_ODALISQUES dancing. Enter GULNARE, L., and ZULIEMA, R.; the
ODALISQUES dance round GULNARE._
_Zuli._ How’s this? Am I no longer mistress here?
_Gul._ Well, don’t be angry with them, there’s a dear;
You can’t put old heads on young shoulders.
_Zuli._ No.
But you can take the young heads off them, though.
They’d best not slight me!
_Gul._ Madam, pray control
Your passion; do now, there’s a good old soul.
_Zuli._ Old soul! No matter--we shall see.
_Gul._ No doubt
With spectacles you might--you won’t without!
_Zuli._ Proud beauty; though your eye now brightly twinkles----
_Gul._ There--there; don’t frown, it only shows the wrinkles.
_Zuli._ Dare you thus openly, then, to deride
One whom the Pasha’s chosen for his bride?
_Gul._ Nay, I’ve no wish a quarrel to be picking;
But you must own, my friend, you’re not a chicken.
_Zuli._ I blush for you.
_Gul._ You can’t--your paint beneath----
_Zuli._ ’Tis false!
_Gul._ Just so.
_Zuli._ You say this to my teeth?
_Gul._ To teeth--to hair--to all the charge extending;
That wig--the head and _front_ of your offending.
_Zuli._ I’ll have you bow-stringed!
_Gul._ Yes, a likely thing.
First catch your _beau_ before you talk of string.
D’ye think the Pasha cares for you? Not he.
_Zuli._ Indeed! But here he comes--now we shall see.
_Enter PASHA, L. U. E._--_ZULIEMA runs to him and seizes him
by the arm._
_Trio._--_Irish Air._
_Zuli._ Mighty Pasha, grant your slave
Vengeance on this beauty bold.
_Gul._ Mighty Pasha, I would crave
Safety from this vixen old.
_Pasha._ Will you hold this dreadful row, now?
_Zuli._ Will you put this upstart down, now?
_Gul._ Her conceit has grown so big, sir--
_Zuli._ She declares I wear a wig, sir--
_Pasha._ How, now, now--will you hold your row?
I’m by no means in good humor--not just now.
_Pasha._ Leave me.
_Zuli._ Alas! your love for me, then, cools.
[_Embracing him._
_Pasha._ Oh, be off--old fools are the worst of fools!
Come here, Gulnare--the cause of this explain:
_Zuli._ [_R., Mincingly._] It was my face.
_Gul._ [L.] You see the cause is plain--
She boasted that she was your wife to be,
When you remember, sire, you promised me.
_Pasha._ [_Aside._] I know, to both of them I’ve pledged my word--
It’s very awkward, for I love a third.
_Zuli._ Great Pasha, say, shall I not be your bride?
_Gul._ I’ll leave it to your taste, sire, to decide.
_Song._--PASHA.--“_Beggar’s Opera._”
How happy could I be with neither;
Now t’other dear charmer’s away,
I don’t care a button for either;
And so what the deuce can I say,
Except tol de rol, oh, my Medora--
Tol de rol, rol de rol lay--
You’ve deserted your ardent adorer,
And left him to misery a prey.
[_A loud single knock._
_Enter SYNG SMAUL, L. 1 E._
_Pasha._ How now, slave?
_Syng._ Sire, a man is at the door,
He’s got a slave to sell.
_Pasha._ I’ll buy no more.
[_Exit SYNG SMAUL._
I’m plagued to death as ’tis, with those I’ve got.
_Re-enter SYNG SMAUL, L. 1 E._
What now?
_Syng._ He says you have bought this one.
_Pasha._ What?
_Syng._ And though to you such message may sound funny;
He said he would’nt leave without the money.
_Pasha._ Insolent caitiff! show him in--and stay--
Request our headsman, too, to step this way.
[_Exit SYNG SMAUL._
_Gul._ [_Aside._] Who is this madman, rushing on to slaughter?
_Enter YUSSUF with MEDORA, veiled, L. 1 E._
_Yussuf._ How are you, Pasha? Here’s the gal; I caught her.
_Pasha._ What girl, dog?
_Yussuf._ [_Raising her veil._] See!
_Pasha._ Medora!
_Medora._ Sire, have pity!
_Zuli._ [_Looking at MEDORA._] Young, but uncultivated!
_Gul._ [_Looking at MEDORA._] Plump, but pretty!
_Medora._ Save me, sir, from this man?
_Pasha._ Nay, sweet--you see----
_Medora._ You won’t? Enough! Thus, then, myself I free.
[_Draws dagger; is about to stab herself._
_Yussuf._ Hold on, until I’m paid--at least. Ho! seize her.
_Medora._ Villain, for you, then. [_Runs at him with dagger._
_Yussuf._ Back her! stop her! ease her!
[_Runs out, L._
_Pasha._ Halloa! It seems your dagger you are quick at!
_Medora._ Yes, for great wrongs I never trifles stick at.
_Pasha._ But he’s your uncle.
_Medora._ [L.] Kindred’s no protection.
I raised this knife to cut my own connexion.
_Pasha._ Nay, sweet Medora. [_Kneels._
_Zuli._ Sir, what are you at?
Kneeling before a little minx like that.
_Pasha._ Silence!
_Gul._ To me can you forget your vow?
_Pasha._ Somebody stop these women’s tongues.
_Enter SYNG SMAUL, L._
How now?
_Syng._ A wandering dervise, by fatigue oppressed,
Begs you’ll allow him to come in and rest.
_Pasha._ Admit him.
SYNG SMAUL goes off, and returns with CONRAD, L.,
disguised as a dervise; he bows to PASHA.
Sir, come in, your boon we grant.
_An ATTENDANT brings wine._
Drink, sir; this maid will dance meanwhile.
_Medora._ I shan’t.
_Pasha._ No sulks, young woman; we’ve an ugly knack
Of giving ladies who rebel--the sack.
_Syng._ Into the river, tied in bags, they’re shied.
_Medora._ Tied in a bag? I care not what _betide_.
_Conrad._ [_Aside to her._] Fear naught.
_Medora._ That voice!
_Conrad._ Take heed--don’t shout like that out.
_Medora._ [_Aside._] Talking of bags, I’d nearly let the cat out.
_Pasha._ Once for all--will you dance at my command?
_Conrad._ Stay, you’ve no music; let me call my band.
[_Blows horn._] My followers, ho!
_Pasha._ What mean these rude alarms?
_Medora._ The trumpet calls, and thus we fly to arms.
[_They embrace._
_Pasha._ Tear them asunder!
[_Music._--_SYNG SMAUL seizes MEDORA_--_struggle,
in which_ CONRAD’S _cloak falls off._
Ho! the Corsair! murder!
[_LADIES scream_--_all rush off, carrying MEDORA,
struggling, R._
_Conrad._ [_Blows horn._] My followers, ho!
_Enter BIRBANTO, L._
_Birb._ They’ll follow you no furder!
_Conrad._ You have not dared to tamper with them, slave?
_Birb._ Well, if you ask the question then--I _have_.
_Conrad._ Traitor!
[_Draws sword._
_Birb._ I scorn your threats and you alike!
_Conrad._ This to decide between us then.
_Birb._ [_With the approved Victoria pronunciation._] Ster-ike!
[_Music._--_They strike attitudes for a broad sword
combat_--_CONRAD stops suddenly._
_Conrad._ [_Looking at his sword, a light elegant one._]
Stop! for stage combats this is not the thing,
Just wait while I exchange it at the wing.
[_Goes to wing, R., and returns with
the orthodox basket hilt._
Now then to meet your fate so well deserved.
Come on!
_Birb._ Ster-ike, as I before observed.
[_Desperate single combat_--_BIRBANTO gets the worst of it._
Help! help!
_Conrad._ Take that--in vain for help you call.
_Birb._ [_Falls._] That cut was the unkindest cut of all.
_Conrad._ Die, villain! [_GUARDS rush in and surround him._
_Birb._ Saved!
_Syng._ Ho! guards, to pieces tear him.
_Conrad._ I’m dished--I ask no quarter.
_Medora._ [_Runs in R., and kneels._] Spare him--spare him.
_Tableau_--_scene closes._