THE BELLS.
io
neler ge “Fo gee e aa as an peice
z+ 7 OTA Ae Se
,
Very softly; the sound gradually dying away.
Se eS ee eee permet
ae
32 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
How very strange—lI thought I heard them say
Lord Mayor of London,—can it be that they
Do really warn me to go back? oh! no;
I am a foolish boy to fancy so.
How could it be; unless indeed there dwells
Some kind goodnatured fairy in the bells.
I fancied that I heard my name quite plain—-
But hush! I think they’re going to ring again.
[ The bells exactly as before. Wuurrineton Listens atten-
tively till the sound des away—then says—
he very words again—then I’ll go back
And never mind the Cook—however black
She looks, her scolding I will try to bear
With patience, if 1 am to be Lord Mayor. [ Lect.
SN ISLNLOIN INI
SCENE THE SIXTH.—Mr. Firzwarren’s Counting House.
[Mr. FrrzwaRRen ts sifting at the table writing. |
Mr. Fitzwarren. How rapidly the time has passed away ;
I find it is two years this very day, |
Since the ship sailed; I surely ought to hear
Some tidings of her soon, or I shall fear
All is not right ! [ A knocking at the door.
Come in!
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 33
Enter CAPTAIN.
Mr. Fitewarren. Ah! is it you,
My noble Captain? Welcome!
[ He rises, and they shake hands.
Captain. How d’ye do,
Mr. Fitzwarren? Here I am, you see,
All safe and sound, right glad once more to be
On shore ; and I am happy, sir, to state
Our voyage has turned out most fortunate ;
We've traded with some rich, though barbarous nations,
And bring you wealth beyond your expectations.
Mr. Fitzworren. This is good news indeed!
Captain. : But more than that;
You recollect the boy who sent his cat ?
Mr, Fitzwarren. What, Whittington ? oh, yes! he lives
here yet,
Poor fellow!
Captain. Poor no more; for he has met
With such rare luck, that even you will be
Not half so rich a man, my friend, as he!
That cat has made his fortune. __
Mr. Fitzwarren. Nay, you joke.
Captain. It is as true.a word as e’er I spoke.
o4 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
[Mr. Firzwarren places chairs, and they sit down, the
Caprain still continuing to speak. |
In a small island we the creature sold
To a black monarch for a chest of gold.
We landed; and the king and queen invited
Me and my mate to dine; being much delighted
With a few trifling presents I had sent them—
Brass buttons, bells, and beads, will quite content them;
But scarce was dinner served, when there rushed out
From every hole and corner, round about,
Hundreds of mice that jumped into the dishes,
Making sad havoc ’mongst the loaves and fishes.
Of course we were surprised, and asked the king
If this invasion was a usual thing.
He told us that it happened every day,
And said that he would freely give away
Half of his treasures, if he could but know
Of any means to drive away the foe.
I sent for puss—and when the mice came out
Again, she quickly put them to the rout ;
I never shall forget what famous fun
It was to see the little creatures run,
While king and queen, and courtiers, all amazed,
Upon the cat in silent wonder gazed ;
And, scarcely daring to believe their eyes,
Pronounced her some magician in disguise.
At length their majesties displayed to me
A chest of gold, and asked if that would be
co
Qn
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Bnough to buy her. I was very glad
To take the offer—so your lucky lad
Thus made his fortune in a single day.
Mr. Fitzwarren. And we will wish him joy without
delay. | Ze goes to the door and calls.
Here, Thomas ! ,
Thomas (outside the door). Yes, sir. .
Mr. Fitzwarren. I should like to speak
To Whittington (shuts the door); this is a curious freak
Of Fortune’s wheel.
Enter ALICE.
Alice (shaking hands with the ces duals Oh, captain,
I’ve just heard
Of your return, and come to say a word
Of welcome. :
Captain. Thank you, fairest Alice, you
Are always charming, whatsoe’er you do.
Alice (laughing). You have not left off flattery, I fear ;
But first, about your voyage let me hear.
Captain. I am rejoiced to say, all has gone well;
In fact, I’ve nothing but good news to tell.
Your wealth’s increased—and Whittington has made
A splendid fortune by his stock in trade.
Alice. Has he, indeed? I’m very eae of that ;
How did it happen?
_ Captar: j Why, I sold his cat
36 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
For such a heap of treasure; he’ll turn out
As rich as Croesus—and as proud, no doubt.
[ WHITTINGTON appears at the door.
Whattington. Do you want me, sir?
Mr. Fitzwarren. Yes, come here, my boy,
Give me your hand, and let me wish you joy.
[He holds out his hand to Wuirrineton, who looks at his
own, wipes wt on his apron, and gives wt timidly and
hesitatingly to his master. |
Alice. And, Richard, I congratulate you too ;
The Captain has some pleasant news for you.
Captam. Yes, Mr. Whittington, you have become
A man of consequence; I’ve brought you home
_ A chest of gold—and here it comes you see.
[Lnter Sartor with a box on his shoulder.
All right, my lad (speaking to Sartor).
Whittington (who looks in astonishment from one to
another). A chest of gold for me!
Sailor (putting down the box). It’s heavy, sir;
I’m rather warm,
A glass of grog won’t do me any harm.
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. © 37
Mr. Fitewarren (ging him money). ele drink the
health of Mr. Whittington.
Sailor. I thank ye kindly, sir,—it shall be done.
[ Batt.
[Wuirrrncton comes to the front and speaks to himself,
while the CapTtain unlocks the box, and the others
look into tt.
Whittington. What can this mean; my health is ine to
drink ° |
They must be making sport of me, I think ;
And yet my master is too kind for that,’
It must be some good news about the cat.
Captain. Now, Mr. Whittington, you may behold
Your treasure ; see, this box is filled with gold,
And you may fairly claim it as your own,
The price a monarch for your cat paid down.
- Whittington. Oh! goodness, what a sight! but, can it be |
That all this glitt’ring gold belongs to me?
Mr. Fitzwarren. It does so; and, if wisely you employ it,
I most sincerely hope you will enjoy it.
Now take this purse—go, get yourself some clothes
More fitting for a gentleman than those ; }
Then come and dine with me—and, Captain, you
I shall expect to dinner here at two.
[Wuittineton and the Captain go off the stage one way,—
ALIcE and Mr. FitzwaRrren the other. |
38 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
SCENE THE SEVENTH.—The Kitchen.
[The Coox is sitting by the table at work—Tuomas enters. |
Thomas. Well, Mrs. Cook, what think poe of all this?
A pretty piece of business, that it is.
There’s Dick is Master Richard now, forsooth,
And sits at table there like any youth
That’s born a gentleman; there’s something strange
And laughable in such a sudden change.
Cook. Laughable! Mr. Thomas; I could cry
With sheer vexation; who'd have thought that I
Should live to see the day when he would be |
Set up—the saucy varlet—above me.
Thomas. Why, as to that, I own I’m rather glad ;
He always was a very civil lad.
Besides, he’s going to make, I heard them say,
Large presents to us all, this very day.
Cook (aside). Presents! good lack—I wish I had not
beat him
This morning |
Thomas. _- Pity, Cook, you didn’t treat him
A little better—don’t you think so—hey?
(Aszde.) I wonder what the vixen now will say.
Cook. Well, Mr. Thomas, you’ve no need to flout one—
And as to presents—I can do without one.
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 39
I’d scorn to touch his gifts—but ee he
Won't dare to offer anything to me.
[ Lhis as sard a
Enter Wairtineton, drest like a gentleman.
Whittington. Thomas, you have been very kind to me,
And I am not ungrateful, you shall see ;
Here is a parting en hovers him a little bag of money).
It is but fair
You all should in my happy fortune share.
Thomas. Well, thank you, Master Richard, I must say
You've acted like a gentleman to-day.
I wish you health and happiness—but look !
What is the matter with our cross-grained Cook ?
[ He touches WHITTINGTON’S arm, and points to the Coox,
who has covered her face with her apron. |
Cook, Now, Thomas, I can very plainly see
You're setting Master Richard against me.
And though my temper is a little warm
Sometimes, I’m sure I never meant no harm.
Whittington. Come, Cook, I bear no malice—so take
this. | Giving her a purse.
Thomas. ’Tis more than she deserves then, that it is.
[ The Coox rises, and takes the purse with a low curtsey. |
40 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Whittington. One word in parting I should like to say :
When next an orphan boy comes in your way,
Though wretched, poor, and friendless he may be,
Treat him more kindly than you've treated me. [ Hace.
— Cook. Well, after all, he has a noble air,
Like a born gentleman, I do declare.
Thomas. You see it in that purse, I have no doubt,
Or else you never would have found it out. [ Exit.
Cook. And if your saucy tongue you don’t keep still,
I’ll spoil your dinner for you—that I will. [ Hatt.
SCENE THE EIGHTH.—
[Dams HomELy sitting on a wooden chair or stool, knitting. |
Dame H. Ah! what a happy day for me was that,
When I, from pure compassion, sold my cat a
To that poor little fellow for a penny! |
Twas all he had, but it has brought him many ;
And he deserves it, for a heart more kind _
You might go far to seek, yet never find.
How very good it was of him to give
To me this pretty cottage, where I live
In comfort now, with twenty pounds a-year
For life! so that I have no more to fear ,
From poverty——
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 41
Enter THoMAS.
Ah, Thomas, how d’ye do?
Thomas. I thank ye, Mrs. Homely, how are you?
I come to bring you news |
Dame H. What can that be? ,
Thomas. Something that’s sure to please you; let us see
If you can guess—— Ss
Dame H. Why yes, I think I can:
It is about a certain gentleman
And a fair lady—who, indeed, but she
The wife of Richard Whittington should be?
Sweet mistress Alice, your good master’s daughter ;
A charming lady I have always thought her.
Thomas. Well, you are pretty right; I came to say
That Whittington was married yesterday
To madam Alice, and there were at least
Fifty grand people at the wedding-feast.
Dame H. Now, heaven bless them both; and may
they be |
As happy, Thomas, as they have made me!
Thomas. You'll get some wedding presents, Dame, I
know— : ice :
A cap and gown, for Jenny told me so ;
A bridal cake, and a good cask of ale ;
Which all will come to-morrow, without fail,
Dame H. How very kind they are to think of me —
And the good master, Thomas, how is he?
42 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
Thomas. Never was better: but I must not stay,
For we shall have enough to do to-day ;
And Cook’s as cross as in those days of old,
When she used poor Dick Whittington to scold.
So, fare thee well, Dame Homely——
Dame H. / Fare thee well!
Good master Thomas, don’t forget to tell
Your gentle mistress, I sincerely pray
She may see many a happy wedding day.
[ Heit, THOMAS.
Well, I declare, I thought it would be so
When they came here about a year ago;
They looked so fondly then at one another,
And treated me as if I'd been their mother.
(Rising). It was a lucky day, I must say that,
When unto Whittington I sold my cat. [ Haat.
IS ASSIA LS SSDI IND OD IOLA NI Nd
SCENE THE NINTH.—Guildhall.
[The decorations of this scene must be left to the taste of the mana-
gers, who should make it as brilliant as they possibly can. Two
or three standard-bearers, displaying banners of different colours,
should be ranged on each side of the stage. They might wear
short kilts, made of any gay looking materials, and long scarfs,
crossing over one shoulder, and tied under the arm on the opposite
side. The flags should be large and showy, attached to long
staves, with streamers of coloured paper, or ribbons, hanging from
the top. |
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 43
(Shouting outside). UWurra! hurra! Whittington for ever!
Lord Mayor of London! hurra! hurra!!!
[ The bells are now played the same as in the fifth scene, but
3 without the singing. |
Enter Lonp Mayor and Lapy Mayorsss, followed by Mr.
FrIrzwaBREN, and the CAPTAIN.
[The Lorp Mayor should be dressed in a long scarlet robe, which
might be made of cotton; or a red shawl, gathered up on one side
and fastened round the neck, would make a very good Lorp
Mayor’s gown. He should wear a gold chain. The Lapy
Mayongss must have a long train, of some gay colour, and a
head-dress, with two or three ostrich feathers. Mr. Firzwarruen
and the CarTain might wear short cloaks, of any colour, trimmed
with fringe. These cloaks would look very well made of light
blue cotton, fringed with gold colour, and studded with stars cut
out of gold paper, and put on with gum. Four little girls, with
baskets of flowers, might walk in front of the Mayor and
Mayorgss, strewing flowers before them. ]
Whittington. Those bells call back to memory the day
When from my master’s house I ran away,
And heard them as I sat upon a stone,
Telling me to return in that same tone.
It must have been a spirit in the air
That said or sung, ‘** Turn, Whittington, lord mayor.â€
44 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
And I have now good reason to rejoice
That I then listened to the friendly voice.
To you, my friends (speaking to Mr. Fitzwarren and the
Captain) much gratitude is due ;
Mr. Fitzwarren, first of all to you,
~My generous benefactor, I must say,
I chiefly owe the blessings of this day.
Mr. Fitzwarren. I’m well repaid for anything I’ve done,
In calling the Lord Mayor of London—son. |
Whittington. Captain, accept my grateful thanks once
more, | |
For, without you, I still might have been poor.
Captain. Nay, my good lord, no thanks are due to me;
For though I was so happy as to be
The means by which you rose, ’twas chance that threw
Into my way the power of serving you.
Alice. Nay, you must not disclaim the debt we owe you.
Whittington. And, I assure you, Alice means to show
roms
The compliments you paid Fitzwarren’s heiress
Are not forgotten by the Lady Mayoress.
Enter an ATTENDANT.
Attendant. My lord, the barges wait.
Whittington. Then we'll proceed :
Fitzwarren, you must the procession lead.
45
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.
as we go, I hope our friends will
?
And
Mr. Fitewarren.
say,
Long life to Richard Whittington.
Mob (outside).
een zy.
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GENERAL DIRECTIONS.
of course depend in great measure on the sort of room in which the
performance takes place. Nothing could be better adapted to the
purpose than two rooms opening into each other with folding doors,
the stage being that into which the doors open, as they would forin
places for the exit of different actors, who might retire behind the
‘doors, instead of all going off the stage at the same point. These
would also answer the purpose of a curtain, some person being sta~
tioned behind each to open and close them between the scenes. The
prompter might also stand behind one of thedoors. If, however, the
play is to be acted in a single room, a curtain might be contrived to
separate the stage from the part occupied by the audience; or rather
two curtains to close in the middle, and draw to each side. They
might be drawn on a string fastened by hooks from one side of the
| In the getting up of these plays, the arrangement of the scenes must
room to the other. Painted scenery would be a great advantage, but
if this cannot be obtained, a few hints are given at the beginning of
each scene as to the best mode of supplying the deficiency. The actors
three times before performing it to an audience.
| should learn their parts very perfectly, and rehearse the play at least
|
IP 1% 15 ®? A CE.
Ir happened during the last Christmas holidays, that I was present on
several occasions when a party of young people, from about eight to
twelve years of age, contrived to amuse themselves, as well as the elder
portion of the company, very agreeably, for the greater part of an
evening, by acting charades. Theclever and spirited manner in which
they represented a variety of characters, confirmed me in an idea I
had previously entertained, of arranging some of the most popular
and favourite stories of our childhood for similar performances, It
struck me, that, in personating our old friends Whittington, Mr.
Fitzwarren, and the cross Cook, or Cinderella, her proud Sisters, and
her fairy Godmother, the younger branches of many a family, espe-
cially in the country, might, during the winter season, find an innocent
and lively recreation. ‘Their memories might be improved by the
necessity of learning perfectly the parts assigned them ; and their
ingenuity would be exercised in adapting their resources to thg
arrangement of the scenes to be represented.
I am aware that some persons object to juvenile amusements that
bear any affinity to theatricals; but this appears to me an objection
that favours the present purpose, since most children of talent and
lively disposition are fond of assuming imaginary characters, inventing
incidents, and framing dialogue suited tothe illusion. Acting, among
children, is therefore no novelty ; and if proper subjects be selected,
and care taken that they convey some useful or moral lesson, I am
convinced, from experience as well as reflexion. that such perform-
ances would be calculated to do good rather than harm. Children
want to be amused; and i believe that amusement is beneficial to
them, provided it has no bad tendency. I also believe that a very
important part of education consists in promoting innocent and
agreeable occupation for leisure hours, in order to prevent any dis-
position to indolence, either of mind or body. With these views and
opinions, I offer my little plays as a pastime for the approaching
holidays ; and I sincerely hope they may prove the means of furnish-
ing entertainment for many of my young friends in the long evenings.
JULIA CORNER.
epee ne ttc NA PAT A INLET EERE NEUSE Nn hf nt nem a ee nen ern gn emnonnennciman gor pepe sete
Che Little Bloy of Mother Goose.
GOODY GOOSE.
COLIN, d ‘ ‘ : her Son.
THE MYSTERIOUS whom CoLIn brings
GUEST. \ home.
' THE SERVANTS.
THE CONSTABLES.
THE GOOSE.
Enostunie.
Moruer Goosr must first wear a pair of high-heeled shoes (if
none are to be had of the fashion of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, common
ones will do, with a pair of steel buckles on the instep, and something
thick and square put under the heel of the shoe to raise it). A green
or other coloured petticoat, and a red skirt, opened down the front
with a long bodice and stomacher of the same, the point of which
should be fastened over a full white apron. The old lady must also
wear a black conical hat, which may be made of pasteboard, cover ed
with silk, and she must carry a stout staff in her hand.
The Mysrerious Guest may be apparelled much insthe:same style,
only her dress should be of a different colour from that ‘of MorHER
Goosz, and she must have the addition of a scarlet- -hoodeil. cloak.
When Moruer Gooss becomes a fine lady, her clothes must of
course be grander and more showy, though madein the same fashion ;
and round her neck she must wear a large Elizabethan ruffle, Her
hair must now be dressed in high style, being combed back from her
forehead into a knot at the top, ornamented with mock pearls or bead
ribbon. She must also have large hoops, or huge paddings on each
side, underneath the skirt of her dress. A long-handled fan, carried
in her hand, would make the costume more complete.
Coun must at first be seen in the garments of a woodman, which
might consist of a green jacket, a large collar, open at the neck, short
trowsers, fastened at his knees, drab gaiters, to imitate cloth stockings,
buckled shoes, and a conical hat. When he becomes a rich man, he
should wear a short coloured cloak, a large lace collar turned down
over it, a long feather in his hat, hanging down over the shoulder, and
a sword by his side. Ife should have black or coloured stockings, the
trowsers fastened above the knee, and large coloured rosettes on his
shoes.
A FEW HINTS TO THE PLAYERS.
OI
As there will only be three different scenes to place on the stage, a
careful preparation should not be neglected. The first, being a room
in a humble cottage. may merely be furnished with a common kitchen
table, and a few three-legged stools or wooden benches. A basket of
eggs, some coarse bread, some cheese and butter, &e. will be required
to be in readiness; as also a pitcher, supposed to contain beer. Some
common plates and dishes (wooden or pewter ones would be best),
knives and forks, &c. should be ranged on some kind of shelf; a
frying-pan will be wanted; and a fire may be easily represented by a
pile of sticks, mixed with bright yellow and scarlet cotton, or paper to
imitate a blaze. A bag full of grass for Goosry’s supper, will be re-
quired, as well as some hay for her bed: and some faggots must be
prepared for Coty. GoosEy’s golden eggs may be easily made, by
boiling some real ones until they are hard, and gilding them over, or
covering them with gilt paper. The goose itself may perhaps be
bought, as toys for children, made of soft down, to imitate nature, are
now commonly sold in most large towns. As this bird is the principal
character in the play, it is worth a little pains to obtain a good repre-
sentation of one: therefore, should there be none to be met with ready-
made, the best way would be to shape an old swan’s-down tippet into
the nearest possible resemblance of a goose; and the beak and claws
might be formed of the fingers of old kid gloves, stuffed with wool or
bran.
A room in a humble cottage.
[The curtain rises, and discovers MotuER Goosk hobdling
about her apartment, with the help of a staff in her hand.]
Mother Goose (speaking to herself). ull sixty years
am I! My hair is gray;
My husband dead and gone; ah! well-a-day!
10 MOTHER GOOSE.
I have no daughter dear; and there is none
To bear me company, except my son,
My poor dear Colin! but he’s good, ’tis true,
And earns his living, and his mother’s too.
He is my only comfort and my joy,
My pride and pleasure centre in my boy,
*Tis time he was at home! I'll to the door
And look for him,—he should be here at four.
[She goes to the door, opens it, and gazes around.
(Mother Goose continues). How cold and perished my poor
lad must be!
Did ever any one such weather see?
The fields and hedges are one sheet of white ;
I never felt so winterly a night.
How do I pity those who houseless roam,
Without warm clothing, and without a home.
As far as I can see, there’s nought but snow,
And on yon pales are hanging in a row
Full forty icicles!
(She shivers). I’m growing old,
But still I think Decembers were n’t so cold
When I was young—or summers half so wet ;
Ah! those brave times I never shall forget!
Well, I will-go and warm myself! Oh, dear!
(Hobbles to the fire). This tiresome fire will soon be out,
I fear.
MOTHER GOOSE. 11
If Colin does not very soon return,
For I have no more faggots left to burn.
A whole long hour has passed away since he
Set out with axe in hand; how can it be?
I doubt wood ’s difficult to get! This snow
And biting frost can’t fail to make it so,
I only hope he’ll very soon be here;
Meanwhile I'll do my best.
[She stoops down and blows the embers, fanning the fire with
her hat]
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
12 MOTHER GOOSE.
[A loud knocking is now heard at the door; MotTHER GoosE
rises, and hastens to open it.}
Enter Couin with a bundle of faggots on his back, and an aged
and infirm woman leaning on his arm. CoLIN also
carries a fine goose.
{[MorHeR Goose holds up her hands in astonishment and
surprise. |
Colin. As I the forest left, my mother dear,
I chanced to see this aged stranger here ;
She lay upon the ground, half dead with cold,
Hungry and desolate, and weak, and old.
While her poor goose, which in my arms you see
But just alive, no better fared than she.
I knew you’d not refuse them food and rest,
-For pity dwells within your gentle breast ;
So I have brought them here. Have I done right,
Dear mother? Tis a piercing frosty night !
Mother Goose. It is so, boy—and thou hast only done
Thy duty, Colin—bring them in, my son.
[Ske goes to the STRANGER, and taking her by the hand, leads
her forward. |
Mother Goose (to the visitor). Welcome, good dame!
come in; you need not fear,
And make yourself at home while you stay here.
_ All that we have you shall be free to share,
For though we’re poor, we've something still to spare.
‘MOTHER GOOSE. 13
Let your poor goose be furnished with a seat
Of nice clean straw. Sit down and warm your feet.
Colin, my boy, your finest faggot lay
Upon the fire, and make it blaze away!
[Contin throws a faggot on the fire, while MoTHER GoosE
makes the STRANGER sit near it.]
Mother Goose. Another, boy, another! pile it high,
For I the supper hastily must fry.
Get down my largest pan, while from the pegs
I reach the bacon. There are new--laid eggs
In yonder basket; Colin, bring them here, [Colin obeys
And draw a pitcher of our best-brewed beer.
[CoLin employs himself in setting the table, while MoTHER
Goosk is husied with the frying-pan over the fire.]
The Stranger. Good folks, is it your wont thus kind
to be
To all who crave your hospitality ?
Colin (earnestly). Faith! ma’am, I hope it is.
Mother Goose. Ah! surely so ;
Should we not succour those who are in woe ?
(The STRANGER, who has her Goose in her lap, stoops over it,
and speaks to it.] ;
The Stranger. Ah! faithful Goosey! you would now
be dead
But for good Colin’s care—-—
Colin. She shall be fed.
14 MOTHER GOOSE.
[He goes behind the curtain, and soon returns with a bagful of
grass and some hay. The latter he makes into a seat
on the hearth, to which he removes GooskE to feed on
the former.
Stranger. Thanks, generous Colin, for your kindly aid ;
With heaven’s best blessings may you both be paid!
No gratitude poor Goosey can express, °
Yet I am sure she feels it none the less;
Therefore, on her account, as on my own,
Thanks! thanks! for all the bounty you have shown.
Colin. _ Mother, the table’s ready !
Mother Goose. Well, my son!
Set-to the benches, for my. dish is done.
[MorHer Goose takes off her pan, and brings a dish to the
table, on which is now spread the meal.]
[As the trio is not supposed to consist of very stylish folks, but rather
of hungry peasants, the viands are despatched in haste, and with
little ceremony, the Damu and her Son replenishing the plate of
the Gusst with great attention. ] :
The Stranger. Good folks, you are too lavish: ne’er
before:
Did I partake such bacon. ’
Colin. Have some more,
I pr’ythee ma’am ?
Mother Goose. Another egg ?
Colin. Some cheese ?
The Stranger. A very little morsel, then, sir, please.
| MOTHER GOOSE. 15
Mother Goose. This is fresh butter I’ve but churned
to-day.
Your horn is empty.
MotTHer GOOSE pours some beer into it.
The Stranger (holding back the horn). Stay, good mother,
stay !
I’ve had enough, indeed, both meat and drink ;
And it must be your bed--time, I should think;
For my part, I am sleepy.
=
|
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i
|
|
16 MOTHER GOOSE.
Mother Goose. Our best bed
Is at your service.
The Stranger. Thanks! My aching head
Needs quiet rest, so kindly lead the way:
But as I must be off ere break of day,
I'd better do my business over night,
And then my conscience will be clear and light.
Know then, good Dame, and Colin, that my heart
Is filled with gratitude; and ere we part,
I fain would offer all 1 have to give—
Namely, my poor old goose. Oh! let her live
In ease and comfort! She'll repay your care;
You'll find in her a treasure rich and rare.
A bird she is, indeed, beyond all_ praise,
For, once a week, a golden egg she lays;
And each is valued at a sum no less
Than fifty broad gold pieces of Queen Bess.
Mother Goose. A thousand thanks, kind, bounteous
strange! ——~
The Stranger. Nay,
Give me no thanks, but list to what I say,
You must not grow ambitious, nor desire
More than your reasonable wants require ;
But spend with care, and from your ample store
A portion give unto the suffering poor ;
And what is over carefully lay by
Against a season of adversity.
MOTHER GOOSE. 17
But should you slight my words—grow proud.and vain—
Be discontented, and desire more gain—
Ill-treat my present, and abuse your prize—
Pass by the orphan, and the poor despise,—
Soon shall you have no golden eggs to sell.
Take, then, my gift and counsel, and—farewell.
[Tae SrRANGER vanistes Gehind the curtain. The DAME
and COLIN look at each other in astonishment, They
seek in vain for their GUEST, for she is gone.
Colin. Mother, can this be true?
Mother Goose. Our guest must be
From fairy-land !
Colin. Good truth, then, let us see;
P'rhaps Goosey’s laid already.
{Coun lifts her carefully off her nest ; and. lo! a fine large
egg of gold. He snatches it up, and showing it to his
mother, they both throw up their arms, and dance about
with joy, the old woman's high-heeled shoes making a
great clatter. |
Colin. Look, mother! oh!
Look here! hurrah! hurrah! No more I'll go
To gather faggots.
Mother Goose. Oh, my goodness me!
It is indeed a golden egg I see!
Colin. I'll go to London, where I’m sure to meet
With some rich jeweller in Lombard-street,
18 MOTHER GOOSE,
Who will not fail this wondrous egg to buy.
T'll faggots sell no more !—not I, not I!
And as for you, good mother, all your life
You shall be grander than a great lord’s wife.
Away shall go your wheel; you'll spin no more,
And nice green rushes shall bespread your floor.
Won't we be fine folk now ?
Mother Goose. We will indeed ;
And Goosey shall on richest dainties feed,
As well she does deserve.
Colin. Hurrah ! hurrah !
Our neighbours soon shall see how grand we are.
MOTHER GOOSE. 19
A handsome Apartment.
[According to the rude fashion of the times, but scanty furniture will
be required, The room must be as large as possible, and need
contain only a few straight-backed chairs or benches, a table,
and a buffet or sideboard, on which should be ranged some an-
tiquated plate, such as wine-cups, silver ladles, &c these will
best denote the luxuriant state to which the OLp Lapy and her
Son are supposed to have arrived. ]
[The curtain rises, and discovers COLIN and his MorHEer
sitting at the upper end of the apartment ; and by the
DAME’s side is seen the famous Bird, to which they owe
20 MOTHER GOOSE.
their greatness. At the farther end are two or three
SERVANTS in gaudy liveries, standing idly about. |
Colin (to one of the SERVANTS). Come hither, knave, and
harke’e what 1 say:
On the gray jennet mount, and ride away
To the next town,—your mistress hath great need
Of many things ; so you must make all speed.
Servant. An’t please you, master, that I will.
Mother Goose. Yes, go
And bid the mercer quickly come to show
His richest silks and velvets; I will dress—
Why should I not?—as gaily as Queen Bess.
Colin. And send the tailor too—I want some more
New clothes, with finer "broidery than before. .
Servant. Yes, master; shall I bring the ven’son too,
And order some more flasks of wine ?
Colin. Ay, do.
Mother Goose (speaking to another SERVANT, who is
looking through a window).
What ave you gazing at 2—what is’t you see
Down in the street there ?
Servant. Madam, sure there be
Two bits o’ babes come pattering down the lane,
All bare 0’ the feet, and trudging in the rain:
Shall I bid Mistress Bridget bring them here?
They look like orphans——
Mother Goose. Are they very near Z
Servant. Hard by the lodge
Colin. No! tell them to be off!
Mother Goose. And shut the door behind ye! Oh, my
cough }
[ eit Servant. Moruer Goose makes a littte affected cough. |
Colin, Mother, I almost wish I’d had them fed.
Mother Goose. 1 wish myself they’d had at least some bread.
Colm, But after all, we have enough to do
To make our goose lay fast enough.
Mother Goose. Tis true.
Enter SERVANT with a cup of wine, which he hands to CoLin.
Colin, we'll have a party; Ill send out,
And ask the neighb’ring gentry round about,
And we'll have such a supper !—on my word,
A supper fit for any noble lord.
Servant (aside). And yet they sent those hungry babes
away,
Without a bit of bread, this very day !
Colin. I shall go hunting, for I like such sport.
Mother Goose. Oh! ein how I long to go to court!
But here comes pedlar Paul—I1l have some hose
Like those I heard Queen Bess wore at the shows.
Colin. And I a new seamed shirt.
Enter PEDLAR, with a box.
Pedlar : Master, good day ;
Do you want anything of me, I ne 2
Good day, my lady.
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MOTHER GOOSE. 93
Enter SERVANT.
Servant (to Coutn). Sir, here is Master Clutch,
The kid-skin cutter, and he asks for ye.
Colin. | owe him eighty pieces! wo is me!
Mother, what shall we do!
Mother Goose (to the PEDLAR again). Can you not wait
Till we've more golden eggs ?
Pedlar. No! ’tis too late;
Jn a few minutes, other folks, I know,
Are coming for their share of what you owe.
[CoLin walks about the room, then going up to the PEDLAR,
lays his hand on his shoulder. |
Colix. Come, my most worthy Paul, rise up and go
And join good Master Clutch down there below ;
Dll order some goed cheer for you, and soon
You shall be paid.
Pediar. It must be before noon:
I am resolved that I will wait no more.
[fl loud knocking is heard.
Colin. Mother, the officers are at the door!
We must have money. (COoLIN points to Goosey)—See that
bird, how fat !
A dozen eggs are in her—more than that!
Let’s rip her open, take them out, and then
Send for a leech to stitch her up again.
*Twould give her pain, poor animal, I doubt;
But, mother! what are we to do without ?
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MOTHER- GOOSE. 25
Colin. Oh! mother, mother! what is this I’ve done ?
The goose is dead, and there’s no egg—not one!
Lifeless she lies before us, and ’tis plain :
~ Will never give us her ae gold again.
Oh! miserable me!
Mother Goose (sobbing bitterly). It is no use
To hold out any more.
Eater some OFFICERS OF JUSTICE, holding up their official
staffs.
Chief Officer (speaking roughly). Come, Mother Goose,
Where is that famous bird of yours ?—for it,
And all you have, by virtue of this writ,—
(He puts a piece of paper into her hand).
With which we serve you in our good Queen’s name,
For debts you owe, we do most justly claim.
Mother Goose (groaning). Oh! mercy, gentlemen! Oh,
oh! oh, oh!
One of the Officers. So we must seize these things, and
you must go
With the poor paltry pittance that remains;
Your creditors are eager for their gains,
Colin (holding down his head), Come, then, dear mother,
since we must not stay!
(The OFFICERS begin to remove the furniture).
Mother Goose. Ah! yes, my Colin! take me hence away.
26 MOTHER GOOSE,
ase etn
’ Find but some-hut, where my poor bones may rest,
And no rude officers my peace molest.
Ah, me! ah, me!
(Coin gently leads her off the stage, she sobbing as she goes).
| Alack, what shall I do?
And my sweet boy, what will become of you?
[The curtains close.
he arena ee A TRACT CE CEI
Mh |
————————————— genes
ey
— n Same
SCENE THE THIRD.—A mean Kitchen.
[The next scene is supposed to be a cottage even more humble than
the first, therefore, it must only contain a single stool, a small
table, and scarcely any household utensils. Mornrer Goose and
her Son must again be attired in their peasant’s dress, and must
assume an air of extreme poverty and sadness. |
The curtain rises, and the OLD DAME should be seen either
spinning or knitting. She is alone for some time, and
Se eee Seer eae SNE EIS Sa a ee i re renre er
8 MOTHER GOOSE.
sits over a low fire, sighing from time to time, as af in
great dejection. |
Enter Couin with a load of faggots, which he puts down in a
corner, then leans his elbows on the table, as if much futtgued.
Mother Goose. Poor lad, thou’rt sadly weary; and I fear
Thou lt have to fast, or sup on sorry cheer.
Colin. Mother, what have you got? I’m tired enough,
This hewing faggots makes my hands so rough
And sore. My limbs ache very badly too—
For three years past they’ve had no work to do,
And now ’tis twice as heavy chopping wood ;
I can’t earn half so quickly as I could.
[He covers his face with his hands, and weeps.
Mother Goose (hurrying up to him, and putting her arms
round him).
Ah! Colin, Colin, hold! We've plenty yet,
If our past grandeur we could but forget ;
Each day you will feel better.
Colin. : Mother, nay!
Shame will pursue me to my dying day.
[Moruer Goosx places some bread and salt before him, and a
mug of water |.
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MOTHER GOOSE : AS)
Mother Goose. Oh! that we had our golden goose
again ! |
I’ve looked for that good guest each hour in vain.
Colin. She'll come no more ; her favourite bird we slew.
Mother Goose. Alas! what tempted us that deed to do?
Colin. The love of money is and ever will
The root of evil be.
Mother Goose. Whilst I sat still
At my old spinning-wheel, a song I heard
Far sweeter than the notes of any bird,
Sung by young voices, and on looking round
To see whence came the soft melodious sound,
I saw two children by the door-stone stand,
With such pale faces. ‘They were hand in hand,
Oh, Colin! my heart smote me, for I'd seen
Those little ones before. Ah me! how keen
Their hunger made them look! Their cl thes how thin.
Colin, hast thou forgotten our great sin, |
When once we had to spare, yet would not grant
A bit of bread and:cheese to babes in want ?
Colin. Forgotten, mother! No, that cannot be;
Myself in sorrow and in poverty,
Too well 1 know, and deeply feel it. True,
Our punishment is just. We did not do
Na aerate Need Me ark Bd Ne cro we se eo
(ue
30 MOTHER GOOSE. |
Our duty to our neighbours. We forgot
Our Stranger Friend’s advice, or heeded not ;
Grew proud and arrogant; and day by day
Sent hungry beggars from our doors away.
How foolish, how ridiculous we've been,
Striving to ape the courtiers of the queen!
Instead of being thankful for our wealth,
Enjoying it in reason. With good health,
Good food and clothes, unsatisfied, we sought
To be fine gentlefolk!
Mother Goose. But more than aught
I mourn the base ingratitude we show’d
To one, to whom we all our greatness owed.
Ah, Goosey! Goosey! Could you but come back,
How I would honour you! Alack! alack!
"Tis useless to regret.
Since our misfortunes, has unceasing pined
For all our luxuries.
Mother Goose. The bread I eat
I mingle with my tears.
Colin. Yet, oh! how sweet
And wholesome our poor humble cottage fare
Used once to be. Unmixed with restless care
Colin. True, yet my mind,
a mr arn a ER oe orc ene cS tt it A RR A A eR te
MOTHER GOOSE. 3l
Or envy, we our food enjoyed. At night
We slept in peace, and with the morning light
Arose to labour. Sometimes, to my shame,
I longed for riches; yet, when riches came,
I was not happy, for I longed for more,
Oh! how my follies past I now deplore!
Mother Goose 1, too, confess my faults. Ah! if all those
Who covet grandeur could now see our woes,
They might a lesson learn. Could I but speak
A word of caution unto those who seek
For too much worldly good, thus would I say:
[ MoTHER GOOSE now turns to the spectators.
“Oh! thoughtless mortal, my advice obey—
Trust not in riches that will pass away.
With such things as thou hast, contented be;
Discreetly use what God hath given thee.
Should He yet more bestow—of all thy pelf
Not more than needful lavish on thyself:
Help thou the wretched; comfort thou the old;
Clothe thou the naked; do thou warm the cold,—
And thou shalt be rewarded. But if Pride:
Fill up thine heart, and thou wilt not divide
Thy good things with thy brethren; if thou dost
Still covet more, then shall thy riches rust,
Take wings, and fly away. Oh, then, be thou
A faithful steward of that thou hast now ;
alae rre oe ee
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32 MOTHER GOOSE.
For that thou wouldst, but hast not, murmur not ;
And be thou still contented with thy lot.â€
| MorTHER GOosE closes the curtains; and the play is ended.
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MHeanty and the Aeast.
AN ENTERTAINMENT FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
By MISS CORNER,
By ALFRED CROWQUILEL, ESQ.
IRAP PSIPPALI
The First of the Series of Little Plays for Little Actors.
NID Nn
THIRD EDITION.
LONDON:
DEAN & SON, 11, LUDGATE HILL, g.c.
IP 1% 1B A C15.
prmeremmes (} enna
Ir happened, during the last Christmas holidays, that I was
present on several occasions, when a party of young people,
from about eight to twelve years of age, contrived to amuse
themselves, as well as the elder portion of the company, very
agreeably, for the greater part of an evening, by actmg charades.
The clever and spirited manner in which they represented a
variety of characters, confirmed me in an idea I had previously
entertained, of arranging some of the most popular and favourite
stories of our childhood for similar performances. It struck me,
that, in personating our old friends Whittington, Mr. Fitzwarren,
and the cross Cook; or Cinderella, her proud Sisters, and her
fairy Godmother—the younger branches of many a family,
especially in the country, might, during the winter season, find
an innocent and lively recreation. Their memories would be
improved by the necessity of learning perfeatly the parts as-
signed them; and their ingenuity would be exercised in
adapting their resources to the arrangement of the scenes to be
represented. 3 |
I am aware that some persons object to juvenile amusements
that bear any affinity to theatricals; but this appears to me an
|
|
|
Vill PREFACE.
enn i nn rr naa eg emnainmtnk re rom s
objection that favours the present purpose, since most children
of talent and lively disposition are fond of assuming imaginary
characters, inventing incidents, and framing dialogue suited to
the illusion. Acting, among children, 1s therefore no novelty;
and if proper subjects be selected, and care taken that they
convey some useful or moral lesson, I am convinced, from ex-
perience as well as reflection, that such performances would be
calculated te do good rather than harm. Children want to be
amused; and I believe that amusement is beneficial to them,
provided it has no bad tendency. I also believe that a very
im portant part of education consists in promoting innocent and
agreeable occupation for leisure chours, in order to prevent any
disposition to indolence, either of mind or body. With these
views and opinions, I offer my little plays as a pastime for the
approaching holidays; and I sincerely hope that they may prove
the means of furnishing entertainment for many of my young
friends in the long even:ngs.
e
JULIA CORNER.
-"@Qow
PIM ia ee ve a - Merehiont.
es The Renae.
ANNA 3 |
LOLO v6 eee eee «= Lhe Merchant’s Daughters.
BEAUTY 7 e |
SILVERSTAR .... .... A beneficent Fairy.
FOUR ATTENDANT FAIRIES.
nn tere en pene ear ee
10 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
reer hea ear Gen hh ee nnnneneernntentifnneeren Geter
COSTUME.
SNS TAN
Zimri.—A long flowing dress of some dark colour, fastened round
the waist with a wide red or yellow sash or scarf, A turban, or a cap
of black cloth or velvet.
Azor.— He must wear a mask, and be made to look as rough and
as much like a monster as possible. A covering for the head might
be made of shaggy fur, and he should have coarse brown woollen
gloves. His disguise must be so contrived that he may be able to
throw it off easily in the last scene, when he is restored to his natural
form, and becomes a Prince; in which character he should wear a
short tunic of some gay colour, with a tight vest, which might be made
of white calico, slashed with the same colour as the tunic. A border
of gold paper cut in vandykes would look very well round the bottom
of the dress; and some gold paper bordering might be tastefully
arranged on the vest, so as to make a brilliant appearance.
cap with a white ostrich feather might also be put on in the last scene
under the fur head-dress.
The Three Daughters may dress according to fancy; only keeping
in mind that Beauty should be plainer and neater in her attire than
her sisters. .
SILVERSTAR.—Her fairy dress should be two or three very full
skirts, each shorter than the other, of white tarleton edged with light
blue, and a blue scarf of the same light material, passed over one
shoulder and tied under the arm on the other side; a wreath of white
roses on her head, and a white wand twisted with silver paper in her
hand. Any glittering ornaments ‘may be worn, and the upper skirt
should be ornamented with stars of silver paper; or a row of silver
stars might be put on the blue edges of the skirts with gum. To
personate the old beggar-woman, she must wrap herself in a large
dark-coloured cloak, and wear a black hood over her head. The wand
can easily be concealed in a pasteboard sheath painted black, which
will sevre for a stick to lean on; and when she throws of her disguise,
she can draw the wand from the sheath and unbend it, as it should be
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 11
made twice the length of the stick, and doubled to go into it. There
will be no difficulty in this if the wand is made of several thicknesses
of pasteboard pasted together, so as to be quite stiff; and when un-
doubled it can be held firmly at the place where it was bent.
The Attendant Fairies should all be dressed alike, in white,
ornamented with artificial flowers and ribbons. They should hold
between them chains of flowers, which might easily be made, as roses
of coloured paper with some ivy leaves tacked on tape would form
very showy wreaths.
SCENE THE FIRST.—A room in a cottage, meanly fur-
| nished. |
[ANNA and LOLA, sitting idly, one on each side of a table. |
Anna. Really, it is a shame and a disgrace
To make us live in such a wretched place.
What furniture! and then, a sanded floor!
I never shall be happy any more.
Lolo. Depend upon it, this is Beauty’s malice ;
She likes a cottage better than a palace ;
I heard her say to father yesterday,
It was a charming place
Anna. Yes, that’s her way,
An artful puss! to make him think that she
Is so much better, I suppose, than we.
Lolo. Then only fancy this: he says we must
Do all the housework; sweep, and clean, and dust,
And cook the dinner too——
Anna. I’d rather die!
I, cook the dinner! no, indeed, not I.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Seca
2)
Enter BEAUTY singing.
- “Home, home; sweet, sweet home:
There ’s no place like home—there’s no place like home.â€
[Beaury may carry a little basket, as anything in the hand assists the
action, when there are rather long speeches to make.
Anna. Oh! pr’ythee, child, cease that eternal song ;
I cannot bear to hear you all day long.
The house is never quiet for a minute:
Sweet home, indeed! there’s not much sweetness in it.
Beauty. Oh, yes, it has a thousand’ charms for me;
I should be happy, if I could but see
My dearest father cheerful and content:
"Tis only for his sake that: I lament
Our loss of fortune. As for wealth or station
I care but little a
Lolo. , Lor, what affectation !
Beauty. We do not tread on velvet, it is true ;—
But there’s the soft grass spangled with the dew;
The sun, too, looks as bright upon these walls,
As when it shone on our grand marble halls ;
And though we can’t wear jewels, silks, or lace,
We do not need them in this quiet place.
Anna. Oh, pray, miss, don’t annoy us with your folly,
It is enough to make one melancholy
To hear you prating in that silly manner.
Lolo. I’m glad you’ve spoken to her, sister Anna;
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 13
Se
For I’ve no patience with such airs and graces,
And younger sisters ought to know their places.
Enter Zimnt.—(The sisters rise and come forward.)
Beauty. Your supper ’s ready, father; it is laid
In the green arbour, where you ‘ll find the shade
Extremely pleasant
Zimri. Thank you, Beauty, dear ;
You always try your father’s heart to cheer.
And, for my other daughters, how have they
Employed themselves this lovely summer day ?
Anna. Oh, really, sir, this cottage is so dreary,
It makes us feel extremely dull and weary. |
Lolo. I’m sure | have been crying all day long.
Zimri, My children, you are acting very wrong:
We ought to bear misfortune patiently ;
And, since my vessels have been lost at sea,
And I’m a poor man now, it is your duty
To take a lesson from your sister Beauty,
And cheerfully to bear this great reverse 3
For discontent will only make it worse. 7
[ Exit ZimRI, with BEAUTY on de arm.
Anna. A lesson from that minx! upon my word,
What next, I wonder- a ee
Lolo. -. It is quite absurd :
He'll make her so exceeding pert and vain,
There ‘ll be no bearing with her, that is plain. —
leaning on a stick, and bending almost double.
Fairy. Ladies, bestow your charity, I pray:
I have not tasted any food to-day ;
And I am very old, as you may see;
Full ninety winters have passed over me,
So I’m too feeble now to earn my bread.
Nay, lady, do not turn away your head:
It is but very little that I need;
If I could work, I would not beg, indeed.
Anna, Pray, my good woman, don’t stand chattering there,
Enter Fairy SILVERSTAR, disguised as an old heggar-woman,
I'm sure we have not anything to spare.
i a enn etn a RITE A eR et CCC LT COLE CR ALCL AIOE A ALOR OSCE LCN ALC LEC 8 Ce CP
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. | 15
Fairy. Yet surely you might give me, ere I go,
A little bit of bread
Anna (sharply). —‘T tell you no.
: [The Farry still lingers at the door.
Lolo. What are you staying for, when you are told
To go? You beggars are exceeding bold.
Fairy. ‘Well,‘I am going. It is a monstrous pity
When girls are not so good as they are pretty. [ Exit.
Anna. Girls, too! I think she might have had the grace
To say “ young ladies,†speaking to one’s face. _
Lolo. And taking us to task in that way, too.
I hate the sight of beggars, that I do.
[While speaking the last line, LOLO walks towards the door
followed by ANNA, and they go off the stage. |
LISP
SCENE THE SECOND.—An arbour.
_[Zimrti and BEAUTY at supper |
Se
[The arbour might be easily constructed by covering two ladders or
long boards with branches of trees, and large red and white roses,
and setting them up against the wall some distance apart. A string
from one to the other, with branches and flowers tied thickly upon
it, would form the top. This could also be used in the garden
scene of the Brast’s palace.
Zimri. And so, my child, you can be quite content,
You say, to live in this retirement,
With all the household drudgery to do?
i Boe
tne
16 , BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Beauty. I’m happy, father, anywhere with you;
And as to household work, I really find it
So easy, that, indeed, I do not mind it.
Enter Farry.
Fairy. Kind gentlefolks, if you’ve a crust of bread
To spare, I’d thank you, for I’m almost dead
With hunger and fatigue ; for Iam old, —
You see, or else I would not make so bold.
| Beauty. You do seem very old, good dame, indeed ;
Sit down and rest, and take what food you need.
[Places a stool for her.
You are quite welcome to some bread and meat.
Zimri. Yes, that you are, good woman, so pray eat
As much as you desire. Meantime, I'll walk,
And leave you with my daughter here to talk. [Ewit.
Fairy. Maiden, your father has of late, I’m told,
Lost, by his ships being wrecked, a store of gold,
Besides two gallant vessels ; is this true?
Beauty. Alas! it is, indeed; but who told vont
Fairy. It little matters, child, who told me s0 ;
Bad news is sure to travel fast we know.
But I have heard too, that all is not lost,
And that the ships, after being tempest tossed
For many days, were safely brought to shorr,
Distant from hence a hundred miles or more.
a ce etre a rae
Ameen
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 17
Beauty. My father ought to know, without delay ;
I'll go and seek him
(rises).
Fairy (rises also). ‘Stay, dear Beauty, stay!
[She throws off her cloak and hood, and drawing the wand from
the sheath, appears in her fairy costume. BE&AUTY gazes
in astonishment for a few moments, then bends gracefully
on one knee. |
‘ +
A S
ZQ\\ .
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Fairy. Rise, gentle maiden, you ’ve no cause to fear me;
I am the Fairy Silverstar: now hear me.
A\ .
Pa
\
ie rey
ie N J i;
dy \
‘ ' S ‘ 5p
i fh a ie n ‘ ‘ ar.
it \ alt sak Leama : aw as, *
i \ wocais = y . cet y
Hh ty Ss seni . iy wee ae
i y ~ Mj A
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it cee an ee Ss MS
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A i ee iemetestrinsetmndpmsii ecient ett i leslie nan hitththeintaninsiinnneitemontihnt
ten eertnn nce
18 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
But it may bring much trouble upon you.
Should you be willing, do you think, to make
Great sacrifices for your father’s sake ?
Beuuty. I would indeed: even my life I’d give,
That he might once again in comfort live.
Fairy. That’s well: I now am satisfied that you,
Whatever happens, will your duty do.
But I have yet another word to say;
The news that I have told you is quite true, | | 3
| |
|
|
|
|
|
Tell no one what you ’ve heard and seen this day— |
Not e’en your father
Beauty. Nay, then, how will he
Be tuld this happy news ¢ |
Fairy. : Leave that to me.
A single word from you would break the spell ;
Be silent and discreet. So, fare ye well. [ vit.
[Beauty stands for a short time gazing intenily at the place
where the Fairy made her exit; then rubs her eyes, us if
trying to awaken herself.
e
Beauty. 1 hope it is not alla dream! Oh, no—
I’m certainly awake; it must be so.
And if this charming Fairy should befriend us,
No doubt good fortune will again attend us.
She said it woull bring troubles upon me:
I wonder what those troubles are to be!
Well, never mind; no selfish thoughts shall make
Me fear to suffer for my father’s sake. — ‘[ Exit.
- rere a ini SR
a a poesia
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 19
ee ee eee
SCENE THE THIRD.—The Room in the Cuttage.
Enter ZIMRI with a letter open in his hand.—(Reads.)
Zimri. “ Zimri, your ships are lying on the strand
Of the Black Island; ’tis enchanted land: :
But if you ’ve courage for the enterprise
The road t» fortune now before you lies.
You must depart before the dawn of day,
And through the great Pine Forest take your way ;
Follow the path where purple flowers you ’ll find,
But do not pluck them, if you have a mind
The dangers of that forest to escape ;
For dangers hover there in many a shape.
Then go, and prosper. Ere twelve months are o’er,
You may be richer than you were before.â€
[Having read the letter aloud, he folds it and puts it in his bosom.
This is surprising, and perhaps may be
All false; but that I am resolved to see:
For, true or false, I'll go, at any rate,
And take the chance of what may be my fate.
Enter Loto, ANNA, and BEAUTY.
Zimri, Children, I’ve news, and if it should vrove true,
It will be happy news indeed for you.
Lolo. Oh! pray, sir, let us hear it quickly, do!
Anna. What is it, sir? I’m all impatience too. -
Zimrt, My ships are safely come to land, I’m told ;
And what is more, they are well stored with gold.
Fe pg ee a ee nee ee
2.0 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Anna. Lor, that is nice. What lovely gowns I'll wear!
And I must have some jewels for my hair.
- Lolo. I will have feathers, and a train of lace
Full three yards long, that I may walk with grace.
[Walks about affectedly, as if holding a train,
Zimri. Hold! not so fast—there’s much yet to be dene ;
And I shall have, I fear, great risks to run.
A long and dangerous journey I must make,
To learn if this be true, or a mistake.
Beauty (in a tone of alarm). Dangerous! then, dear
father, do not go.
Anna. How very silly, Beauty, to talk so.
But surely, father, you will never miss
So fine an opportunity as this.
Zimri. By no means, child; I shall set out to- fat
And if I find the vessels are all right,
I bring you each a present from the town.
What would you like ?
Anna. : I'll have a velvet gown,
Spangled with gold.
Lolo. My taste is simpler, far’
A robe of velvet, with a silver star
Embroidered over, would be my delight,
That I might represent the Queen of Night.
Zimri. And what for you, my Beauty, shall I bring?
A rich pearl necklace, or a diamond ring ?
Beauty. No, sir; it will be time enough for me,
When you come back, to think of finery.
pt nh le a ame Si pi i SD tS Sta lian mn aula no ae = a nanan ance ae ne oa
aaron Pana n
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 21
Jewels and laces I can do without:
To see you safe is all 1 care about.
Zimri. My dearest daughter, that is kindly spoken ;
Yet I should like to bring you some small token. |
Beauty. Well, then, if I may choose what it shall be,
I beg you'll bring a white moss rose for me.
Zimri. If I return, though fortune be denied,
Your wish, my darling, shall be gratified.
Now, children, come and help me to prepare
For this long journey: there ’s no time to spare.
[ Exit with BEAUTY.
Lolo (in a contemptuous tone). A white moss rose! How
utterly absurd !
Anna. A more affected thing I never heard!
(While speaking, they follow ZIMRI, and go off the stage in
saying the last word.
SCENE THE FOURTH.
[This may be the arbour scene, with as much green about as possible.
A polka should be played, and the four Attendant Fairies come in
dancing two-and-two, holding chains of flowers between them.
Having danced round the stage, two go to one side and two to the
other; then all bend one knee to the ground as SILVERSTAR enters.
Silverstar. You've all obeyed my summons—that is right,
For you will have some work to do to-night; [ They rise.
And it must be well done. At evening tide,
A traveller will through the forest, ride ;
tm.
22 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. —
Bie ee ae a ee Oe
The magic path to him you must disclose,
Where the blue heath-bell in abundance blows :
Tempt him to pick the flowers, then you may raise
A storm, and set the forest in a blaze;
Lead him to turn hig steed towards the east,
And bring him to the castle of the Beast;
Take care to serve him with a splendid supper there,
And the best chamber for his use prepare,
But do it-all in silence and unseen :
It is the order of our Fairy Queen.
1st Fairy. It shall be done. I'll hide within a flower,
And make it look so bright, he ‘ll not have power
To pass it by.
2nd Fairy. ~ And I will shout and scream,
So that the air shall full of noises seem.
3rd Fairy. And I will shake and bend the trees around,
Until their topmost branches touch the ground.
4th Fairy. 1 will a thousand flaming torches bear,
And flash them round and round him in the air,
West, north, and south, so that he needs must go
Towards the east, whether he will or no. |
Silverstar. "Tis well; I am now satisfied that you
Quite understand what you have got to do.
Then go; for look, the sun is on the wane:
At midnight I will see you all again. [ Exit.
(The same polka played as before, and the Fairies go off dancing
as they entered.
ee ee
pea ener a ET A A Z
| 93
BEAUTY AND TIE BEAST. e
ee
SCENE THE FIFTH.—The interior of the Beast’s Palace.
[This scene should be made as brilliant as possible, with as many
! lights as can conveniently be placed. Any gay-looking coverings
may be thrown over the chairs; and the table should be laid out
| for supper, with some plate, vases of flowers, and lights. Some
| of the small coloured wax candles would have a pretty effect. It
must be made apparent that the supper is only meant for one
person. ]
Enter ZIMRI.
[He looks about him in amaze.
Zimri, tis a fearful night. The forest seemed
To be on fire, or else I must have dreamed ;
And in this noble palace I have seen
No living creature yet. What can it mean?
My horse has found provision in the stable,
And here appears to be a sumptuous table
Spread for one guest. It cannot be for me;
‘Yet there is no one else that I can see.
[ He goes to the table and takes up a written paper.
|
| Hold! what is this? (Reads.) ‘‘ Zimri, you need not fear
_ To take what fate has set before you here. |
Sup freely, then; and when to rest inclined,
In the long gallery above you ‘ll find
| A. chamber with a hundred tapers lighted ;
| Jt is the room for travellers benighted,
Who by some chance are to this castle led:
| There you will find your couch already spread.
&
4. BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Repose in peace, until the morning light
Shall warn you to depart And so, good night.â€
[ Folding the paper, and seating himself at the table.
Good night, kind host, whoever you may be;
I thank you for your hospitality,
And will enjoy it: though I know I stand
In peril now, upon enchanted land.
[While Zimri sups, a fairy song might be introduced with good effect
by some young lady, who should place herself so as not to be seen.
The accompaniment should be played very softly. ‘* Where the
bee sucks,†or, ‘Oh, ’tis pleasant to float on the sea,†(from
Oberon,) would be appropriate. If there are no singers, some
very soft airs might be played on the piano; or a musical box
would make good music for this scene. When the music ceases,
ZIMRI rises apparently much refreshed.
I never heard a strain so truly sweet!
Thank you, kind fairies, for this charming treat. —
Good night, once more. (He dows round.) I now will g0
to rest, : ;
And hope that everything is for the best. [ Bvit.
[A lively waltz or polka is now played, and the four Fairies ap-
pear. ach takes something from the table and carries
at off, returning immediately for something more, till the
table is cleared.
Enter SILVERSTAR (the Fairies kneel, and the music ceases.)
Silvers‘ar. Rise, my good sprites (they rise); your task
is bravely done,
And you a merry holiday have won.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. oy
But, ere you go, there is more work to do:
The merchant takes his breakfast here, and you
Must get it ready by the break of day ;
Then you’re at liberty to go and play. Exit.
Ali the Fairies. Thanks! thanks!
lst Fairy, Now, fairy sisters, let us haste
In search for food to suit this mortal’s taste,
For day will soon appear-——
Qnd Fairy. Then we are free ;
Oh! what a merry holiday ’twil, be!
[Music as before; the Fairies go off dancing.
ANS
SCENE THE SIXTH.—The Garden of the Palace.
[As many flowers and shrubs should be brought into this scene as can
conveniently be managed ;—the arbour used in the second scene,
and a large tree of white roses in the centre of the stage. This
tree may easily be made by setting up some branches of laurel, or
any evergreen, in a flower-pot, and tying a number of artificial
white roses upon it, which could be made of tissue paper. |
Enter ZiéRI.
Zimri. So far all’s well—my breakfast might have graced
A monarch’s table—fairies have good taste.
But what a splendid garden !—trees and flowers
Like these are worthy of Arcadian bowers ;
And here’s a white moss rose—the very thing
Beauty requested me for her to bring.
i es en tsetse neuter aaainscnnen
26 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
apehie’
| He gathers a rose
the BEAST ente
farthest cor
a loud roaring is immediately heard—
a und ZIMRI, affrighted, retreats to the
‘the stage.|
Beast. Presumptuous mortal! Have I not bestowed
Enough upon you here, in my abode, a
That now, with base ingratitude; you try
To rob me of my treasures?—you must die!
Zimri. Indeed, my lord, I’ve robbed you of no treasure,
Nor do I know what causes your displeasure
Beast. Is it a trifle, then, do you suppose,
To rob my garden of its fairest rose ?_
en
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 27
2
Zimri. Why, here are more than fifty on a tree,
All quite as beautiful
Bea st. Don’t talk to me,
Oh, wretched man! But this is my reward
For entertaining you :
_ gms. Really, my Lord
“7 east (interrupting him). My title is not Lord—'tis
simply Beast ;
“as
And L SQayou ‘ll call me, if yo
Zimri, Well, then, good] east, L hope you will forgive
The wrong I’ve done, and suffer me to live.
How could I guess that it was any harm —
To pluck one rose ?
Beast. | It bears a fatal charm,
And he who gathers it is doomed to die.
Zimri. Ah! what a miserable man am I!
Poor Beauty, too! her tender heart will break,
If she should learn I’ve perished for her sake.
Beast. How so? And who is Beauty, merchant, say ?
Zimri. She is my youngest daughter: yesterday,
The dear child begged that I would bri ng her back
A white moss rose
Beast. Then, be it understood,
If you’ve a daughter who is fair and good,
And dutiful withal, so that, to save
Her father, she would come to be my slave,
I'll take her in your stead
‘re wise, at least.
28 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
- Zimri. No! I will die
Rather than att my child to slavery—
That would be worse than death.— Yet, I implore
You, Beast, to let me see her face once more.
How you attempt that limit to exceed ;
It would be useless, for I have the power
To bring you here again at any hour;
So, if the maiden comes not in your room,
On the tenth day from this, you meet your doom.
| [Hvit Brast.
Zimri. Ten days! alas! then every chance is over
My ships and missing treasures to discover,
For it would take a hundred days or more
The coast of the Black Island to explore ;
And then I might not find them: for I fear
That letter was a bait to lure me here;
And yet, I recollect, it warned me not »
To touch the purple flowers—but I forgot
That warning to regard—Ah! cruel fate!
I see my error now it is too late. [ Exit.
SCENE THE SEVENTH.—The Merchant's Gatiane.
[ANNA 2s silting at the table reating. —TLouo enters, and ANNA
throws her book on the table and rises. |
Anna. Well, is it settled whether she’s to go?
|
Beast. Go, then—ten days J give you—and take heed
Lolo. It is: for she is bent upon it, so
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 29
He has consented; and I heard him say
Their journey must commence at break of day.
Anna. If that is certain, Lolo, it is plain
That we shall never see her back again.
Lolo. So much the better; yet, how she can go
To face that horrid monster, I don’t know.
I’m glad it was not me he fixed upon,
For I am sure I never could have gone.
Anna. Nor I: my nerves are far too delicate,
And so my father must have borne his fate.
Enter ZIMRI and BEAUTY.
Beauty. Take courage, father, this will all end well ;
For 1 know something more than I may tell ;
So do not fear for me
Zimri. I wish, my dear,
That I could see so little cause to fear;
Believe me, child, you will not feel so bold,
When this terrific monster you behold.
Lolo, Ah! poor dear sister Beauty: it will grieve us,
For you in such a shocking way to leave us;
I hope you will come back again some day.
Beauty. I thank you, sister; possibly I may.
Come, my dear father,, let us take a walk
Through the green meadow, and then we can talk
About this Beast, and his fine fairy bowers ;
I’m very glad that he is fond of flowers,
[She takes her father’s arm, and they walk out together.
|
terry enn
a
30 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Enter Fatry as the Beggar Woman.
Anna, Why, here’s that beggar woman, I declare;
(sharply) What.do you want ?
Fairy. : - I come, my ladies fair,
To offer you my services.
Anna. In what?
Fairy. To save your sister from a wretched lot ;
But you will have to lend me your assistance,
Or else it can’t be done. — [ She draws near to them.
Anna. Pray keep your distance—
You save her! How excessively absurd!
Begone at once, without another word.
Lolo, You are a vile imposter, that is plain;
So never let us see your face again. :
Fairy. I did it but to suit you; and, I find
You both are truly selfish and unkind;
The time may come when you will rue the day
You treated me with scorn. :
Lolo. | Begone, I say!
[ They push the Fuiry 01
SCENE THE EIGHTH.—The Hall in the Palace, and the |
table laid for supper as before, but for two persons.
Enter ,. BEAUTY.
i Cain eRe BE CRIA ie 2 SN al Oh
Beauty. Alas! I fear my courage is all gone .
Now I am left in this large place alone ; c
And yet, if I may judge from all I see,
Surely ro harm can be intended me.
2
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 31
There ’s one apartment decked with flowers in bloom,
And over it is written, ‘‘ Beauty’s room ;â€
With many costly ornaments ’tis graced ; |
And books and music too are in it placed
Ah! what is that?
[A loud roar is heard outside.
32 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Enter BREAST.
Beast (in a gruff tone). Beauty, how do you do?
I’ve come, my pretty maid, to sup with you.
Beauty (retreating in alarm). My Lord—I‘m very
happy—I am sure——
Beast. That is not true. I see you can’t endure
This ugly form of mine: but I entreat you
Not to be frightened—I ’m not going to eat you.
Beauty (timidly approaching). Thank you, my Lord,
you ‘re very good, I know.
Beast. My name is Beast, and you must call me so.
Beauty. If such be your commands, I shall obey.
Beast. Nay—do not talk about commands, I pray ;
It is your place to give commands to me,
For you are mistress here of all you see.
Beauty Am I the mistress of this noble place ?
Beast. Yes, Beauty, since you condescend to grace
It with your presence, and I hope you’ll find
That every thing is ordered to your mind.
Beauty. All I have seen is very beautiful ;
- But I confess I find it rather dull
To be alone all day; if you could send
Some damsel hither, who would be my friend——
Beast. J cannot do it, I have not the power,
Even, to stay myself, beyond one hour ;
So let us go to supper, time flies fast,
And that bright hour will very soon be past.
OL A A I PET hn tee eee
reer re arena nt nen Alster erence earth ANN ean ct
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 33
[They sit down to supper, and the Bzast is very attentive in helping
Beauty to the nicest things, and pours out wine for her. While
they sup, some light lively music should be played, and another
fairy song might be introduced. ‘Oh bid your faithful Ariel fly,â€
‘¢ Deep in a Forest Dell,†or ‘* Through the Wood,†are good songs
for the purpose; but the singer should not be seeu, unless she is
one of the fairies; then it must be supposed that BEaury does not
see her. |
[ When the music ceases they both rise from the table.
Beast, It is now time for me to say adieu ;
To-morrow I shall sup again with you.
Beauty. I’m glad of that, and shall feel much delight
If you would come to supper every night.
Beast. At nine o'clock the Beast you ‘ll always see.
Beauty. Good night.
| [The Beast, who is going towards the door, turns back.
Beast. | Dear Beauty, will you marry me%
Beauty (in terror). No, Beast! I can’t, indeed——
Beast. Ah! cruel fate!
I’m destined still to be unfortunate.
[ Exit, making a dismal moaning noise
Beauty (as tf recovering from her fright). Oh, dear! I
hope he ‘ll not ask that again!
The very thought has almost turned my brain.
Yet he’s more gentle than I thought to find him,
And, but for this, I think I should not mind him.
Well, after all, I could but lose my life;
| And I would rather die than be his wife. [ Exit.
34 | BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
SCENE THE NINTH.—The Merchant’s Cottage.
[ZimRI is sitting ata table in ceep thought, leaning his head on
his hand, with a book open before him. His soliloquy
might be written in the book, which would save the
trouble of learning it. :
Zimri. My poor dear child; could I but hope to see.
_Her face once more, how happy I should be.
It is a twelvemonth now, this very day,
A joyless twelvemonth since she went away ;
And though I've tried to find the path again
That led me to the castle, ‘tis in vain;
No trace of it remains. The forest wild
Separates me for ever from my child.
There ’s nothing now but misery in store!
Enter SILVERSTAR.
[ZIMRI rises, and guxes on her with astonishment.
Fairy. You are mistaken, merchant; grieve no more;
| Beauty is safe, and you will soon behold
_ A daughter who is worth her weight in gold.
No evil has befallen the charming maid,
Whose duteous conduct will be well repaid.
So, sleep in peace to-night, and banish sorrow :
You will embrace your long-lost child to-morrow.
Zimri. What happy words are these! and who art thou
'
Bright vision ?
.BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 35
Fairy.~ I’m a fairy, you must know ;
My name is Silverstar. , |
Zimri. (kneeling) | ~~ ~_—_—‘ Then let me kneel,
_..To thank you with the gratitude I feel.
Fairy. Nay, rise ; wé fairies no such homage crave ;
Tis our delight to help the good and brave,
And break the spells that wicked spirits weave, —
Unwary mortals to torment and grieve. _ 3
Zimri (rising). My, child i is safe, you say ¢ 2
Fairy, — You need not doubt it;
From her own lips you ‘ll soon hear all about it, :
Farewell ! | : — [Exit.
7; ( following). — ‘One moment, gentle fairy, stay !
[Hes returns, looking amazed.
Sure che has melted into air away.
I fear I did not thank her as I ought,
But joy has banished every other thought ;
This can be no delusion of the brain, = :
And I shall be a happy man again. — Se eae
SCENE THE TENTH.—BEavty and the BEAST at supper.
[They rise from table as if they had finished their repast, and
come to the front of the stage.
Bunt The hour is nearly past, and I must go.
Beauty. Nay, stay a little longer. Do you know,
I’m going to ask a boon which you must grant.
Beast. Speak, dearest Beauty, what is it you want ?
36 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Beauty. It is to go and see my father
Breast (turns away from her slowly, and goes towards the door ;
she follows, and lays her hand on his arm to detain him.
He comes back, and after looking at her for a little while
tn silence, shakes his head, and says)
No!
Beauty, indeed, I cannot let you go.
Ask anything but that, and I'll comply ;
But if you were to leave me, I should die.
Beauty. Surely a few days you might live, at least,
Without me, then I would return, good Beast.
Beast I am afraid that, if you once depart,
You ‘ll not come back, and that would break my heart.
Beauty. Indeed I will, you are so kind to me,
I would not, for the world, ungrateful be.
Beast. Well, be it so;
I can deny you nothing, therefore go;
And, if you like, you may depart to-night.
Beauty. Surely I do not understand you right!
How can I go to-night, at this late hour?
Beast. 1’m going to place the means within your power.
[He gives her a ring.
Beneath your pillow lay this golden ring,
“Twas given to me by the fairy King,
And will convey you, with the greatest ease.
I’m sure you will consent——
The while you sleep, to any place you please.
sees A eee an tetas seatatenent Ninh eR tri sedepencae onsen —esee eran
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Beauty. Thank you, that is delightful!
Beast. . Now, adieu—
Remember, three days hence, I look for you;
And if you come not, it will cost my life.
[ He is going, but turns back when at the door.
Beauty, will you consent to be my wife?
Beauty. No, Beast; I’ve told you many times before!
Pray, do not ask that question any more.
Beast. Ah, wretched Beast, when will thy sorrows end?
Beauty, I love you very dearly, as a friend,
And do not like to cause you any pain;
So never speak of marrying, again.
(They go off different ways, the BEAST moaning.
SCENE THE ELEVENTH.—The Cottage.
Enter Louo, talking to herself.
Lolo, I wish that I had seen the Fairy, she
Might have bestowed some gift, perhaps, on me.
I hope she ‘ll come again—then I would try
To win her favour; and who knows but I
May come to be a princess, or a queen;
I’m sure I’ve heard such things have sometimes been. |
And why I should not have good luck, as well |
As any body else, I cannot tell.
38 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Enter ANNA, running and out of breath,
Lolo, Good gracious me! what is the matter, child?
Really you look as if you had gone wild.
Anna. Beauty is come, and brought us such fine things ;
Such caps and dresses, necklaces and rings
Lolo. Brought them for us?
Anna. Ea Yes, there’s a box below:
How it came there I’m sure I do not know,
Unless it dropped down from the skies: for, see,
The gate is locked and I have-got the key ;
So that I’m certain no one has been here ;
Is it not very woriderful, my. dear ?
Lolo. It is, indeed; but, sister, without joking,
This girl’s good fortune really is provoking.
How handsomely this monster seems to treat her !
Anna. Yes, when'we both believed that he would eat her.
But since she has a Fairy for her friend,
We must make much of her——
Lolo, ° So 1 intend, {Exeunt ANNA and Loto.
Enter Zui and BEAuvry.
Beauty. I am so glad to be at home again:
But, sir, you must not ask me to remain
More than three days
Zimri. ' . Dear daughter, ‘say not so,
I cannot part with you so soon; oh, no!
You must stay longer with us; your good Beast
May spare you for a fortnight at the least.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
39
Beauty. Well, let us now rejoice that we have met,
And not begin to think of parting yet.
Besides, I think you must be glad to hear
T am so kindly treated, father, dear.
That I am not afraid of going again.
Zimri. Indeed I am; still, it would give me pain
To find this monster, with his luxury,
Has made you think the less of home and me.
Beauty. Oh! sir, how ¢an you fancy such a thing!
That could not be, even were he a king.
Zimri, I hope not; yet if it be really so,
You will not be in so much haste to go.
+0 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Beauty. 1 would not go, if I could have my will!
But though he’s kind, I am his captive still;
Nor do I know how long I must remain,
Or if I ever shall be free again.
Now let us go to breakfast, sir, and pray
Don’t talk of parting any more to-day.
[She takes his arm and they go off the stage together.
ARAN
SCENE THE TWELFTH.— The Palace, with the table
laid for supper.
Enter Beast. (He looks mournfuily at the table)
Beast. She is not here, and now ten days are past,
Ten weary days, since I beheld her last,
Ah! cruel Beauty—who would have believed
Those charming lips could ever have deceived ?
Now, there is nothing more to hope, so I
May bid-adieu to all my cares, and die.
[He seats himself at the table but does not touch the supper, and
remains there in an attitude of melancholy and profound
meditation, while some very plaintive music is performed ;
after which he rises and cames forward.
Beast. Thank you, good Fairies, but it is in vain ;
I ne’er shall listen to those sounds again.
A victim to enchantment, Azor dies ;
And she who might have saved, unpitying flies. [ Exit.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 41
SCENE THE THIRTEENTH.—The Cottage. Beauty
asleep on a couch,
Enter Fairy SinverstaR. She approaches the couch and
waves her wand over it.
Fairy. Dream, Beauty, dream the noble Beast is dying ;
Under the fatal rose, behold him lying.
Dream, that while you are here in peace reposing,
His eyes in death are fast for ever closing.
Dream of the promise so unkindly broken;
Repair the fatal error while you have the power,
For it will be too late if you delay one hour. [Exit
Beauty wakes and starts up as if in terror.
Beauty. Ah! what is this? surely I must have dreamed
And yet, how like reality it seemed.
I thought I saw him dying, and I felt
So sad, as weeping by his side I knelt:
I hope it is not true. What can it mean?
How selfish and ungrateful I have been!
I will return this night, and he shall see
His kindness has not been quite lost on me.
He must not die; this dream is not in vain;
This magic ring shall take me back again.
[She takes the ring from her finger, places it under the pillow,
and lies down again. The scene then closes.
[If the performance should happen to be in a room where there is
neither curtain nor folding doors, two of the Attendant Fairies
might appear, and, raising Beauty from the couch, lead her off
the stage in her sleep. ]
42 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
THE LAST SCENE.—The Garden of the Palace.
[The Beast is discovered lying under the white rose tree, appa-
rently lifeless. BuAUTY is kneeling by his side.]
Beauty. I fear it is all o¥em Oh! how wrong
It was to break my word, and stay so long.
Yet hark! I hear him breathe—he is not dead !—
He may revive, Dear Beast, lift up your head,
And speak to me
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 43
Beast (faintly and without moving). Ah! Beauty, is it
you,
Come back to bid the Beast a last adieu ?
Beauty. Oh! do not say the last—it must not be;
Forgive me, dearest Beast, and live for me.
Beast (raising himself a little). One word might save me
yet: but say that you
Consent to be my wife
Beauty. I do—I do!
[The Beast starts up, and, throwing off his disguise, appears in
his proper form as Prince Azor. He kneels at the feet
of BEAUTY, who has risen, and regards him with astonish~
ment. |
44 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
Azor. A thousand thanks, sweet maid; once more I’m free
From the Enchanter’s power: and thus, you see,
To no rude monster have you given your hand;
But unto Azor, Prince of Silverland.
Beauty. Rise, noble Prince. It is, indeed, most strange ;
But what has brought about this happy change ;
Azor. I was condemned that hideous form to bear,
Until I found a maiden, good and fair,
Willing to be my bride. Thus, you ’ve released
From vile enchantment your most grateful Beast.
Enter Zimpi, LOL, and ANNA.
(They all look bewildered.)
Lolo. Where are we now, I wonder 2——
Anna. Gracious me!
Why, Lolo, here is Beauty! only see!
Zimri. The friendly Fairy, then, has kept her word.
Enter SILVERSTAR,
Fairy. Yes, merchant, all your fortune is restored:
The same Enchanter who is Azor’s foe
Waylaid your ships, so that they could not go
Beyond his island: but they now are free,
And, richly laden, soon in port will be.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 45
Lolo (advancing pertly towards the Fairy). Oh, charm-
ing Fairy!
Fairy (in a loud stern tone). Silence, girl!
[A short pause, during which all stand gazing on the Farry
who, after looking at the two sisters in silence for a few
moments, speaks again in her usual manier.]
Behold
In me the beggar you called rude and poor,
Unpitying you turned me from the dvor.
Now, hear your doom——
Beauty (interposing). Nay, gentle Fairy, stay ;
For my sake pity and and forgive them, pray.
Fairy. Since you plead f.r them, though they have
offended,
I will not punish them as I intended;
But they must wait on you, and humbly stand
Beside your throne, when Queen of Silverland ;
For Azor now is king,
Azor. My thanks are due,
Most kind and gracious Fairy, unto you;
For I am sure, without your generous aid,
I never should have won this lovely maid.
[He takes Beauty's hand.
46 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
' Silverstar. True, Prince, and now you’ve gained your
liberty,
Long may you live, and happy may you be.
It was my mission to dissolve the spell ;
My task is ended; and so, fare ye well.
[She retires slowly towards the back of the stage, while AZOR,
Beauty, and ZiMRI,.bend gracefully, partly to her, and
partly to the audience. The two sisters stand aside, as if
ashamed, hiding their faces in their handkerchiefs; and
thus the scene closes.]
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