[]
THE COURT OF ALEXANDER. An OPERA, In TWO ACTS.
[]
THE COURT OF ALEXANDER.
An OPERA, In TWO ACTS.
As it is performed at the THEATRE ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN.
In Times of Old indeed, when TIME was young,
HOMER, the firſt of Bards, his Hiſtory ſung;
And every Poet, ſince the Iliad, chuſes,
For Want of Voice, t'invoke the Singing Muſes;
From whence (with Leave) this Inference we draw,
In ARISTOTLE'S Inſtitutes, 'tis Law.
"Blank Verſe, or Rhyme, to Inſtruments well ſtrung,
"Shou'd be Recitativ'd, or elſe in Ballad ſung."
ARISTOT. Fol. 497.
LONDON: Printed for T. WALLER, in FLEET-STREET.
[Price ONE SHILLING.]
THE ARGUMENT OF THIS OPERA.
[]ALEXANDER the Great, tempted by the Accounts which ſeveral Pri⯑ſoners had related of the immenſe Wealth in India, determined upon in⯑vading the Dominions of King PORUS, who was then its Sovereign.
Upon ALEXANDER'S croſſing the River Hy⯑daſpes, PORUS was made Captive, and enter⯑tain'd in the Macedonian Camp with great Hoſ⯑pitality; where the Indian Monarch fell in Love with PARISATIS, who was betrothed to LYSI⯑MACHUS.
The Son of PHILIP was ambitious of being thought the beſt Drinker, as well as the greateſt Fighter of his Time. Both Accompliſhments then (as now) were look'd upon to be Acts which equally conſtituted the Hero.
[vi]No Wonder therefore, if, after the Defeat of the Indian King, his Conqueror, in Honour of the Victory, ſhould order a Drinking-Match: And immediately after the Exerciſe of that En⯑gagement, or Carouſal,
The OPERA is ſuppoſed to begin.
As to the Complexion of PORUS, Hiſtorians are divided: Some ſuppoſing him White, like the Chineſe; others Copper-colour'd, like Man⯑golans: Some declare him to have been only Tawny, like the Malays. But we have fol⯑lowed the authenticated Commentaries of ME⯑LEAGER and GORGIAS, two Generals, who were belonging to ALEXANDER: One com⯑manded the Light-Horſe, the other the Left-Wing of the Mirmydonian Infantry at the Time, and they declare PORUS to have been a Black.
The Editor is aware that ſome anachroniſmi⯑cal Objections, relative to Chronology, may be raiſed againſt his keeping CLYTUS alive until the Year of the World 2096, when the Battle with PORUS was ſought: But it is according to the Account of BAGOAS, who is ſuppoſed to be the moſt impartial Writer in thoſe Times; and upon [vii]the Credit of PLUTARCH, JUSTINIANUS, AR⯑RIAN and DIODORUS. BAGOAS was Preceptor to ROXANA; and it was from him we are told, that both the Zogdian Princeſs and THAIS at⯑tended ALEXANDER in all his Expeditions.
As to the Deſcent of JUPITER, we have not only Pantomimical, but alſo Claſſical Authority, to vindicate ſuch a Meaſure—It being com⯑mon in Old Rome, even to a Proverb, Nunc pro Machina: And HORACE allows it, in his Ne [...] Deus interſit, &c.
The Scene is laid in Bucephalon, a City ALEX⯑ANDER built in Honour to his Horſe.
☞ The Lines mark'd thus "are omitted in the Repreſentation.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
[]- ALEXANDER the GREAT, Mr. SHUTER,
- CLYTUS, Mr. REINHOLD,
- PORUS, Mr. BARNSHAW,
- LYSIMACHUS, Mr. BAKER,
- JUPITER, Mr. FOX,
- MERCURY, Mr. WORMALL.
- THAIS, Mrs. PINTO,
- ROXANA, Mrs. THOMPSON,
- PARISATIS, Mrs. MATTOCKS,
- BETTY, Miſs VALOIS.
THE COURT OF ALEXANDER.
[]ACT I. SCENE I. The Curtain drawn up: The Court of ALEXAN⯑DER diſcover'd aſleep. Bottles, Glaſſes, Punch Bowls, &c. empty'd upon the Tables. The Guards aſleep upon the Floor. The Court waking by Degrees. All ariſe, except ALEXANDER.
SEMI CHORUS.
CLYTUS.
ALEXANDER! our Commander!
Pray now riſe, Sir;
Ope your Eyes, Sir.
[10]
GRAND CHORUS.
ALEXANDER!
Our Commander!
Our Commander!
ALEXANDER! ALEXANDER!
ALEXANDER.
Who calls on ALEXANDER? Honeſt CLYTUS!
What is the Foe march'd forth, and means to fight us?
CLYTUS.
Dread Sir, you have no Foes: You're ſo magna⯑nimous;
Your Mightineſs has made the World unanimous.
ALEXANDER.
That's true: I dream'd indeed of Chariots rattling;
Of Horſes, and of high-bred Heroes battling;
Of claſhing Weapons, and of Armour clinking;
But my Head's all abroad, with laſt Night's Drinking:
[11]My Lips are crack'd, my Palate rough and ruſty;
As I'm an Emp'ror, I am mighty thirſty.
Before me dance, methinks, each warlike Tro⯑phy:
HEPHESTION, order us a Pot of Coffee.
Exit HEPHESTION.
But where is THAIS? I am not me ipſe
'Till I've a Song from that Sol-fa-ing Gipſey.
AIR.
Should Scandal dare to pelt her,
Oh! how wou'd I helter skelter;
Ding dong,
Right or Wrong,
For a Lover his Fury ne'er ſtifles:
Pray what's Wrong or what's Right?
When a Man is to fight,
He won't trouble his Head with ſuch Trifles.
Give me a Bumper.
CLYTUS.
[12]Now, my King, you ſay right;
Hob Nob, your Honour: Fuller! I ſee Day-light.
AIR.
I.
In ſpite of the Maxims of School Men,
Whoſe cynical Sentences Fool Men;
Shall Pedants pretend, pray, to Rule Men?
Or tell us what we ſhou'd be at?
'Twas as well if the World had ne'er known'em;
But a Bottle has always o'erthrown'em,
For a Bottle is Life's Summum Bonum;
We all can be Scholars at that.
II.
Over Books who all Night wou'd be Blinking,
That all Night cou'd Bumpers be drinking?
That Study well ſuits with my Thinking:
No Claſſic, but BACCHUS, for me.
The Heart and the Head's beſt Aſſiſtance,
The Power which conquers Reſiſtance,
Makes Pain, Care and Fear, keep their Diſtance;
My Bucks, Ecce Signum, 'tis He.
Shows a Bottle.
[13]III.
Philoſophers Prate melancholly,
Pretending that Life is but Folly;
Becauſe they can't keep it up, jolly,
But, over poor Pump-Water, pine.
I laugh at their Moods and their Tenſes,
Their Major, and Minor Defences;
They ſhan't talk me out of my Senſes,
Nor make me for Logic leave Wine.
Enter THAIS.
ALEXANDER.
Come, THAIS, ſing.
CLYTUS.
So now we ſhall be bother'd,
And Common Senſe in Symphonini's ſmother'd.
Imperial Emperor, whoſe Sword and Dagger
Made, like a drunken Man, DARIUS ſtagger;
To whom ev'n India's ſun-burn'd Sultan truckles,
Thy Magnanimity raps Nabobs Knuckles:
O'er Terra Cognita you rule the Roaſt.
Yet, ah!
Before Miſs THAIS ſings, your CLYTUS begs a Toaſt.
ALEXANDER.
[14]CLYTUS, well ſaid; and thus ſays ARISTOTLE,
"Wine without Toaſting's bad; Life bad with⯑out a Bottle."
Where ſtands the Glaſs?
THAIS.
Thou Monarch of my Soul,
Quit, for my ſake, the Brain-beguiling Bowl:
Leave the Gout-giving Juice; retire with me,
In my Chineſe Pavilion drink ſome Tea.
CLYTUS.
BACCHUS forbid! Shall he, who conquers Na⯑tions,
Fribbliſh ſubmit to ſuch ſlip-ſlop Potations?
In ſpite of Water-bibbers, you and I know,
We muſt be true to Wine; Eſt Veritas in Vino.
ALEXANDER.
Sing, ſing, my THAIS; Echo waits thy Words
To ſymphonize, encore Fifths, Eighths and Thirds;
[15]With that ſame ſhapeleſs Mimic of each Tongue,
Attention tip-toe ſtands to hear thy Song.
So ſing, dear THAIS.
THAIS.
What, Sir, ſhall I ſing?
ALEXANDER.
Juſt what you pleaſe; but let it be the Thing.
ORPHEUS was Muſick-Maſter to the Woods,
Gave Groves a Gamut, put in Tune the Floods;
He made tall Trees a Minuet-Step advance in,
Taught Hedges Hornpipes, Shrubberies Country-Dancing;
For every Reptile he had Songs and Jigs,
And Symphonies compos'd for Guinea Pigs.
AIR.
For Weazels and Rats,
He had both Sharps and Flats,
For Dogs barking Largo and Affetto;
From the grinding of Knives,
And the ſcolding of Wives,
He compos'd a Diſmallo Duetto.
[16] He made of Frogs Croaks,
And the kawing of Rooks,
And Cats caterwawling Arpegios:
Found in D, that Cocks crow,
Bulls ſound G, below,
And ſucking Pigs ſqueak out Adagios.
Now, THAIS, ſing; and Silence, my Compeers;
Your Lips take Priſoners, and let looſe your Ears;
Mute waits each Muſe, in her celeſtial Arbour,
'Till ſhe has ſung to Chorus; that's the Barber.
THAIS.
I've ſo immenſe a Cold, Sir, without joaking;
So monſt'rous hoarſe, my Singing will be ſhock⯑ing.
AIR.
Poets, in pretty ſing-ſong Strains,
With Fancy's Pinions ſledge their Brains;
From Height to Height romantic riſe,
O'er-top the Clouds, and tread on Skies:
Could I but mount the Muſe's Wing,
Oh! how I'd ſoar! Oh! how I'd ſing!—
[17]
LYSIMACHUS.
Sire, CLYTUS is aſleep.
ALEXANDER.
So, ho! 'Squire DROWSY!
Take that, Sir SOMNUS; that, I think, will rouſe ye.
Throws a Glaſs of Wine at him.
LYSIMACHUS.
Full in his Face, great King, the Bumper ſplaſh'd.
CLYTUS.
How ſoon, you ſee, a modeſt Man is daſh'd:
I cou'd have kept awake, Sire, all Night long,
Had you a Bottle order'd with the Song.
[18]
SONG.
I.
Commander, you know I'm no ſol-fa-ing Fellow,
Nor care I a Crotchet for Coxcomb APOLLO;
His Poets, poor Devils! are ſoup-maigre Pages,
Who feed on his Phyſic, inſtead of Board-Wages.
II.
No Grapes on the Mount of Parnaſſus can grow,
Nor Caſtaly's Caſcade with Burgundy flow:
What's Pegaſus good for? Yes, he ſhall be mine,
I'll make him my Hackney, to fly for my Wine.
III.
For DAPHNE a Tune PHOEBUS ſtruck up, to bring her;
But ſhe'd not ſubmit to an Opera-Singer:
Draw, draw your Bows up and down, Twee⯑dle and Tweedling;
I'll draw a long Cork, and a Fig for your Fiddling.
ALEXANDER.
[19]March all: Our Royal Word is Promenade,
And we will wend our Way in Grand Parade:
Soon as I make the Signal for Egreſſion,
Trumpet us off aloud in full Proceſſion;
Make the Air ſhake, the rafter'd Roof rebellow:
So wheel off, two by two; and then we two will follow.
A PROCESSION here. Inſtead of War Trophies, Drinking Trophies. After all are gone except ALEXANDER, who has led THAIS to the Side-Wing: Enter ROXANA, and ſeizes ALEXANDER'S Robe, juſt as he has quitted the Stage. She pulls him back by it, and down he tumbles.
ALEXANDER.
[On the Ground.
Now, by our Royal Self, why all this Fury?
ROXANA.
Becauſe your Royal Self ſeems in a Hurry.
THAIS.
[20]Do not, my Hero, give yourſelf Uneaſineſs;
Mind not that Creature, let us mind our Bu⯑ſineſs.
ROXANA.
The Creature! But I'm calm. Your Buſineſs, Boldface!
A Man of Taſte indeed! to admire an old Face.
AIR.
You Harlot!
You Varlet!
Your Sex, as I know ye,
In few Words, I'll ſhow ye:
Self-Conſequence fools ye,
And Prejudice rules ye:
To your own Follies Slaves,
While to us you are Knaves;
[21] Nor know ye the Value of what you betray,
But rob us, and then throw thoſe Riches away.
For Man is no more than an over-grown Baby,
A Rattle can pleaſe him, or put him in Rage;
An Ape or an Aſs, juſt as Accidents may be:
A ſenſible Man is a Show of an Age.
ALEXANDER.
Piano, Child, I beg.
ROXANA.
No, I'll be louder;
Give me, ye Gods and Goddeſſes, Gunpowder:
Great AMMON'S Son himſelf ſhan't keep me under;
I'll look in Lightning, and I'll ſpeak in Thun⯑der.
[22] The two Ladies ſeize ALEXANDER'S Hands, and pull him firſt one Way then the other.
ALEXANDER.
RECITATIVE Accompany'd.
So have I ſeen a Deal at Whiſt oft play'd,
One Partner trumps a Club, and one a Spade;
Thus fix a See-ſaw, as theſe Ladies claw⯑ing,
ROXANA this, and that Way THAIS drawing,
The mighty ALEXANDER are See-ſawing.
GRAND TRIO.
ALEX. ROXANA,
I tell you, you had better be quiet:
ROX.
That for you, that for you,
Snaps her Fingers.
I'll kick up a Riot.
THA.
[23]Turn to me, my Dear;
Turn from her your Ear.
ROX.
Muſt I this Gipſey hear,
Yet tame ſtand by?
THA.
The Lady is in Drink;
ALEX.
So, indeed, I think:
ROX.
Indeed you lye.
Where's your Conſcience?
ALEX.
Curſe your Nonſenſe.
Exeunt.
End of the FIRST ACT.
ACT II. SCENE, A Chamber.
[24]PARISATIS at the Tea-Table. The MAID wait⯑ing.
PARISATIS.
AIR.
WITH a Love-laden Laſs, dear VENUS, take Part,
Nor longer let me in Suſpence-lye!
That Creature, King PORUS, I hate from my Heart,
But LYSSY I love moſt immenſely.
Alas-a-day! was ever Laſs like me?
MAID.
Illuſtrious Princeſs, pleaſe to drink your Tea.
PARISATIS.
[25]I don't mind Tea; nay really, entre nous,
I don't know what I mind, or what I do:
My Reaſon, like a ragged Ruffle rent-is,
And all my Senſes are Non Compos Mentis.
MAID.
Yes, you're fruſtration'd; ſo 'twas with me, Madam,
Sick for my Sweethearts, always, 'till I had 'em:
For Love, like Drink, brings our weak Brain to Trouble,
And either blinds us, or elſe we ſee double.
AIR.
Ah me! Young Women wear much Woe;
Alack! ah, well-a-day!
Becauſe as why; we don't know how,
Nor when, to anſwer, Nay.
By Wine bewitch'd; the next Day, Men
Reſolve to drink no more;
So we weak Girls proteſt—what then?
We wiſh to taſte, encore.
[26] Enter LYSIMACHUS; who, as he runs to embrace PARISATIS, over-ſets the Tea-Table.
LYSIMACHUS.
Dear PARISATIS—
PARISATIS.
Lord! ſure, LYSIMACHUS, the Duce is in ye!
You've broke my Set of Babyloniſh China.
AIR. Melancholiſſimo.
My Baſon blue,
My Tea-Pot too;
Ah, me! how cou'd they fall ſo?
My Cups are daſh'd,
My Saucers ſmaſh'd,
My Sugar-Diſh eke alſo.
[27] Enter PORUS.
PORUS.
Who's this I ſee?
LYSIMACHUS.
Me!
PORUS.
Thee!
And what's your Buſineſs, ha! Sir?
LYSIMACHUS.
What's that to you?
MAID.
What's here to do?
LYSIMACHUS.
I'm here, and here will ſtay, Sir.
MAID.
[28]Pray, Sir, King PORUS, d'you call this Carriage
The Indian Way of Wooing before Marriage?
PORUS.
What wou'd the Wench? Nothing to me your Prate is;
I'll box LYSIMACHUS for PARISATIS.
LYSIMACHUS.
Mahogony, if I get a proper Purchaſe,
I'll coit to Earth your Charcoal Carcaſe.
QUARTETTO.
POR.
Sallow Grecian, I abhor you:
LYSIM.
Zounds, Sir, ſtrip; I'm ready for you;
Right and Left I'll give you purely:
MAID.
Old Nick's in the Fellow, ſurely.
[Enter ALEXANDER, and runs between the Combatants.
ALEX.
Heyday!
What's here to do?
[29][LYSIMACHUS, attempting to ſtrike PORUS, hits ALEXANDER in the Face.
ALEXANDER.
PORUS, I wiſh you had kept that Fellow's Blows off;
LYSIMACHUS has almoſt knock'd my Noſe off.
LYSIMACHUS.
Great ALEXANDER, humbly I beg Pardon.
ALEXANDER.
Sirrah, you're only fit for a Bear-Garden:
You ſhall not have my Head your Strength to try on;
Seize him: I'll make him ſet to with a Lyon.
CLYTUS.
May it pleaſe your Mirmydonſhip to forgive him;
CLYTUS, on both Knees, begs you will reprieve him.
[30]Ah! were you ſober; I moſt humbly think—
ALEXANDER.
What ſays the Rebel? Is your King in Drink?
The Thought is Treaſon. I will have the Dog's-Head;
I'll pierce the Traitor, as they tap a Hogſhead.
[Seizes a Javelin, and ſtabs CLYTUS.
CLYTUS.
So, I'm right ſerv'd: Yes, 'tis quite through my Lungs;
Learn from my Fate, my Friends, to hold your Tongues.
AIR.
I die, depart,
Groan and ſtart;
Quivering,
Shivering,
Sighing,
Shaking,
Crying,
Quaking;
[31] Thus I go,
Below, below.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
After CLYTUS has ſung himſelf to Death;
ALEXANDER,
in RECITATIVE Accompany'd.
How cou'd I thus to Death my Friend affair?
His Lights are loſt, and all his Pimples pale.
Toſs me, ye Tempeſts! ſuffocate me, Vapours!
Ye Furies, ſinge me with your Brimſtone Ta⯑pers!
I am mad! Sad and merry, light-headed and heavy;
On a Hand-gallop Reaſon is running Tantivy.
Now I mount on the Back of Bucephalus prancing,
Or methinks—
On the big-belly'd Billows I'm dancing.
[32]
MAD SONG.
They toſs me on high,
'Till I knock at the Sky;
Then down, down I go,
To Antipodes below.
What with Wine and Wenches coiling,
Like a Hot-Bath my Brain's boiling.
Zounds! what's the Matter?
How my Teeth chatter!
I'm to an Ice-Houſe turning;
And now, now, now, now, now,
I don't know why or how,
I'm like a Glaſs-Houſe burning.
[ALEXANDER is carried off upon the Shoulders of his Guards.
LYSIMACHUS.
Behold where yonder light-heel'd MERC'RY jumps;
I know the Poſter by his feather'd Pumps.
[33]MERCURY flies acroſs the Stage, and then Enters.
MERCURY.
From his Empyrean Dome, Star-rob'd, ſurvey
Th' Olympic Landlord of the Milky-Way;
In Eagle-Chariot mounted, he deſcends
To pay a Viſit to terreſtrial Friends.
Stage opens, and JUPITER deſcends in his Chariot.
JUPITER.
I've brought my Lightnings; Madam, don't be frighted;
As the Moon's down, I wou'd not be be⯑nighted.
Our Bard-Hiſtorian, HOMER, has made known
In Days of Yore, we Deities came down
To ſave a Soldier, or to ſack a Town:
[34]Poets rode Poſt on Pegaſus, t' invite us;
And here we poſt it, to reſtore old CLYTUS.
CLYTUS, thy Spirits Animal retreated,
As if by Bite Tarantula, defeated:
Sons of the String, with Symphonies awake him,
And let your inſtrumental Uproar ſhake him.
A Craſh, or Claſh, of all the Orcheſtra.
THAIS.
SONG.
When on Air a Tune ſloats,
Through muſical Throats,
The Notes how we quavering diſtribute 'em?
'Till Alto non Troppo,
We finiſh Da Capo,
And run a Diviſion ad Libitum.
CLYTUS
[35]reviving.
AIR.
Ha! why? what? how?
Where am I now?
Methought,
I was brought,
I don't know where,
Nor do I care;
I am here, without Doubt;
So let us drink about.
THAIS.
Your Life was loſt, and JOVE came to reſtore it.
CLYTUS.
Did he? Why then I humbly thank him for it.
PORUS.
[36]Ruler of Atmoſpheres, if PORUS' Fate is
T' enjoy the illuſtrious Princeſs PARISA⯑TIS—
LYSIMACHUS.
You have her! Ink-Face?—
CLYTUS.
Couſin, hold your Prate;
JOVE is your Judge, and what he Wills is Fate.
JUPITER.
Then thus it is decreed by JUPITER AMMON,
You Rivals play a Rubber at Backgammon.
Let him who Wins her, make no Noiſe about her;
Let him who's Gammon'd, ſilent go without her.
CLYTUS.
[37]It ſhall be ſo. LYSIMACHUS and PORUS
Will both obey, and play the Match before us.
SONG.
I ſee, I ſee them battling,
Elbows ſhaking, Dice rattling;
Size Ace,
Quater Tray;
Now Doublets:
Huzza!
What
Chattering?
What
Battering?
What
Swearing?
What
Tareing?
'Till Fortune determine the Fray.
JUPITER.
[38]Our Labour finiſh'd; now, 'tis fitting,
As Ida's Council will be ſitting,
We muſt return, with equal State and Train:
You play'd us down—ſo play us up again.
GRAND CHORUS.
Tara, tantara,
Tantararararararara,
Tara, tantara, tan ti:
Tweedle dum,
Deedle dum,
Tweedle dum di.
FINIS.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4467 The court of Alexander An opera in two acts As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5C64-D