HAG Why don’t the fellows come? The hour’s long past: And here I’m standing, ready, with my skin Plastered with paint, wearing my yellow gown, Humming an amorous ditty to myself, Trying, by wanton sportiveness, to catch Some passer-by. Come, Muses, to my lips, With some sweet soft Ionian roundelay.
GIRL This once then, Mother Mouldy, you’ve forestalled me, And peeped out first; thinking to steal my grapes, I absent; aye, and singing to attract A lover; sing then, and I’ll sing against you. For this, even though ’tis irksome to the audience, Has yet a pleasant and a comic flavour.
HAG Here, talk to this, and vanish: but do you, Dear honey piper, take the pipes and play A strain that’s worthy you, and worthy me, (singing) Whoever is fain love’s bliss to attain, Let him hasten to me, and be blest;
HAG For knowledge is sure with the ripe and mature, And not with the novice, to rest. Would she be as faithful and true to the end, And constant and loving as I? No: she would be flitting away from her friend, And off to another would fly, Would fly, would fly, would fly, And off to another would fly. GIRL (affettuosamente). O grudge not the young their enjoyment. For beauty the softest and best Is breathed o’er the limbs of a maiden, And blooms on the maidenly breast. You have tweezered your brows, and bedizened your face, And you look like a darling for—death to embrace HAG (con fuoco). I hope that the cords of your bedstead will rot, I hope that your tester will break, And O when you think that a lover you’ve got, I hope you will find him a snake, A snake, a snake, a snake, I hope you will find him a snake! GIRL (teneramente). O dear, what will become of me? Where can my lover be flown? Mother is out; she has gone and deserted me, Mother has left me alone. Nurse, nurse, pity and comfort me, Fetch me my lover, I pray; So may it always be happy and well with thee, O, I beseech thee, obey. HAG (fortissimo). These, these, are the tricks of the harlotry
HAG This, the Ionian itch! GIRL (con spirito). No! no! you shall never prevail with me, Mine are the charms that bewitch.
HAG Aye, aye, sing on: keep peeping, peering out Like a young cat. They’ll all come first to me.
GIRL What, to your funeral? A new joke, hey?
HAG No, very old.
GIRL Old jokes to an old crone.
HAG My age won’t trouble you.
GIRL No? Then what will? Your artificial red and white, perchance.
HAG Why talk to me?
GIRL Why peeping?
HAG I? I’m singing With bated breath to dear Epigenes.
GIRL I thought old Geres was your only dear.
HAG You’ll soon think otherwise: he’ll come to me. O here he is, himself.
GIRL Not wanting aught Of you, Old Plague.
HAG O yes, Miss Pineaway.
GIRL His acts will show. I’ll slip away unseen.
HAG And so will I. You’ll find I’m right, my beauty.
YOUTH O that I now might my darling woo! Nor first be doomed to the foul embrace Of an ancient hag with a loathsome face; To a free-born stripling a dire disgrace!
HAG That you never, my boy, can do!
HAG ’Tis not Charixena’s style to-day; Now the laws you must needs obey Under our democratical sway.
HAG I’ll run and watch what next you are going to do.
YOUTH O might I catch, dear gods, my fair alone, To whom I hasten, flushed with love and wine. GIRL (reappearing above). That vile old Hag, I nicely cozened her. She deems I’m safe within, and off she’s gone. But here’s the very lad of whom we spake. (Singing) This way, this way. Hither, my soul’s delight! O come to my arms, my love, my own, O come to my arms this night. Dearly I long for my love; My bosom is shaken and whirls, My heart is afire with a wild desire For my boy with the sunbright curls. Ah me, what means this strange unrest, This love which lacerates my breast? O God of Love, I cry to thee; Be pitiful, be merciful, And send my love to me. YOUTH (singing). Hither, O hither, my love, This way, this way. Run, run down from above, Open the wicket I pray: Else I shall swoon, I shall die! Dearly I long for thy charms, Longing and craving and yearning to lie In the bliss of thy snow-soft arms, O Cypris, why my bosom stir, Making me rage and rave for her?
YOUTH O God of Love, I cry to thee, Be pitiful, be merciful, And send my love to me. Enough, I trow, is said to show the straits I’m in, my lonely grieving. Too long I’ve made my serenade: descend, sweet heart, thy chamber leaving, Open, true welcome show, Sore pangs for thee I undergo. O Love, bedight with golden light, presentment fair of soft embraces, The Muses’ bee, of Love’s sweet tree the flower, the nursling of the Graces, Open, true welcome show, Sore pangs for thee I undergo.
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