The corsair; or, the little fairy at the bottom of the sea : $b A new Christmas burlesque and pantomime, founded upon the ballet of "Le corsair"Brough, William
Science
The corsair; or, the little fairy at the bottom of the sea : $b A new Christmas burlesque and pantomime, founded upon the ballet of "Le corsair"
Brough, William
Burlesques; English drama -- 19th century; Pantomime (Christmas entertainment)
_Pasha._ [_Looking at them one by one._] Too dark! too fair!
too red! too short! too tall!
Too lean! too fat! pooh! pooh! won’t do at all.
Hast thou no others, pig?
_Yussuf._ No, sire; you see
My wholesale merchant disappointed me;
I’ve ordered in some beauties.
_Pasha._ Reptile, peace!
Who’s this?
_Yussuf._ That, sire? Medora, my young niece.
_Enter MEDORA, dancing, L._
There, that’ll do--just cut these capers--stop!
Must I for ever catch you on the hop?
_Medora._ Nay, be not angry, uncle--
_Yussuf._ Then stand still!
_Medora._ With pleasure, if it pleases you, I will;
But I’m so happy--feel my heart so light;
The air’s so balmy, and the sun so bright.
The gladness that’s inspired by all around,
Finds vent in _jumps_, because it knows no _bound_.
_Pasha._ She’ll do! Come hither, dog, a word with you.
[_YUSSUF approaches, they whisper, L. C._
_Medora._ [_Uneasy._] What’s that dark stranger, whispering?
_Pasha._ Pooh! pooh!
_Yussuf._ But, sire, to sell one’s niece, like any nigger!
’Possums and rattlesnakes! Say what’s the figure?
_Pasha._ [L.C.] Name your own price.
_Yussuf._ [L.] My niece--so good, so true--
So dear to me. Well, she’ll be dear to you,
What say you to one thousand chequeens?
_Pasha._ Done.
_Yussuf._ [_Aside._] I wish I’d ask’d him five, instead of one.
_Medora._ What strange presentiment of woe comes o’er me?
_Pasha._ Conduct her home.
_Syng._ Fair slave, just march before me!
_Medora._ Slave! knave! behave! I am no slave--I’m free!
You are deceived;
_Syng._ Nay, you are sold--not me;
_Medora._ I sold! Who’d dare to sell me?
_Syng._ Can’t you guess--
_Medora._ Oh, my prophetic soul! my uncle--
_Yussuf._ Yes;
I’m very sorry, but--
_Medora._ You sorry--stuff!
_Yussuf._ I guess I am. [_Aside._] I didn’t charge enough.
_Medora._ [_To PASHA._] I am no slave, good sir, I’m free--then
please ye,
To calm my fears, and make me free and easy.
_Yussuf._ There! don’t orationize the case about.
_Medora._ If you’re my uncle, you will let me spout.
_Pasha._ No words--you are my slave. [_Seizes her._
_Medora._ Help! help!
_Enter CONRAD, R._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account