COUNSEL (to Plaintiff, who weeps)
Cheer up, my pretty—oh, cheer up!
JURY. Cheer up, cheer up, we love you!
[Counsel leads Plaintiff fondly into Witness-box; he takes a tender
leave of her, and resumes his place in Court.
(Plaintiff reels as if about to faint)
JUDGE. That she is reeling
Is plain to see!
FOREMAN. If faint you're feeling
Recline on me!
[She falls sobbing on to the Foreman's breast.
PLAINTIFF (feebly). I shall recover
If left alone.
ALL. (shaking their fists at Defendant)
Oh, perjured lover,
Atone! atone!
FOREMAN. Just like a father [Kissing her
I wish to be.
JUDGE. (approaching her)
Or, if you'd rather,
Recline on me!
[She jumps on to Bench, sits down by the Judge, and falls sobbing
on his breast.
COUNSEL. Oh! fetch some water
From far Cologne!
ALL. For this sad slaughter
Atone! atone!
JURY. (shaking fists at Defendant)
Monster, monster, dread our fury—
There's the Judge, and we're the Jury!
Come! Substantial damages,
Dam—-
USHER. Silence in Court!
SONG — DEFENDANT
Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray,
Though I own that my heart has been ranging,
Of nature the laws I obey,
For nature is constantly changing.
The moon in her phases is found,
The time, and the wind, and the weather.
The months in succession come round,
And you don't find two Mondays together.
Consider the moral, I pray,
Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow,
Who loves this young lady to-day,
And loves that young lady to-morrow.
BRIDESMAIDS (rushing forward, and kneeling to Jury).
Consider the moral, etc.
One cannot eat breakfast all day,
Nor is it the act of a sinner,
When breakfast is taken away,
To turn his attention to dinner.
And it's not in the range of belief,
To look upon him as a glutton,
Who, when he is tired of beef,
Determines to tackle the mutton.
But this I am willing to say,
If it will appease her sorrow,
I'll marry this lady to-day,
And I'll marry the other to-morrow.
BRIDESMAIDS (rushing forward as before)
But this he is willing say, etc.
RECIT — JUDGE
That seems a reasonable proposition,
To which, I think, your client may agree.
COUNSEL
But I submit, m'lud, with all submission,
To marry two at once is Burglaree!
[Referring to law book.
In the reign of James the Second,
It was generally reckoned
As a rather serious crime
To marry two wives at a time.
[Hands book up to Judge, who reads it.
ALL. Oh, man of learning!
QUARTETTE
JUDGE. A nice dilemma we have here,
That calls for all our wit:
COUNSEL. And at this stage, it don't appear
That we can settle it.
DEFENDANT (in Witness-box).
If I to wed the girl am loth
A breach 'twill surely be—
PLAINTIFF. And if he goes and marries both,
It counts as Burglaree!
ALL. A nice dilemma we have here,
That calls for all our wit.
DUET — PLAINTIFF and DEFENDANT
PLAINTIFF (embracing him rapturously)
I love him—I love him—with fervour unceasing
I worship and madly adore;
My blind adoration is ever increasing,
My loss I shall ever deplore.
Oh, see what a blessing, what love and caressing
I've lost, and remember it, pray,
When you I'm addressing, are busy assessing
The damages Edwin must pay—-
Yes, he must pay!
DEFENDANT (repelling her furiously)
I smoke like a furnace—I'm always in liquor,
A ruffian—a bully—a sot;
I'm sure I should thrash her, perhaps I should kick her,
I am such a very bad lot!
I'm not prepossessing, as you may be guessing,
She couldn't endure me a day!
Recall my professing, when you are assessing
The damages Edwin must pay!
PLAINTIFF. Yes, he must pay!
[She clings to him passionately; after a struggle, he throws her
off into arms of Counsel.
JURY. We would be fairly acting,
But this is most distracting!
If, when in liquor he would kick her,
That is an abatement.
RECIT — JUDGE
The question, gentlemen—is one of liquor.
You ask for guidance—this is my reply:
He says, when tipsy, he would thrash and kick her.
Let's make him tipsy, gentlemen, and try!
COUNSEL. With all respect,
I do object!
PLAINTIFF. I do object!
DEFENDANT. I don't object!
ALL. With all respect
We do object!
JUDGE (tossing his books and paper about)
All the legal furies seize you!
No proposal seems to please you,
I can't sit up here all day,
I must shortly get away.
Barristers, and you, attorneys,
Set out on your homeward journeys;
Gentle, simple-minded Usher,
Get you, if you like, to Russher;
Put your briefs upon the shelf,
I will marry her myself!
[He comes down from Bench to floor of Court. He embraces
Angelina.
FINALE
PLAINTIFF. Oh, joy unbounded,
With wealth surrounded,
The knell is sounded
Of grief and woe.
COUNSEL. With love devoted
On you he's doated,
To castle moated
Away they go.
DEFENDANT. I wonder whether
They'll live together,
In marriage tether
In manner true?
USHER. It seems to me, sir,
Of such as she, sir,
A Judge is he, sir,
And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Yes, I am a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Yes, I am a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Though homeward as you trudge,
You declare my law is fudge.
Yet of beauty I'm a judge.
ALL. And a good Judge too!
JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
ALL. And a great snob, too!
JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
ALL. And a great snob, too!
JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
I'll reward him from his fob.
So we've settled with the job,
ALL. And a good job, too!
Dance
CURTAIN
Cheer up, my pretty—oh, cheer up!
JURY. Cheer up, cheer up, we love you!
[Counsel leads Plaintiff fondly into Witness-box; he takes a tender
leave of her, and resumes his place in Court.
(Plaintiff reels as if about to faint)
JUDGE. That she is reeling
Is plain to see!
FOREMAN. If faint you're feeling
Recline on me!
[She falls sobbing on to the Foreman's breast.
PLAINTIFF (feebly). I shall recover
If left alone.
ALL. (shaking their fists at Defendant)
Oh, perjured lover,
Atone! atone!
FOREMAN. Just like a father [Kissing her
I wish to be.
JUDGE. (approaching her)
Or, if you'd rather,
Recline on me!
[She jumps on to Bench, sits down by the Judge, and falls sobbing
on his breast.
COUNSEL. Oh! fetch some water
From far Cologne!
ALL. For this sad slaughter
Atone! atone!
JURY. (shaking fists at Defendant)
Monster, monster, dread our fury—
There's the Judge, and we're the Jury!
Come! Substantial damages,
Dam—-
USHER. Silence in Court!
SONG — DEFENDANT
Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray,
Though I own that my heart has been ranging,
Of nature the laws I obey,
For nature is constantly changing.
The moon in her phases is found,
The time, and the wind, and the weather.
The months in succession come round,
And you don't find two Mondays together.
Consider the moral, I pray,
Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow,
Who loves this young lady to-day,
And loves that young lady to-morrow.
BRIDESMAIDS (rushing forward, and kneeling to Jury).
Consider the moral, etc.
One cannot eat breakfast all day,
Nor is it the act of a sinner,
When breakfast is taken away,
To turn his attention to dinner.
And it's not in the range of belief,
To look upon him as a glutton,
Who, when he is tired of beef,
Determines to tackle the mutton.
But this I am willing to say,
If it will appease her sorrow,
I'll marry this lady to-day,
And I'll marry the other to-morrow.
BRIDESMAIDS (rushing forward as before)
But this he is willing say, etc.
RECIT — JUDGE
That seems a reasonable proposition,
To which, I think, your client may agree.
COUNSEL
But I submit, m'lud, with all submission,
To marry two at once is Burglaree!
[Referring to law book.
In the reign of James the Second,
It was generally reckoned
As a rather serious crime
To marry two wives at a time.
[Hands book up to Judge, who reads it.
ALL. Oh, man of learning!
QUARTETTE
JUDGE. A nice dilemma we have here,
That calls for all our wit:
COUNSEL. And at this stage, it don't appear
That we can settle it.
DEFENDANT (in Witness-box).
If I to wed the girl am loth
A breach 'twill surely be—
PLAINTIFF. And if he goes and marries both,
It counts as Burglaree!
ALL. A nice dilemma we have here,
That calls for all our wit.
DUET — PLAINTIFF and DEFENDANT
PLAINTIFF (embracing him rapturously)
I love him—I love him—with fervour unceasing
I worship and madly adore;
My blind adoration is ever increasing,
My loss I shall ever deplore.
Oh, see what a blessing, what love and caressing
I've lost, and remember it, pray,
When you I'm addressing, are busy assessing
The damages Edwin must pay—-
Yes, he must pay!
DEFENDANT (repelling her furiously)
I smoke like a furnace—I'm always in liquor,
A ruffian—a bully—a sot;
I'm sure I should thrash her, perhaps I should kick her,
I am such a very bad lot!
I'm not prepossessing, as you may be guessing,
She couldn't endure me a day!
Recall my professing, when you are assessing
The damages Edwin must pay!
PLAINTIFF. Yes, he must pay!
[She clings to him passionately; after a struggle, he throws her
off into arms of Counsel.
JURY. We would be fairly acting,
But this is most distracting!
If, when in liquor he would kick her,
That is an abatement.
RECIT — JUDGE
The question, gentlemen—is one of liquor.
You ask for guidance—this is my reply:
He says, when tipsy, he would thrash and kick her.
Let's make him tipsy, gentlemen, and try!
COUNSEL. With all respect,
I do object!
PLAINTIFF. I do object!
DEFENDANT. I don't object!
ALL. With all respect
We do object!
JUDGE (tossing his books and paper about)
All the legal furies seize you!
No proposal seems to please you,
I can't sit up here all day,
I must shortly get away.
Barristers, and you, attorneys,
Set out on your homeward journeys;
Gentle, simple-minded Usher,
Get you, if you like, to Russher;
Put your briefs upon the shelf,
I will marry her myself!
[He comes down from Bench to floor of Court. He embraces
Angelina.
FINALE
PLAINTIFF. Oh, joy unbounded,
With wealth surrounded,
The knell is sounded
Of grief and woe.
COUNSEL. With love devoted
On you he's doated,
To castle moated
Away they go.
DEFENDANT. I wonder whether
They'll live together,
In marriage tether
In manner true?
USHER. It seems to me, sir,
Of such as she, sir,
A Judge is he, sir,
And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Yes, I am a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Yes, I am a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Though homeward as you trudge,
You declare my law is fudge.
Yet of beauty I'm a judge.
ALL. And a good Judge too!
JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
ALL. And a great snob, too!
JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
ALL. And a great snob, too!
JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
I'll reward him from his fob.
So we've settled with the job,
ALL. And a good job, too!
Dance
CURTAIN
UTOPIA LIMITED
OR
THE FLOWERS OF PROGRESS
Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan
Libretto by William S. Gilbert
THE FLOWERS OF PROGRESS
Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan
Libretto by William S. Gilbert
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
King Paramount, the First (King of Utopia)
Scaphio and Phantis (Judges of the Utopian Supreme Court)
Tarara (The Public Exploder)
Calynx (The Utopian Vice-Chamberlain)
Imported Flowers of Progress:
Lord Dramaleigh (a British Lord Chamberlain)
Captain Fitzbattleaxe (First Life Guards)
Captain Sir Edward Corcoran, K.C.B. (of the Royal Navy)
Mr. Goldbury (a company promoter; afterwards Comptroller of the
Utopian
Household)
Sir Bailey Barre, Q.C., M.P.
Mr. Blushington (of the County Council)
The Princess Zara (eldest daughter of King Paramount)
The Princesses Nekaya and Kalyba (her Younger Sisters)
The Lady Sophy (their English Gouvernante)
Utopian Maidens:
Salata
Melene
Phylla
King Paramount, the First (King of Utopia)
Scaphio and Phantis (Judges of the Utopian Supreme Court)
Tarara (The Public Exploder)
Calynx (The Utopian Vice-Chamberlain)
Imported Flowers of Progress:
Lord Dramaleigh (a British Lord Chamberlain)
Captain Fitzbattleaxe (First Life Guards)
Captain Sir Edward Corcoran, K.C.B. (of the Royal Navy)
Mr. Goldbury (a company promoter; afterwards Comptroller of the
Utopian
Household)
Sir Bailey Barre, Q.C., M.P.
Mr. Blushington (of the County Council)
The Princess Zara (eldest daughter of King Paramount)
The Princesses Nekaya and Kalyba (her Younger Sisters)
The Lady Sophy (their English Gouvernante)
Utopian Maidens:
Salata
Melene
Phylla
ACT I
A Utopian Palm Grove
ACT II
Throne Room in King Paramount's Palace
A Utopian Palm Grove
ACT II
Throne Room in King Paramount's Palace
First produced at the Savoy Theatre on October 7, 1893.
ACT I.
OPENING CHORUS.
In lazy languor—motionless,
We lie and dream of nothingness;
For visions come
From Poppydom
Direct at our command:
Or, delicate alternative,
In open idleness we live,
With lyre and lute
And silver flute,
The life of Lazyland.
SOLO - Phylla.
The song of birds
In ivied towers;
The rippling play
Of waterway;
The lowing herds;
The breath of flowers;
The languid loves
Of turtle doves—
These simple joys are all at hand
Upon thy shores, O Lazyland!
(Enter Calynx)
Calynx: Good news! Great news! His Majesty's eldest daughter,
Princess Zara, who left our shores five years since to go to
England—the greatest, the most powerful, the wisest country
in the world—has taken a high degree at Girton, and is on
her way home again, having achieved a complete mastery over all
the elements that have tended to raise that glorious country to
her present preeminent position among civilized nations!
Salata: Then in a few months Utopia may hope to be completely
Anglicized?
Calynx: Absolutely and without a doubt.
Melene: (lazily) We are very well as we are. Life without a
care—every want supplied by a kind and fatherly monarch,
who, despot though he be, has no other thought than to make his
people happy—what have we to gain by the great change that
is in store for us?
Salata: What have we to gain? English institutions, English
tastes, and oh, English fashions!
Calynx: England has made herself what she is because, in that
favored land, every one has to think for himself. Here we have
no need to think, because our monarch anticipates all our wants,
and our political opinions are formed for us by the journals to
which we subscribe. Oh, think how much more brilliant this
dialogue would have been, if we had been accustomed to exercise
our reflective powers! They say that in England the conversation
of the very meanest is a coruscation of impromptu epigram!
(Enter Tarara in a great rage)
Tarara: Lalabalele talala! Callabale lalabalica falahle!
Calynx: (horrified) Stop—stop, I beg! (All the ladies
close their ears.)
Tarara: Callamalala galalate! Caritalla lalabalee kallalale
poo!
Ladies: Oh, stop him! stop him!
Calynx: My lord, I'm surprised at you. Are you not aware that
His Majesty, in his despotic acquiescence with the emphatic wish
of his people, has ordered that the Utopian language shall be
banished from his court, and that all communications shall
henceforward be made in the English tongue?
Tarara: Yes, I'm perfectly aware of it, although—(suddenly
presenting an explosive "cracker"). Stop—allow me.
Calynx: (pulls it). Now, what's that for?
Tarara: Why, I've recently been appointed Public Exploder to His
Majesty, and as I'm constitutionally nervous, I must accustom
myself by degrees to the startling nature of my duties. Thank you.
I was about to say that although, as Public Exploder, I am next in
succession to the throne, I nevertheless do my best to fall in
with the royal decree. But when I am overmastered by an indignant
sense of overwhelming wrong, as I am now, I slip into my native
tongue without knowing it. I am told that in the language of that
great and pure nation, strong expressions do not exist, consequently
when I want to let off steam I have no alternative but to
say, "Lalabalele molola lililah kallalale poo!"
Calynx: But what is your grievance?
Tarara: This—by our Constitution we are governed by a
Despot who, although in theory absolute—is, in practice,
nothing of the kind—being watched day and night by two Wise
Men whose duty it is, on his very first lapse from political or
social propriety, to denounce him to me, the Public Exploder, and
it then becomes my duty to blow up His Majesty with
dynamite—allow me. (Presenting a cracker which Calynx
pulls.) Thank you—and, as some compensation to my wounded
feelings, I reign in his stead.
Calynx: Yes. After many unhappy experiments in the direction of
an ideal Republic, it was found that what may be described as a
Despotism tempered by Dynamite provides, on the whole, the most
satisfactory description of ruler—an autocrat who dares not
abuse his autocratic power.
Tarara: That's the theory—but in practice, how does it
act? Now, do you ever happen to see the Palace Peeper? (producing
a "Society" paper).
Calynx: Never even heard of the journal.
Tarara: I'm not surprised, because His Majesty's agents always
buy up the whole edition; but I have an aunt in the publishing
department, and she has supplied me with a copy. Well, it
actually teems with circumstantially convincing details of the
King's abominable immoralities! If this high-class journal may be
believed, His Majesty is one of the most Heliogabalian profligates
that ever disgraced an autocratic throne! And do these Wise Men
denounce him to me? Not a bit of it! They wink at his
immoralities! Under the circumstances I really think I am
justified in exclaiming "Lalabelele molola lililah kalabalale
poo!" (All horrified.) I don't care—the occasion demands
it.
(Exit Tarara)
(March. Enter Guard, escorting Scaphio and Phantis.)
CHORUS.
O make way for the Wise Men!
They are the prizemen—
Double-first in the world's university!
For though lovely this island
(Which is my land),
She has no one to match them in her city.
They're the pride of Utopia—
Cornucopia
Is each his mental fertility.
O they make no blunder,
And no wonder,
For they're triumphs of infallibility.
DUET — Scaphio and Phantis.
In every mental lore
(The statement smacks of vanity)
We claim to rank before
The wisest of humanity.
As gifts of head and heart
We wasted on "utility,"
We're "cast" to play a part
Of great responsibility.
Our duty is to spy
Upon our King's illicites,
And keep a watchful eye
On all his eccentricities.
If ever a trick he tries
That savours of rascality,
At our decree he dies
Without the least formality.
We fear no rude rebuff,
Or newspaper publicity;
Our word is quite enough,
The rest is electricity.
A pound of dynamite
Explodes in his auriculars;
It's not a pleasant sight—
We'll spare you the particulars.
Its force all men confess,
The King needs no admonishing—
We may say its success
Is something quite astonishing.
Our despot it imbues
With virtues quite delectable,
He minds his P's and Q's,—
And keeps himself respectable.
Of a tyrant polite
He's paragon quite.
He's as modest and mild
In his ways as a child;
And no one ever met
With an autocrat yet,
So delightfully bland
To the least in the land!
So make way for the wise men, etc.
(Exeunt all but Scaphio and Phantis. Phantis is pensive.)
Scaphio: Phantis, you are not in your customary exuberant
spirits. What is wrong?
Phantis: Scaphio, I think you once told me that you have never
loved?
Scaphio: Never! I have often marvelled at the fairy influence
which weaves its rosy web about the faculties of the greatest and
wisest of our race; but I thank Heaven I have never been subjected
to its singular fascination. For, oh, Phantis! there is that
within me that tells me that when my time does come, the
convulsion will be tremendous! When I love, it will be with the
accumulated fervor of sixty-six years! But I have an ideal—a
semi-transparent Being, filled with an inorganic pink
jelly—and I have never yet seen the woman who approaches
within measurable distance of it. All are
opaque—opaque—opaque!
Phantis: Keep that ideal firmly before you, and love not until
you find her. Though but fifty-five, I am an old campaigner in
the battle-fields of Love; and, believe me, it is better to be as
you are, heart-free and happy, than as I am—eternally racked
with doubting agonies! Scaphio, the Princess Zara returns from
England today!
Scaphio: My poor boy, I see it all.
Phantis: Oh! Scaphio, she is so beautiful. Ah! you smile, for
you have never seen her. She sailed for England three months
before you took office.
Scaphio: Now tell me, is your affection requited?
Phantis: I do not know—I am not sure. Sometimes I think it
is, and then come these torturing doubts! I feel sure that she
does not regard me with absolute indifference, for she could never
look at me without having to go to bed with a sick headache.
Scaphio: That is surely something. Come, take heart, boy! you
are young and beautiful. What more could maiden want?
Phantis: Ah! Scaphio, remember she returns from a land where
every youth is as a young Greek god, and where such beauty as I
can boast is seen at every turn.
Scaphio: Be of good cheer! Marry her, boy, if so your fancy
wills, and be sure that love will come.
Phantis: (overjoyed) Then you will assist me in this?
Scaphio: Why, surely! Silly one, what have you to fear? We have
but to say the word, and her father must consent. Is he not our
very slave? Come, take heart. I cannot bear to see you sad.
Phantis: Now I may hope, indeed! Scaphio, you have placed me on
the very pinnacle of human joy!
DUET — Scaphio and Phantis.
Scaphio: Let all your doubts take wing—
Our influence is great.
If Paramount our King
Presume to hesitate
Put on the screw,
And caution him
That he will rue
Disaster grim
That must ensue
To life and limb,
Should he pooh-pooh
This harmless whim.
Both: This harmless whim—this harmless whim,
It is as I/you say, a harmless whim.
Phantis: (dancing) Observe this dance
Which I employ
When I, by chance
Go mad with joy.
What sentiment
Does this express?
(Phantis continues his dance while Scaphio vainly endeavors to
discover
its meaning)
Supreme content
And happiness!
Both: Of course it does! Of course it does!
Supreme content and happiness.
Phantis: Your friendly aid conferred,
I need no longer pine.
I've but to speak the word,
And lo, the maid is mine!
I do not choose
To be denied.
Or wish to lose
A lovely bride—
If to refuse
The King decide,
The royal shoes
Then woe betide!
Both: Then woe betide—then woe betide!
The Royal shoes then woe betide!
Scaphio: (Dancing) This step to use
I condescend
Whene'er I choose
To serve a friend.
What it implies
Now try to guess;
(Scaphio continues his dance while Phantis is vainly endeavouring
to discover its meaning)
It typifies
Unselfishness!
Both: (Dancing) Of course it does! Of course it does!
It typifies unselfishness.
(Exeunt Scaphio and
Phantis.)
March. Enter King Paramount, attended by guards and nobles, and
preceded by girls dancing before him.
CHORUS
Quaff the nectar—cull the roses—
Gather fruit and flowers in plenty!
For our king no longer poses—
Sing the songs of far niente!
Wake the lute that sets us lilting,
Dance a welcome to each comer;
Day by day our year is wilting—
Sing the sunny songs of summer!
La, la, la, la!
SOLO — King.
A King of autocratic power we—
A despot whose tyrannic will is law—
Whose rule is paramount o'er land and sea,
A presence of unutterable awe!
But though the awe that I inspire
Must shrivel with imperial fire
All foes whom it may chance to touch,
To judge by what I see and hear,
It does not seem to interfere
With popular enjoyment, much.
Chorus: No, no—it does not interfere
With our enjoyment much.
Stupendous when we rouse ourselves to strike,
Resistless when our tyrant thunder peals,
We often wonder what obstruction's like,
And how a contradicted monarch feels.
But as it is our Royal whim
Our Royal sails to set and trim
To suit whatever wind may blow—
What buffets contradiction deals
And how a thwarted monarch feels
We probably will never know.
Chorus: No, no—what thwarted monarch feels,
You'll never, never know.
RECITATIVE — King.
My subjects all, it is your wish emphatic
That all Utopia shall henceforth be modelled
Upon that glorious country called Great Britain—
To which some add—but others do not—Ireland.
Chorus: It is!
King: That being so, as you insist upon it,
We have arranged that our two younger daughters
Who have been "finished" by an English Lady—
(tenderly) A grave and good and gracious English Lady—
Shall daily be exhibited in public,
That all may learn what, from the English standpoint,
Is looked upon as maidenly perfection!
Come hither, daughters!
(Enter Nekaya and Kalyba. They are twins, about fifteen years old;
they are very modest and demure in their appearance, dress and
manner. They stand with their hands folded and their eyes cast
down.)
CHORUS
How fair! how modest! how discreet!
How bashfully demure!
See how they blush, as they've been taught,
At this publicity unsought!
How English and how pure!
DUET — Nekaya and Kalyba.
Both: Although of native maids the cream,
We're brought up on the English scheme—
The best of all
For great and small
Who modesty adore.
Nek: For English girls are good as gold,
Extremely modest (so we're told)
Demurely coy—divinely cold—
And that we are—and more.
Kal: To please papa, who argues thus—
All girls should mould themselves on us
Because we are
By furlongs far
The best of the bunch,
We show ourselves to loud applause
From ten to four without a pause—
Nek: Which is an awkward time because
It cuts into our lunch.
Both: Oh maids of high and low degree,
Whose social code is rather free,
Please look at us and you will see
What good young ladies ought to be!
Nek: And as we stand, like clockwork toys,
A lecturer whom papa employs
Proceeds to praise
Our modest ways
And guileless character—
Kal: Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—
Our famous look of mild surprise.
Nek: (Which competition still defies)—
Our celebrated "Sir!!!"
Kal: Then all the crowd take down our looks
In pocket memorandum books.
To diagnose
Our modest pose
The Kodaks do their best:
Nek: If evidence you would possess
Of what is maiden bashfulness
You need only a button press—
Kal: And we will do the rest.
In lazy languor—motionless,
We lie and dream of nothingness;
For visions come
From Poppydom
Direct at our command:
Or, delicate alternative,
In open idleness we live,
With lyre and lute
And silver flute,
The life of Lazyland.
SOLO - Phylla.
The song of birds
In ivied towers;
The rippling play
Of waterway;
The lowing herds;
The breath of flowers;
The languid loves
Of turtle doves—
These simple joys are all at hand
Upon thy shores, O Lazyland!
(Enter Calynx)
Calynx: Good news! Great news! His Majesty's eldest daughter,
Princess Zara, who left our shores five years since to go to
England—the greatest, the most powerful, the wisest country
in the world—has taken a high degree at Girton, and is on
her way home again, having achieved a complete mastery over all
the elements that have tended to raise that glorious country to
her present preeminent position among civilized nations!
Salata: Then in a few months Utopia may hope to be completely
Anglicized?
Calynx: Absolutely and without a doubt.
Melene: (lazily) We are very well as we are. Life without a
care—every want supplied by a kind and fatherly monarch,
who, despot though he be, has no other thought than to make his
people happy—what have we to gain by the great change that
is in store for us?
Salata: What have we to gain? English institutions, English
tastes, and oh, English fashions!
Calynx: England has made herself what she is because, in that
favored land, every one has to think for himself. Here we have
no need to think, because our monarch anticipates all our wants,
and our political opinions are formed for us by the journals to
which we subscribe. Oh, think how much more brilliant this
dialogue would have been, if we had been accustomed to exercise
our reflective powers! They say that in England the conversation
of the very meanest is a coruscation of impromptu epigram!
(Enter Tarara in a great rage)
Tarara: Lalabalele talala! Callabale lalabalica falahle!
Calynx: (horrified) Stop—stop, I beg! (All the ladies
close their ears.)
Tarara: Callamalala galalate! Caritalla lalabalee kallalale
poo!
Ladies: Oh, stop him! stop him!
Calynx: My lord, I'm surprised at you. Are you not aware that
His Majesty, in his despotic acquiescence with the emphatic wish
of his people, has ordered that the Utopian language shall be
banished from his court, and that all communications shall
henceforward be made in the English tongue?
Tarara: Yes, I'm perfectly aware of it, although—(suddenly
presenting an explosive "cracker"). Stop—allow me.
Calynx: (pulls it). Now, what's that for?
Tarara: Why, I've recently been appointed Public Exploder to His
Majesty, and as I'm constitutionally nervous, I must accustom
myself by degrees to the startling nature of my duties. Thank you.
I was about to say that although, as Public Exploder, I am next in
succession to the throne, I nevertheless do my best to fall in
with the royal decree. But when I am overmastered by an indignant
sense of overwhelming wrong, as I am now, I slip into my native
tongue without knowing it. I am told that in the language of that
great and pure nation, strong expressions do not exist, consequently
when I want to let off steam I have no alternative but to
say, "Lalabalele molola lililah kallalale poo!"
Calynx: But what is your grievance?
Tarara: This—by our Constitution we are governed by a
Despot who, although in theory absolute—is, in practice,
nothing of the kind—being watched day and night by two Wise
Men whose duty it is, on his very first lapse from political or
social propriety, to denounce him to me, the Public Exploder, and
it then becomes my duty to blow up His Majesty with
dynamite—allow me. (Presenting a cracker which Calynx
pulls.) Thank you—and, as some compensation to my wounded
feelings, I reign in his stead.
Calynx: Yes. After many unhappy experiments in the direction of
an ideal Republic, it was found that what may be described as a
Despotism tempered by Dynamite provides, on the whole, the most
satisfactory description of ruler—an autocrat who dares not
abuse his autocratic power.
Tarara: That's the theory—but in practice, how does it
act? Now, do you ever happen to see the Palace Peeper? (producing
a "Society" paper).
Calynx: Never even heard of the journal.
Tarara: I'm not surprised, because His Majesty's agents always
buy up the whole edition; but I have an aunt in the publishing
department, and she has supplied me with a copy. Well, it
actually teems with circumstantially convincing details of the
King's abominable immoralities! If this high-class journal may be
believed, His Majesty is one of the most Heliogabalian profligates
that ever disgraced an autocratic throne! And do these Wise Men
denounce him to me? Not a bit of it! They wink at his
immoralities! Under the circumstances I really think I am
justified in exclaiming "Lalabelele molola lililah kalabalale
poo!" (All horrified.) I don't care—the occasion demands
it.
(Exit Tarara)
(March. Enter Guard, escorting Scaphio and Phantis.)
CHORUS.
O make way for the Wise Men!
They are the prizemen—
Double-first in the world's university!
For though lovely this island
(Which is my land),
She has no one to match them in her city.
They're the pride of Utopia—
Cornucopia
Is each his mental fertility.
O they make no blunder,
And no wonder,
For they're triumphs of infallibility.
DUET — Scaphio and Phantis.
In every mental lore
(The statement smacks of vanity)
We claim to rank before
The wisest of humanity.
As gifts of head and heart
We wasted on "utility,"
We're "cast" to play a part
Of great responsibility.
Our duty is to spy
Upon our King's illicites,
And keep a watchful eye
On all his eccentricities.
If ever a trick he tries
That savours of rascality,
At our decree he dies
Without the least formality.
We fear no rude rebuff,
Or newspaper publicity;
Our word is quite enough,
The rest is electricity.
A pound of dynamite
Explodes in his auriculars;
It's not a pleasant sight—
We'll spare you the particulars.
Its force all men confess,
The King needs no admonishing—
We may say its success
Is something quite astonishing.
Our despot it imbues
With virtues quite delectable,
He minds his P's and Q's,—
And keeps himself respectable.
Of a tyrant polite
He's paragon quite.
He's as modest and mild
In his ways as a child;
And no one ever met
With an autocrat yet,
So delightfully bland
To the least in the land!
So make way for the wise men, etc.
(Exeunt all but Scaphio and Phantis. Phantis is pensive.)
Scaphio: Phantis, you are not in your customary exuberant
spirits. What is wrong?
Phantis: Scaphio, I think you once told me that you have never
loved?
Scaphio: Never! I have often marvelled at the fairy influence
which weaves its rosy web about the faculties of the greatest and
wisest of our race; but I thank Heaven I have never been subjected
to its singular fascination. For, oh, Phantis! there is that
within me that tells me that when my time does come, the
convulsion will be tremendous! When I love, it will be with the
accumulated fervor of sixty-six years! But I have an ideal—a
semi-transparent Being, filled with an inorganic pink
jelly—and I have never yet seen the woman who approaches
within measurable distance of it. All are
opaque—opaque—opaque!
Phantis: Keep that ideal firmly before you, and love not until
you find her. Though but fifty-five, I am an old campaigner in
the battle-fields of Love; and, believe me, it is better to be as
you are, heart-free and happy, than as I am—eternally racked
with doubting agonies! Scaphio, the Princess Zara returns from
England today!
Scaphio: My poor boy, I see it all.
Phantis: Oh! Scaphio, she is so beautiful. Ah! you smile, for
you have never seen her. She sailed for England three months
before you took office.
Scaphio: Now tell me, is your affection requited?
Phantis: I do not know—I am not sure. Sometimes I think it
is, and then come these torturing doubts! I feel sure that she
does not regard me with absolute indifference, for she could never
look at me without having to go to bed with a sick headache.
Scaphio: That is surely something. Come, take heart, boy! you
are young and beautiful. What more could maiden want?
Phantis: Ah! Scaphio, remember she returns from a land where
every youth is as a young Greek god, and where such beauty as I
can boast is seen at every turn.
Scaphio: Be of good cheer! Marry her, boy, if so your fancy
wills, and be sure that love will come.
Phantis: (overjoyed) Then you will assist me in this?
Scaphio: Why, surely! Silly one, what have you to fear? We have
but to say the word, and her father must consent. Is he not our
very slave? Come, take heart. I cannot bear to see you sad.
Phantis: Now I may hope, indeed! Scaphio, you have placed me on
the very pinnacle of human joy!
DUET — Scaphio and Phantis.
Scaphio: Let all your doubts take wing—
Our influence is great.
If Paramount our King
Presume to hesitate
Put on the screw,
And caution him
That he will rue
Disaster grim
That must ensue
To life and limb,
Should he pooh-pooh
This harmless whim.
Both: This harmless whim—this harmless whim,
It is as I/you say, a harmless whim.
Phantis: (dancing) Observe this dance
Which I employ
When I, by chance
Go mad with joy.
What sentiment
Does this express?
(Phantis continues his dance while Scaphio vainly endeavors to
discover
its meaning)
Supreme content
And happiness!
Both: Of course it does! Of course it does!
Supreme content and happiness.
Phantis: Your friendly aid conferred,
I need no longer pine.
I've but to speak the word,
And lo, the maid is mine!
I do not choose
To be denied.
Or wish to lose
A lovely bride—
If to refuse
The King decide,
The royal shoes
Then woe betide!
Both: Then woe betide—then woe betide!
The Royal shoes then woe betide!
Scaphio: (Dancing) This step to use
I condescend
Whene'er I choose
To serve a friend.
What it implies
Now try to guess;
(Scaphio continues his dance while Phantis is vainly endeavouring
to discover its meaning)
It typifies
Unselfishness!
Both: (Dancing) Of course it does! Of course it does!
It typifies unselfishness.
(Exeunt Scaphio and
Phantis.)
March. Enter King Paramount, attended by guards and nobles, and
preceded by girls dancing before him.
CHORUS
Quaff the nectar—cull the roses—
Gather fruit and flowers in plenty!
For our king no longer poses—
Sing the songs of far niente!
Wake the lute that sets us lilting,
Dance a welcome to each comer;
Day by day our year is wilting—
Sing the sunny songs of summer!
La, la, la, la!
SOLO — King.
A King of autocratic power we—
A despot whose tyrannic will is law—
Whose rule is paramount o'er land and sea,
A presence of unutterable awe!
But though the awe that I inspire
Must shrivel with imperial fire
All foes whom it may chance to touch,
To judge by what I see and hear,
It does not seem to interfere
With popular enjoyment, much.
Chorus: No, no—it does not interfere
With our enjoyment much.
Stupendous when we rouse ourselves to strike,
Resistless when our tyrant thunder peals,
We often wonder what obstruction's like,
And how a contradicted monarch feels.
But as it is our Royal whim
Our Royal sails to set and trim
To suit whatever wind may blow—
What buffets contradiction deals
And how a thwarted monarch feels
We probably will never know.
Chorus: No, no—what thwarted monarch feels,
You'll never, never know.
RECITATIVE — King.
My subjects all, it is your wish emphatic
That all Utopia shall henceforth be modelled
Upon that glorious country called Great Britain—
To which some add—but others do not—Ireland.
Chorus: It is!
King: That being so, as you insist upon it,
We have arranged that our two younger daughters
Who have been "finished" by an English Lady—
(tenderly) A grave and good and gracious English Lady—
Shall daily be exhibited in public,
That all may learn what, from the English standpoint,
Is looked upon as maidenly perfection!
Come hither, daughters!
(Enter Nekaya and Kalyba. They are twins, about fifteen years old;
they are very modest and demure in their appearance, dress and
manner. They stand with their hands folded and their eyes cast
down.)
CHORUS
How fair! how modest! how discreet!
How bashfully demure!
See how they blush, as they've been taught,
At this publicity unsought!
How English and how pure!
DUET — Nekaya and Kalyba.
Both: Although of native maids the cream,
We're brought up on the English scheme—
The best of all
For great and small
Who modesty adore.
Nek: For English girls are good as gold,
Extremely modest (so we're told)
Demurely coy—divinely cold—
And that we are—and more.
Kal: To please papa, who argues thus—
All girls should mould themselves on us
Because we are
By furlongs far
The best of the bunch,
We show ourselves to loud applause
From ten to four without a pause—
Nek: Which is an awkward time because
It cuts into our lunch.
Both: Oh maids of high and low degree,
Whose social code is rather free,
Please look at us and you will see
What good young ladies ought to be!
Nek: And as we stand, like clockwork toys,
A lecturer whom papa employs
Proceeds to praise
Our modest ways
And guileless character—
Kal: Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—
Our famous look of mild surprise.
Nek: (Which competition still defies)—
Our celebrated "Sir!!!"
Kal: Then all the crowd take down our looks
In pocket memorandum books.
To diagnose
Our modest pose
The Kodaks do their best:
Nek: If evidence you would possess
Of what is maiden bashfulness
You need only a button press—
Kal: And we will do the rest.