Arthur Sullivan

The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan


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this very ship.

       RALPH. Well said—I had forgotten that. Messmates—what do you

       say? Do

       you approve my determination?

       ALL. We do.

       DICK. I don t.

       BOAT. What is to be done with this here hopeless chap? Let us

       sing him

       the song that Sir Joseph has kindly composed for us. Perhaps it

       will

       bring this here miserable creetur to a proper state of mind.

       GLEE!—RALPH, BOATSWAIN, BOATSWAIN'S MATE, and CHORUS

       A British tar is a soaring soul,

       As free as a mountain bird,

       His energetic fist should be ready to resist

       A dictatorial word.

       His nose should pant and his lip should curl,

       His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,

       His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,

       And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.

       CHORUS.—His nose should pant, etc.

       His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,

       His brow with scorn be wrung;

       He never should bow down to a domineering frown,

       Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.

       His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,

       His hair should twirl and his face should scowl;

       His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,

       And this should be his customary attitude—(pose).

       CHORUS.—His foot should stamp, etc.

       [All dance off excepting RALPH, who remains, leaning pensively

       against

       bulwark.

       Enter JOSEPHINE from cabin

       JOS. It is useless—Sir Joseph's attentions nauseate me. I know

       that he

       is a truly great and good man, for he told me so himself, but to

       me he

       seems tedious, fretful, and dictatorial. Yet his must be a mind

       of no

       common order, or he would not dare to teach my dear father to

       dance a

       hornpipe on the cabin table. (Sees RALPH.) Ralph Rackstraw!

       (Overcome by

       emotion.)

       RALPH. Aye, lady—no other than poor Ralph Rackstraw!

       JOS. (aside). How my heart beats! (Aloud) And why poor, Ralph?

       RALPH. I am poor in the essence of happiness, lady—rich only

       in never-

       ending unrest. In me there meet a combination of antithetical

       elements

       which are at eternal war with one another. Driven hither by

       objective

       influences—thither by subjective emotions—wafted one moment

       into

       blazing day, by mocking hope—plunged the next into the Cimmerian

       darkness of tangible despair, I am but a living ganglion of

       irreconcilable antagonisms. I hope I make myself clear, lady?

       JOS. Perfectly. (Aside.) His simple eloquence goes to my heart.

       Oh, if

       I dared—but no, the thought is madness! (Aloud.) Dismiss these

       foolish

       fancies, they torture you but needlessly. Come, make one effort.

       RALPH (aside). I will—one. (Aloud.) Josephine!

       JOS. (Indignantly). Sir!

       RALPH. Aye, even though Jove's armoury were launched at the

       head of the

       audacious mortal whose lips, unhallowed by relationship, dared to

       breathe

       that precious word, yet would I breathe it once, and then

       perchance be

       silent evermore. Josephine, in one brief breath I will

       concentrate the

       hopes, the doubts, the anxious fears of six weary months.

       Josephine, I am

       a British sailor, and I love you!

       JOS. Sir, this audacity! (Aside.) Oh, my heart, my beating

       heart!

       (Aloud.) This unwarrantable presumption on the part of a common

       sailor!

       (Aside.) Common! oh, the irony of the word! (Crossing, aloud.)

       Oh, sir,

       you forget the disparity in our ranks.

       RALPH. I forget nothing, haughty lady. I love you desperately,

       my life

       is in your hand—I lay it at your feet! Give me hope, and what I

       lack in

       education and polite accomplishments, that I will endeavour to

       acquire.

       Drive me to despair, and in death alone I shall look for

       consolation. I

       am proud and cannot stoop to implore. I have spoken and I wait

       your word.

       JOS. You shall not wait long. Your proffered love I haughtily

       reject.

       Go, sir, and learn to cast your eyes on some village maiden in

       your own

       poor rank—they should be lowered before your captain's daughter.

       DUET—JOSEPHINE and RALPH

       JOS. Refrain, audacious tar,

       Your suit from pressing,

       Remember what you are,

       And whom addressing!

       (Aside.) I'd laugh my rank to scorn

       In union holy,

       Were he more highly born

       Or I more lowly!

       RALPH. Proud lady, have your way,

       Unfeeling beauty!

       You speak and I obey,

       It is my duty!

       I am the lowliest tar

       That sails the water,

       And you, proud maiden, are

       My captain's daughter!

       (Aside.) My heart with anguish torn

       Bows down before her,

       She laughs my love to scorn,

       Yet I adore her!

       [Repeat refrain, ensemble, then exit JOSEPHINE into cabin.

       RALPH. (Recit.) Can I survive this overbearing

       Or live a life of mad despairing,

       My proffered love despised, rejected?

       No, no, it's not to be expected!

       (Calling off.)

       Messmates, ahoy!

       Come here! Come here!