The Mimic Stage / A Series of Dramas, Comedies, Burlesques, and Farces for Public Exhibitions and Private Theatricals

Enter Mercutio, L.

If I had a beau for a soldier would go,

Do you think I’d marry him? No, no, no!

And so must not Miss Juliet, that is flat,

Bestow her hand, her money, and all that,

On such a reckless, foolish, soft young man

As Romeo, who would join the Klux Klux Kahn

Because old Capulet, o’er his gin and water,

Has vowed he shall not carry off his daughter.

Such carryings-on are very bad, no doubt;

And so my little game I’ll carry out.

Oh, ch!—this midnight roaming suits not me,

This influenza shall not influence me,

Ah, ch—would I were safe in bed!

There’s cold without and cold within my head.

’Tis time this little maid should be along:

I’ll while away the time with a ch—ch—song.

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

I’m really very stiff and cold

As you can very plainly see;

This mild spring weather here, somehow,

Has raised the very deuse with me.

My eyes are getting red and weak,

My nose appears inclined to freeze;

And, when I seek to raise my voice,

I only raise a sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

Too ral la, too ral la, &c.

O Juliet Capulet! my love,

To keep me waiting ’tis a sin:

This May-day weather will, I fear,

Put out the flame of love within.

My heart with love is burning high,

My bones with cold are like to freeze:

For you I seek to raise a sigh,

But only raise a sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

Too ral la, too ral la, &c.

Mercutio, you’re a silly goose

To choose a maid so very cruel:

This midnight prowl for you, I fear,

Will end in rheumatiz and gruel;

And then, should Romeo cross your path,

Prepare to face another breeze:

He’d cut you down in his great wrath,

Nor give you time to sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

Too ral la, too ral la, &c.

Scene 3. Capulet’s burying-ground. Tomb, C., on which is written, “No one allowed to pick here without permit of the proprietor.” Graves, R. and L., with headstones facing audience. On R. is painted, “To be occupied by Juliet Capulet;” on L., “To be occupied by Romeo Montague.”

Enter Juliet, L., with basket, bottle, and candle.

Jul. Here is the place (dog barks), our plaguy Spot, I say.

You should not follow your mistress in this way.

(Clock strikes.) One, two, ’tis now the very time, I think,

When I was bid this sleeping draught to drink.

Oh, dear! suppose this should not work at all;

Suppose this evening Romeo should not call;

Suppose, suppose—oh! I’ll leave off supposing,

For really I begin to feel like dozing:

And so I’ll take a dose (drinks). Why, this is queer!

What new-found sherry-cobbler have we here?

Narcotic music in my head is ringing

Such blissful airs, I cannot keep from singing.

Song, “Juliet.” Air, “O Mio Fernando.”

Oh mio Romeo, my galliant loverier!

My father’s house I’ve slipped for to meet thee;

But oh! my ducksey, do you be tenderer

Or else a broken-hearted maid I’ll be.

If by this cup my senses be capsized

When I have drank this sherry-cobbler down,

Oh! do not, dearest, do not, be surprised,

But wake me gently, Romeo, from my nap.

Jul. To bed, to bed! it’s really getting late. (Knock.)

What knocking’s that? The watchman’s at the gate.

What is undone can’t be done up, ’tis said.

My hair is down, and so to bed, to bed!

Lies down on grave, blows out candle, R. Enter Mercutio, L.

Mer. Rest, my maid, lie still and slumber:

Now for my carriage. I’ve forgot the number:

That is too bad, I ne’er can find mine,

So many are ordered for just half-past nine.

What’s to be done? I’m getting in a muss,

I know. I’ll take her off instanter in a buss.

Halloo, halloo! Why, here’s the deuse to pay,—

Man with a light, and coming down this way!

I’ll step aside and of this light keep dark.

(Hides R.)

Enter Romeo, L., dragging child’s carriage, containing a large bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.

Rom. Bah! I’m chilled through, and hungry as a shark.

I do remember where an oysterman did dwell

Who opened Providence Rivers passing well,

Concocted luscious stews and toothsome roasts

And “Fancys,” which are oysters laid on toast.

I would that I to-night within his stall

Might seat myself, and for a good roast call;

But I’m forbid, for I to-night must stir up,

My fainting soul with Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.

My Juliet, poisoned, in this church-yard lies;

And I, poor silly fellow!—I—I—cries.

I’ll weep no more, but to my Juliet flee.

Knocks down gravestone at head of Juliet.

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

Enter Mercutio, R.

Mer. Halloo, my gallant youth, is that the way

You with old Capulet’s costly marbles play?

Rom. What wretch art thou that thus beseemst the night?

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

Rom. Are you Mercutio’s kinsman, Plaster Paris?

Or are you Villikins?

Mer. Thank you, I am nary;

But I am Mercutio, who, upon my life,

Had nearly made that maid there be my wife

But for your coming. Now that you have come,

And I’m not wanted, I think I’ll go home.

Rom. Stay, vile Mercutio, I see what you’re about:

With this ’ere maid you tried to cut me out;

But you shall find that I can cut as well.

A game of turn him out, we’ll have, my swell.

You are a sneak, so be a little bolder:

Let’s see you knock that chip from off my shoulder.

(Mercutio blows chip off.)

A blow. We’ll try the manly art.

Mer. The manly art?—oh, no!

We can’t do that: it’s not for us, you know.

Our legislators keep it for their public play:

’Tis More-easy taught in Washington to-day.

Talking of cutting you out here with this lass

I call an insult; but we’ll let that pass.

I’ll have a pass, and with a cutlass too,

Produces a pair of cutlasses from side.

Draw, villain, draw! I’ll have a bout with you,—

The old stage combat, that’s the sort,

With an accompaniment on the piano forte.

Combat to the tune of, “Wood up.” Mercutio’s stuck.

Hold on! I’m stuck, as narrow as a church-pew,

And hardly deep enough: well, it will do.

Ask for me to-morrow, if you will;

And, if I’m not gone, I’ll be here still.

I’m peppered sore, and nearly mustered out.

Now, gentle Romeo, mind what you’re about!

You have a country house, and one in town:

A plague on both your houses! burn ’em down!

Have you a cigar? I think I’ve got a match.

Romeo gives Mercutio a cigar, and holds up his foot, on which Mercutio strikes a light, and then lights his cigar.

Thank you, you are a perfect hen to scratch.

From all the many ills of married life

I would have saved you, carried off your wife;

But that’s all over, wish you joy, I’ll swear.

Good-by! I’m going home to die—my hair.

Exit, L.

Rom. So young to die! Farewell, my gentle friend:

Now to my business I will straight attend.

Here lies my love so snugly covered up,

And near her sits the fatal poisoned cup.

Eyes, look your last; but do not look too long.

If ’twon’t disturb you, love, I’ll sing a song.

Song, “Romeo.” Air, “Captain Jinks.”

My Juliet at last I’ve found,

Stretched out at full length on the ground:

She shows no signs of coming round,

Which causes me much trouble.

But I’ve a quietus, you see,

tus you see,

tus you see

And Winslow’s Soothing Syrup for me

Will soon end all my trouble.

It will be a story to tell the marines

That we were driven to such extremes,

And came to our end by poisonous means,

Through drinking too much of the balmy.

Rom. Come, fatal syrup, soothe my aching breast;

Come, Mrs. Winslow, come and give me rest.

Here’s to my love, hip, hip, hip, hurray!

Tumbles on grave, L.

That’s given me a settler any way.

Enter Capulet, L., ringing a bell.

Cap. Lost, lost, lost, strayed, stolen, or run away!

A daughter, anybody seen her, pray?

Robed in a muslin dress, a tender maid,

Of all male creatures very much afraid.

I cannot find her: I am tempest tossed,

And so I toss this bell—lost, lost, lost!

Trio: Air, “Dear Father come home.” Juliet, Romeo, and Capulet.

Jul. Father, dear father! go home, will you, now?

You’ll get a bad cold in your head:

I’ve put out the candle, and, covered up warm,

I’m resting so nicely in bed!

Rom. You’d better clear out, old Capulet, now,

There hardly is room here for you;

Disturb not the rest of a poisoned young pair,

But clear out instanter, now, do!

Jul. { Come do, now do, dear father, sweet father, go home!

Rom. { Will you, will you, old buffer, old buffer, go home?

Cap. Now, do hear the words of this pair,

Which his fingers [2] repeat as they roam.

I’ll be blessed if such nonsense I’ll stand, any way,

No, looneys, I will not go home.

Jul. { Come father, dear father, go home.

Rom. { Old buffer, old buffer, go home.

Cap. Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish, I’ll swear.

Juliet Capulet, what are you doing there?

Jul. (Sitting up.) I’m poisoned, waiting here for Romeo.

Rom. (Sitting up.) Well, here I am: I guess we’d better go.

Song, “Romeo and Juliet.” Air, “Billy Taylor.”

Rom. Now, Juliet, that we’re free from poison,

We will quickly wedded be.

The loveliest maid man ever set his eyes on

I’ll marry in style, quite gorgeously.

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

Jul. Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, la.

Rom. Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, li, do.

Tombs. Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, la.

Jul. O Romeo! though you’re my deary,

Prithee, listen unto me.

When I go to get my wardrobe, I shall feel quite scary

If it’s under lock and key.

Chorus.—Tiddy, iddy, &c.

Cap. Humbug! Do you two young ones ’spose

I’ll have this billing under my very nose?

Vile Montague, begone, or you shall sweat!

I’m on my native heath, my name is Capulet.

Jul. Give me my Romeo, or I shall die:

I’ll cut him up in little stars—

Rom. Oh, my!

Cap. No, no, my child, you’ll cut up no such capers:

Do you want to figure in the Boston papers?

Go home and sew, and so your morals mend:

This fool I’ll straight about his business send.

If you two marry—why, then, I’m a noodle,

Who dare dispute me—

Song. Tomb opens, and Mercutio appears as Yankee Doodle. (Allegorical dress of America.)

Mer. Only Yankee Doodle!

Old man, within my home across the water,

I’ve had my eye upon your handsome daughter,

And sighed to think that two fond lovers here

Should find a home within a tomb so drear.

And so I’ve opened it to have it aired:

Really, old gent, you should have it repaired.

Being on a yacht race in “The Henrietta,”

To give you a passing call, I thought I’d better.

I’m of a race that likes to see fair play:

My fair one, can I serve you any way?

Rom. Why, that’s Mercutio!

Mer. Shut up, will you, now!

I’ve only doubled, don’t you make a row.

Rom. But you were killed—

Jul. And now have come to life.

Mer. Some one spoke, I think—

Rom. It was my wife.

Mer. Don’t puzzle yourselves, I’ll straightway make it clear.

You know the Spiritualists hold meeting here;

You rapped me, and I went, is that not plain?

So with another wrap, I come again.

Cap. Entranced youth, you are not wanted here,

So quickly you had better disappear.

I want my daughter—

Mer. So does Romeo too;

And he shall have her straight, in spite of you.

Cap. Come, sir, you meddle! Mind what you’re about!

I’m a belligerent—

Mer. Oh! that’s played out.

It will not do all wrongs to redress:

You’ll find America in any mess.

So, Romeo, take your wife, and pack your bag;

We’ll give you shelter ’neath a starry flag.

Rom. What say you, Juliet? shall we westward go?

Speak up, my darling, do not color so.

Jul. I like those colors well, I do confess:

Those stripes are just the style of my new dress.

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

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

Mer. Come, Capulet, your blessing I command;

Then pack up trunks, and off for Yankee land.

Cap. What! end a tragedy without a death?

It’s horrible: you take away my breath!

Mer. Then we shall have one sure, let’s move along:

We’ll end our tragedy with a yachting song.

Finale, “A Yankee Ship and a Yankee Crew.”

A Yankee yacht and a Yankee crew,

Tally, hi, ho, you know,

Can beat the world on the waters blue.

Sing high, aloft and alow.

Her sails are spread to the fairy breeze,

The spray sparkling as thrown from her prow;

Her flag is the proudest that floats o’er the seas;

Her way homeward she’s steering now.

Chorus.—A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, &c.

Curtain.

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

[2] The pianist or leader of the orchestra.

THE GREAT ELIXIR.

CHARACTERS.

Waldimer Wiggins	(the seventh son of a seventh son).
Gunnybag Greenbax,	} Wiggins’ patients.
Nervous Aspen,	} Wiggins’ patients.
Major Fingers	(a discontented Bridegroom).
Charles Freedley	(a dissatisfied heir).
Harry Quilldriver	(an author).
Herbert Easel	(his friend).
Dennis McGrath	(the Doctor’s help).
Bob	(the Doctor’s boy).

COSTUMES.

Wiggins.	—Eccentric gray wig, with cue, white necktie, crimson vest, dressing-gown, and slippers.
Greenbax.	—Long brown coat, gray wig, broad brimmed hat.
Aspen.	—Brown wig, nankeen pants and vest, dark coat, hat and cane.
Fingers.	—(Very short man.) Undress uniform.
Freedley, Quilldriver, and Easel.	—Modern costume.
Dennis.	—Red wig, white jacket, yellow vest, dark pants.

Scene.—Wiggins’ Office. Table, C. Chairs, R. and L. of table. Entrances, R. and L. Letters and bottles on table.

Enter Wiggins, L.

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

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

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

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

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

Dennis. Indade I did, sir, and he’ll say yez in a minute. (Exit, L.)

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

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

Charles. Privacy? Why, aint you a regular physician?

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

Charles. Oh! you mean at the theatres.

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

Charles. I have a very painful malady.

Wiggins. What is it?

Charles. An itching sensation in my hand. (Aside.) Itching to get hold of you.

Wiggins. Let me look at it (offering to take it).

Charles (raising his arm quick, hits the doctor in the stomach). It hurts me when I raise it thus.

Wiggins (jumping back). Oh! confound you! Then why in the deuce do you raise it thus?

Charles. I want it cured.

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

Charles. Much obliged to the stars. How?

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

Charles (aside). Just as I thought, an ignorant quack. (Aloud.) I will procure a bottle, and give it a fair trial. (Aside.) I’d sooner take poison than his infernal stuff. (Exit, L.)

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

Dennis (puzzled). The what is it?

Wiggins. Prepare the paraphernalia.

Dennis. Yis, sir, directly (going, L.).

Wiggins. Where are you going?

Dennis. For the razor, sir.

Wiggins. Razor! What do you want of a razor?

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

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

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

Wiggins. Our first patient. Show him in, Dennis.

Dennis. Yis, sir. (Exit, L.)

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

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

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

Dennis. There he is in his place!

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

Dennis. What a stupid ould man.

Wiggins (coming forward). Here’s a queer customer. What do you want?

Greenbax. Hey?

Wiggins. Do you want the doctor?

Greenbax. Of course I do (going).

Wiggins. Hold on, I am the doctor.

Greenbax. Hey?

Wiggins. I am the doctor.

Greenbax. Yes, yes, I want the doctor.

Wiggins (very loud). I am the doctor. Stupid!

Greenbax. No, no! Dr. Wiggins, not Dr. Stupid.

Wiggins (shouting). I am Dr. Wiggins. Who are you?

Greenbax (holding out his hand). Pretty well, I thank you; a little deafness for you to cure, that’s all.

Wiggins. How long have you been so?

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

Wiggins. How long have you been in this condition?

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

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

Greenbax. Hey?

Wiggins (shouting). Do you keep getting worse?

Greenbax. Oh, yes! I keep a horse,—fast one, too.

Wiggins. I am speaking about your ear.

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

Wiggins (shouting). I’m talking about you—you—you!

Greenbax. Me! oh, no! I never had the heaves.

Wiggins. Oh, dear, dear! what shall I do? (Shouting.) Have you ever tried The Elixir?

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

Wiggins (desperately takes bottle from table). Here, take this three times a day.

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

Wiggins (shouting). No, no; take it yourself.

Greenbax. Oh, yes; for my ear.

Wiggins. Apply it externally and internally.

Greenbax (looking at bottle). It does have an infernal look. Oh, I’ve tried this, it wont do. Must have something stronger,—something to shake me up.

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

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

Greenbax. Hey?

Dennis. It’s a fine day, sir.

Greenbax. No. Nothing to give away. Go to the poorhouse.

Dennis. Poorhouse, is it, you thaif!

Wiggins (outside). Dennis!

Dennis. Coming, sir. Away wid yez, you deaf ould haddock. (Exit, R.)

Greenbax. So many beggars about. Strange the police will allow it. (Re-enter Dennis, R., with a phial.)

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

Greenbax. Murder, murder!

Dennis (shaking him). Howl away, ye spalpeen. ’Twill help the circulation.

Greenbax. Murder, murder!

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

Greenbax. Murder, help, murder! (Enter Wiggins, R.)

Wiggins. What are you doing, you scamp?

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

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

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

Wiggins (shouting). I’m sorry this happened; ’twas all a mistake.

Greenbax. Yes. It was a pretty good shake.

Wiggins. My man will be more careful in future. (Gives him phial.)

Greenbax. Shall I take this?

Wiggins. Yes, morning and night.

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

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

Dennis. Mr. Aspen, the shaky gintleman.

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

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

Aspen (sits L. of table). Oh, I don’t know, I guess—I think—I should say—I must be-er—kind-er—sort-er—I don’t know.

Dennis. Faith! He’s getting no better very fast.

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

Aspen. Two dozen bottles.

Wiggins. Not enough. You must take a gross.

Dennis. Not enough. You must take a gross (flourishing knife).

Aspen (shaking). A gross? Oh, dear!

Wiggins. Perhaps a barrel.

Dennis. A barrel (flourishing knife).

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

Dennis. D’ye mind that now? (knife.)

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

Dennis. Yes, skewered (knife).

Aspen. But it makes me so horrid sick.

Wiggins. What if it does?

Dennis. What if it does? (knife.)

Aspen (rising). Well, no matter, I’ll take it. Take a barrel of that nasty stuff. Oh, dear! (Exit with Dennis, L.)

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

Dennis. Major Fingers, sir. (Exit Dennis, L.)

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

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

Wiggins. Excuse me, sir; but you are so diminutive.

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

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

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

Wiggins. Your wife? You mean your mother.

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

Wiggins (aside). What a young bantam.

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

Wiggins. Not a soul.

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

Wiggins. Your Vene?

Major. Yes, my “Vene,”—short for Lavinia, my wife.

Wiggins. Oh! I see. Short wife, short name.

Major (fiercely). Sir!

Wiggins. Oh, no offence intended.

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

Wiggins. It’s outrageous.

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

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

Dennis. Down-stairs, sir.

Wiggins. Send him up. (Dennis going.) And hark you, Dennis. (Whispers.)

Dennis. All right. I understand. (Exit, L.)

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

The Mimic Stage / A Series of Dramas, Comedies, Burlesques, and Farces for Public Exhibitions and Private Theatricals

About This Book

THE GREAT ELIXIR.

CHARACTERS.

COSTUMES.