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Another version of this grand pantomime, this time done as a benefit more in the pantomime style. An interesting look at the late 19th century scene. A Pantomime The Prologue by Mr. Tom Taylor The Opening by Messrs. Albert Smith and W. Pl. Hale The Comic Scenes by Mr. Arthur Smith As attempted to be performed by a Company of Amateurs for the first time at the Theatre Royal Olympic Saturday March 31, 1855 Click here to begin.

Preface- Summary indicates that the play was staged as a benefit for Mr. Angus Reach by his friends. The authors designed the play specifically to entertain the members of the Garrick and Fielding clubs.

Dramatis Personae.

As Performed on Saturday Evening, March 31^st, 1855.

The Prologue

The Shade of Shakspere ..  ..Mr. C. A. Cole

The Modern Drama.. ..   ..   ..Mr. Palgrave Simpson

The Spirit of Pantomime..   ..Miss. M. Oliver.

The Pantomime

Guy Fawkes--(A Spanish Dutchman kindly disposed to give the Parliament a lift)- Mr. Fludyer Norwood (from the Alhambra Spielhus, Amsterdam and Theatre Royal Canterbury) alias Mr. T. Knox Holmes.

Afterwards

Clown-The Celebrated Little Hulme (From the Arene Nationale, Hampton Wick.) alias Mr. J. Robins.

Catesby- (A discontented patriot of the period anxious to carry out his principle but always preserve his own interest).- Mr. Mountain White. (From the Bower Saloon, Geneva) alias Mr. Albert Smith.

Afterwards

Harlequin- Mr Giovannini (From La Scaly, at Milan.) Alias Mr. John Bidwel

Lord Monteagle-(An insured party whose life is, therefore, valuable at the Office)- Mr. H. Strong, (From the principal Theaters on the Home Circuit) alias Mr. W. P. Hale.

Afterwards

Pantaloon- Mr. Hayward Heath (The celebrated Balaklava Bibliopolist) alias Mr. Arthur Smith.

Sir.Godfrey Tresham-(Captain of the Guard)- Mr. Colling Forest,(From the Aurora Rotunda, Night Rider Street.) alias Mr. H.C. Ibbetson.

Afterwards

The Lover- Mr. Martin Le Grand, (From the Cirque Nationale de la Poste.) alias Mr. Edmund Yates.

Ashtaroth- ("Oh, no! we never mention," &c)-  Mr. Coke, (from the King Cole's Head, Newcastle) alias Mr. C. A. Cole.

First Conspirator, alias Rookwood-- Mr. Josephs, (from Truefitt's Saloon) alias Mr. Langford.

Second Conspirator, alias Piercy The Mulligan, (By the kind permission of M.A. Titmarsh, Esq., From the T.R. Shannon Shore.) alias Mr. Morgan J. O’Connell.

First Guard-(On the Carte)- Mr. Tavistock alias Mr. Russell

Second Guard-(On the Tierce)-Mr. Mayo, (From the Old Globe Theatre.) alias Mr. O’Dowd.

Spirit of the Thames-(With a Song) Miss Martindale (Who has kindly consented to play the part)

Who introduces

Columbine- Miss Rosina Wright (To whom everybody is, and will be very much indebted for her freely given assistance on this occasion.)

Period:-Midnight; about the time of James the Sixth of Scotland and First of England- Vide Goldsmith.

Prologue.

The Ghost of Shakespere rises through a trap.

Sha. What’s this? Lights! Ladies! Gallants! Sore I fear 

That William Shakespere has no business here.

In Sadler’s Wells or Shoreditch he may show—0

"Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow!"

But thus far the West, how dare he venture forth,

When he should serve his Phelps, in the far North!

But thus it comes: Ex-managers departed

Have leave,. When Cerberus is tender-hearted,

To quit the grave, and change its earthly damps

For that delicious odour of the lamps

(He sniffs.

Thus I, de facto ghost- stage-king de jure,

Incog., in Covent Garden, or Old Drury.,

At midnight, may to the dim stage recall

My subjects and creations one and all.

Then Betterton treads Hamlet’s wayward course,

Roichard, in Garrick’s voice, still calls "to horse!"

The grim Thane’s wife looks forth from Siddon’s

eyes;

Coriolanus moves in Kemble’s guise;

O’er Juliet’s balcony hangs sweet O’Neil;

In Kean’s lithe hand old Shylock whets his steel;

Young, with Iago’s bluffness masks his sneer;

Macready gasps the curse of heart-wrung Lear.

Alas! ‘tis fancy-- all that stately throng

Yield to Bal Masque and Italian Song.

But yet, ‘tis sweet to tread the fallen scene,

And think, though such things are not, they have been.

Upon such errand bound I wandered here 

And find it is a play-night- that is clear-

And, with such goodly audience, I incline

To a faint hope it may be one of mine.

Modern Drama rises.

M.D. A play of yours! Dismiss that hope—do—in the name of Fogey-dom!

Quit these Olympic regions, for the dungeons of Old-Bogey-dom.

Sha. What bold spark’s this?

M.D.- Spark! I’m a blaze of triumph—Modern Drama!

Serio-comico, melodramatico spectacle—see my armour- 

Style, Florid-illegitimate: blends each country, age and fashion;

Cut and material chiefly French.

Sha.                                   I see it with compassion.

M.D. Compassion! Come, old slow-coach, what’er you like to pit ‘em at—

‘Gainst your Elizabethan I’ll back my Illegitimate. 
I’d go in with you for honours- for laughs- effects spectacular—
Situations—aye, and language too—tight rope or slang vernacular. 
As Bell’s Life says, I don’t mean "bounce,." My money’s always ready, 
At ev’ry sporting house in town I’m to be heard of.

Sha.                                                      Steady! 
Compose yourself, my rapid friend, and know.

In my day, too we had our "fast" and "slow";

Know too, by the old fogies of the past,

I, Shakespere, was considered much too fast.

From Norton’s, Sackville’s, Marlow’s mightly line,

They drew comparison, and pooh-pooh’d mine.

With settled rule and dignity at strife,

Kings jostled clowns, in my plays as in life,

My Tempest was a "masque," Macbeth a "droll,"

Nothing I wrote kept one tune through the whole.

I startled grins with groans—with mirth mocked mourning,

Mixed prose and verse—crossed stateliness with scorning;

In tragedy I laughed-in farce moved tears,

In short, I broke all rules, and won all ears,

M.D. Upon my word, old fellow, you set things in a new light to me, I’ve no doubt if you were writing now-a-days, you’d come round quite to me. 
It’s a pity you’re old fashioned, there’s a deal of good stuff in you, But, really, your worshippers do go such lengths in puffin’ you.

No wonder, on the other side, if we fast men talk nonsense; 
Tip us your fist, old fellow—so we’re really friends.

Sha.                                                                  In one sense. 
As we search life for themes-take men for models, 
Consult, for rules, not books- but our own noddles. 
As we use Nature—serving while we rule—
So far—no farther—we are of one school.

M.D. I don’t quite twig, but I dare say you’re right.

Sha. But say, which of us two reigns here to-night.

Spirit of Pantomime rises between them

Pan. Neither! For once in modern Easter time,

You’re banished, both for reckless Pantomiime.

Nothing is sacred now from amateurs,

In my domain they seek to win their spurs.

Volunteer Hamlets and Mabeths we’ve plenty—

No year but the Soho will find you twenty;

But amateurs, for the first time, to-day,

The heights and depths of Pantomime essay;

Shade of Grimaldi, watch our Clown’s raw tumbles.

Bologna’s ghost- help Harlequin from stumbles.

Old Barnes reseek the glimpses of the moon,

To guard our young and heedless Pantaloon.

And you, kind friends, think, as you judge the trio

How hard it is to play the fool "con brio."

And let the cause that prompts, plead for our folly,

Our mirth may help to make a sad home jolly;  

From sick and struggling hearts may chase some gloom,

And lighten an inevitable doom.

So I resume my silence, and my mask,

While gentle Charity completes my task,

To plead for all short-comings in our play.

Sha. Come- shall we see this work?

M.D.                                   Agreed!
 

All three….                                    Away!
 
 

They all three Disappear.

Guy Fawkes

Scene I

The vaults beneath the Houses of Parliament. At the back of the stage are arranged a quantity of oyster-barrels, labeled "Powder." As the curtain rises to slow music Catesby is discovered seated on a powder-barrel smoking a pipe, whilst a clock is striking twelve.

Cat- It strikes me it’s struck twelve; dark midnight lowers; 

Each hour’s a day, until the day is ours.

(comes forward, Takes out paper.

Of strange coincidences, this does thump any:

The Accidental Death Insurance Company,

Of which I am a director, and hold shares,

Among the list of its insurers bears

The name of Lord Monteagle, and if he 

Attend the Parliament, and chance to be

Included in the general upward fiz,

My policy will end in paying his.

Therefore, to help our dividend, I wrote,

Anonymously, a most private note,

Which if he but regard with due propriety,

Will benefit both him and my society!

So that he may escape, advice not scorning,

"This powder to be taken in the morning."

Song.-Catesby

Air—"The Fall of Paris."

Listen to me just a bit, as on our stage we go along, 
And I will try and tell you, if my verse will quickly flow along,

What has happened in the olden time to bring about the lot
Of bloody-minded villainies historians call the Powder Plot. Elizabeth was dead and gone, and as she’d never married been, 
Of course could leave no eldest son; and so the cousin of the queen, 
                              Without an opposition, 
                              Or a question, or petition, 
Came up from Edinburgh at once to fill the English throne.

                              As the James the Sixth
                              Of Scotland known,
But James the First upon our throne,

He really strikes us to have been a very decent man. 
                             I’m giving you pure history, 
                            Without a bit of mystery, 
And as Macaulay isn’t here, I do the best I can.

But popular as is our crown, and may it ever so remain,

You’ll always find some turbulent and wicked man in ev’ry reign, 
So one named Percy, and another Catesby call’d-that is myself—
Sent over into Holland for one Guiodo Fawkes, a daring elf. 
They hired a vault in Westminister that had been used for keeping coals, 
Close to the House of Parliament, and in the walls they made some holes, 
                           And in the Lambeth Quarter, 
                           That’s t’other side the water, 
They stored the powder on a wharf, and moved it by degrees.

                           The spot you gain,

                           When in the train

                           From Waterloo

                           You rattle through.

The place where Price makes candles, and bone-crushers make a smell. 
                           I’m giving you pure history, 
                           Without a lie or mystery,

But wish Macaulay had been here, he’d do it all so well.

As soon as all their plans were laid, the plot at once they bid begin, And every night, without a light, they darkly roll’d the powder in, Till six-and-thirty they had placed; and if you will our number count, So careful we have been for truth, you’ll find the same exact amount. If you reflect, you may object unto their shape, and say the’re not Like those intended to blow up the Commons in the Powder Plot.

                           But to stop all quarrels,

                           These are "hoister" barrels,

And every one is full of "shells"—that’s nearly the same thing.

                           And now I’ll stop

                           My doggrel rhyme,

                           For we have come

                           Upon the time

At which our play commences, and the story will be told 

                           I’ve given you pure history,

                           Without a lie or mystery.

Macaulay’d do it better, but I’ve got a shocking cold.

(At the end of the song a noise as of a carriage.

Hush! There’s a noise of wheels now drawing near

Ibbetson’s Hansom, perhaps; my friend is here.

(Listens.

Guy (Without) Your fare is eighteen pence not more nor less;

One person extra. Well, there’s my address.

Summons you may, I’m lodging close at hand-

Second Floor front at 441 the Strand.

Cat. Guy Fawkes voice, my colleague smart and clever; 
To gain him to my plans I must endeavour.

Guy (Without) Open, I say!

Cat. (Opening door,) Hush! Don’t make such a rout!

Guy. I’ve just called in-

Cat.                           I thought you’d just called out.

(Music- "The Standard Bearer." Catesby opens the door and lets in Guy. They pantomime that all is prepared and that two conspirators are without. Guy introduces Rookwood and Piercy, in slouched hats and dark cloaks.

Guy (points to Conspirators) Rookwood and Piercy called on me to-night;

And as I thought to watch till morning’s light,

It would be plaguy cold, like two good chaps,

Took on themselves to bring these extra wraps. 

Cat. Thanks: as our deeds are dark, you’ll have a care 
to keep them so, for honour bright--

Con —                           We swear,

Quartetto

Air-"Bow, Wow, wow."

If any man, of any rank, or note, or name, or nation,

Divulge what is the meaning of our present situation,

We’ll get him down an alley dark, and then and there we’ll trick him;

If that don’t make him hold his tongue, we’ll lick him—aye, and stick him.

Now! now! Now!

(Draw daggers "Hugenot" business; and repeat.

"Stick him." Piercy and Rookwood each take off a cloak and hat, discovering others beneath, and having deposited them at back, exeunt.

Cat. (Pointing to powder.) How hard I’ve worked I scarcely need explain.

Guy. You’ve stored the powder—then I’ll lay the train.

(Music. The opening of the Incantation Scene in Der Freischuts. Catesby places the barrels in a circle, and lays the fuse.

If all goes well, I have a strong impression,

This will be a remarkably short session,

Before the members think of a decision—

The House itself will come to a division.

In blowing up the lot, I’m sure our movements

Will be a step tow’rds Westminister Improvements.;

And our bonds, just like theirs, will be henceforth

At a rare discount or be nothing worth.
 
 

Cat. And yet, Guy! Still so gently o’er me stealing, 

I find that mem’ry will bring back the feeling.

Of those M.P.’s we know. Is there no plan 

To save our friends? Now, first of all, there’s Dan,

Keogh, Eamonde, Cogan, Fox.

Guy.                            Don’t be dismayed,

The members of the Irish Brigade

Like eels in skinning, no great harm will find it,

They’ve been blown up so often, they don’t mind it.

This is dry work, though.

Cat.                            But, from what I’ve read,

Less dry than that which passes overhead.

Guy. Just lend me sixpence-you keep strict watch here-

Protect the cellar, whilst I get some beer.

Song-Guy.

Air—"Non parlar di lei che adoro"-Puritani.)

Of pale ale I’m no adorer,

No—no bitter beer for me,

Bass and Ashby’s fit for ninnies,

Who in such pale stuff delight;

Give me Barclay, Meux, or Guinness,

In a pewter clean and bright.

Of pale ale I’m no adorer,

No-no bitter beer for me;

It would turn me to a roarer,

No-no pale ale—no—no, not for me!

No palaver! No palaver!

Rather than from stout I’d shrink,

I would be at Balaklava;

Of pale ale-ah! No-I will not drink!

(At the conclusion, Guy exits.

Cat. As an esteemed and gallant friend would say,

(Who’s gone to fight the Russians far away).

"I can assure you it is quite a question,

Whether to give the king some slight suggestion

Of that snob’s notions—or to let each suffer

The cheerful torments of a blown-up buffer."

My knowledge of the plot I much bewail,

My head is turned—I really must turn tail.

(Noise without.

Ha! Steps without! Guy Fawkes returned! Come in!

Lord Monteagle enters through door in flat, stumbling, and limps round the stage.

Mont. Confound those steps outside! I’ve barked my shin.

(Catesby rushes after Monteagle with his sword drawn.

Cat. Ha! Who is this? Speak! (Threatens) Or I won’t be nice!

Mont. I’m Lord Monteagle-formerly Spring Rice.

Catesby! You here? Oh! Then its very plain,

This note’s some crotchet of an idle brain.

(Catesby, as he shakes his head, produces letter.

The writer as to Parliament says, "Blow it,"

And tells me something does exist below it,

So I came here to look- being no stranger

To the fact that you have me insured from danger,

I safely draw from you—

Cat.                            Your feelings smother,

You’ve ta’en one turn here, now you’ll get another.

That letter is no hoax—my own inditing.

I know I’ve acted wrong, but that’s my writing.

My hair is all erect and feels, with shame,

Like quills upon the fretful what’s-his-name?
This agony of mind I can’t endure,

See! (Takes him round.) Here’s a case for the cold water cure.

(Shows the powder barrels.

Mont- Oh, Horror! Powder! What do I behold,

My blood stagnates, and will not be e’en run cold.

The Parliament for rubbish will be shot-

I’ll call the Coldstream Guards

Cat.                            You’d better not. 
Don’t call the guard, but prenez garde instead,

Or you may get a bullet through your head!

Mont. Pshaw! As regards myself, they would not think a man .

Worth shooting, after what they did at Inkerman.

Cat. Guy Fawkes will soon return, so you must bide,

And in some hiding-place preserve your hide;

With drink I’ll ply him, until drunk he rolls,

And then-we’ll haul him over his own coals.

Mont. You’re up to plots, it seems.

Cat.                            No, a mere smatterer.

Mont. You show yourself no flat.

Cat.                            Oh! You’re a flatterer.

Hark! I hear steps! You must no longer stay,

But stow your jaw, and then yourself away.

(Conceals Mounteagle behind some casks with cloaks.

If I play well my cards, the game I’ll win,

In more degrees than one I’ll let him in.

(A knock is heard at the door-Catesby lets Guy in-who carries a pot of beer, some bread, and some bloaters.

Guy- It’s past twelve- they’d shut up the Flying Horse,

And every retail house at Charing Cross.

I should have come back, looking like a fool,

But for the timely aid of Mr. Rule,

The Consul for Gorgona, who, you know, 

In maiiden-lane makes Yarmouth bloaters blow.

I’m out of breath with running through the streets;

Now let us in the House resume our seats.

Catesby! You’re pale.

Cat.                            It isn’t that I’m ill—

Without a fire, this cave of your’s feel chill.

Guy. If we’d a fire, the powder which we’ve brought 
Might cause a Parliamentary Report 
Louder than a Committee’s, I’m afraid.

Cat. Guy, those Reports are far more slowly made.

Guy. Come! Drink our friends. (They drink) As to the former, they Shall find we’ll toast them in another way.

(Mounteagle partially comes out from his hiding place, making thereby a noise. Guy turns at the sound and Monteagle again retires.

Guy. What noise was that?

(Examines the cellar.

Cat.                            Oh, ‘twas some rat or mouse,

Guy. There’s lots of rats, I know about the house. 
Such vermin swarm where they can find a drain.

Cat (Sets down the beer, aside) Confound it! He alludes to me, that’s plain. 
(Carelessly.) D’ye keep a cat? 

Guy. I think there’s one about;
(Aside) There should be, for I’m sure he’s let it out.

Cat. Guy, you don’t drink. 

Guy.                            No more. In liquor I 
Am quite a fool in fact- a regular Guy.

Cat. Guy, I should like to have with you a word.

Guy. Speak out, then—here we can’t be overheard.

Cat. I’ve been for some time thinking, only thinking- 
But don’t suppose that from our plot I’m shrinking.

Guy. You’d better not, or else—

(Touches Sword.

Cat.                            Of course, I know. 
Guy.(Aside) I see there’ll be a row before I go. 
He’s getting sorry that he undertook it; 
As Ginger Stubbs would say, he wants to hook it.

Cat. About our plot there seems this slight objection,

We can’t blow up in only one direction.

And when loose roofs and walls are blown about,

It’s most unpleasant weather to be out.

Admit the king does wrong, would it be right 
To kill the folks who come to see the sight? 
For minister’s misdoings, ‘twould be hard
To smash the Hansom cabs in Palace-yard. 
You understand me?

Guy. (Aside)                             So, this game he’d play.

(aloud) Clearly, my friend. You’re in a mental way, 
Like some old Fielding man asked to propose 
Somebody whom he neither likes nor knows.

Cat. Or Huddleston, full dressed, splashed with cabmire.

Guy. Arabin, asked to dance on the slack wire.

Cat. Armytage, all the race-week kept in town;

Guy. Or Peter, told that Temple Bar was down.

Cat. Collingwood sent to bed at half-past eight.

Guy. Cogan and Knox, too late for a debate.

Cat. Tom Holmes, when some one had cut off his curls.

Guy. Leech, not allowed to draw such pretty girls.

Cat. Charles Taylor, told that making love was wrong.

Guy. Or Albert Smith, with no one at Mont Blanc.

Both- To tell these feelings ‘twould a task entail

In which e’en Walter Lacy’s tongue would fail.

Duet- Guy and Catesby

Air- "Suoni la Tromba."

Soon shall the House of Parliament

Tumble about their ears,

With the tow row, row, row, row,

Of the British Grenadiers

Amor di patria impavido,

Mieta I sanguigni allori

Poi terga bei sudori,

Eh i pianti la pieta!

Soon shall the House, etc.

Cat. Can’t you contrive to spare the opposition;

It shows in cruelty an erudition—

Guy. At this last hour would you be my dictator?

Your agitation shows you half a traitor.

Cat. You’ve hurt my feelings!

(weeps, and pulls out a hankerchief to wipe his eyes-with it pulls out Monteagle’s letter, which falls before Guy.

Guy (Picking up the letter.) Ha! What’s this I see?

Cat. Give me the note.

Guy.                             No. If I do blow me!

(Opens and reads note.

So here’s the handle of your own creation,

The key-note of your rapid variation.

(Guy draws and strikes at Catesby, who avoids the blow.

Cat. What! Make a pass at my unguarded head?

A pretty pass, indeed, to cut me dead;

It’s rather lucky that I just stooped down,

For so I gave a bob and saved a crown.

(Draws his sword.

I’ll spoil your glittering blade.

Guy. (Laying down the dress sword.) I’m not so flat, 
As you may fancy me, to fight with that 
Made only to look pretty for the night; 
This is the sort of tool with which I fight—
The combat sword as used by N.T. Hicks;
Sold in the New Cut two for one-and-six!

Cat. I neither heed your new cut nor your old one.

Guy. Don’t you, indeed? Well! We’ll try that, my bold one.

Air.—Guy.

Air-The Challenge in "Les Huguenots."

Oh! My old property’s sword!

Buy all the gods so adored,

Stand by me now,

And grant I may never be floored!

(Music. A desperate combat, first with swords, and then with bladders ensues at the conclusion of which Catesby is beaten down by Guy who raises his weapon to kill him, when Lord Monteagle rushes forward and strikes it up.

Tableau.

Mont. Stop, stop! Guy Fawkes! You’ll hence the lesson carry, 
How a defense is managed by a Parry. 
(Aside) When rogues fall out, we know who gain their own; 
Their plot will quickly be what they seem, blown.

Guy. You here, my Lord? You’re not a conspi-ra-tor!

Mont. I’ll rather prove your fire-annihilator.

Guy. Too late! Ha! Ha! Guy’s sold.

Guy.                             No, not too late,

You can’t get out-remain, and meet your fate!

(Guy seizes the lantern, and lights the fuse in one of the barrels, Catesby seizes the pewter pot, and extinguishes the fire with the remains of the porter, Lord Monteagle aiding his efforts by using his hat as an extinguisher.

Cat. "The breath of heav’n has blow its spirit out," 
Assisted by the last few drops of stout.

(Guy makes for the door. Catesby draws a revolver and fires at him. Whilst it is going off—

Mont. (In great alarm) What are you doing? Have you lost your wits? Mind! Or the house will rise before it sits; 
Let’s hoist yon villain on his own petard.

Fire through the keyhole, and alarm the guard.

(Catesby fires through the keyhole, then engages Guy and disarms him.

Don’t kill him. Barnum-like we may contrive 
To make much more by showing him alive!

Guard. (Outside) Open! I charge you in the name of him I Serve-that’s King James, or I shall use the jemmy.

Crash. Enter Guard

Guy. I think to go would be my wisest plan—

But here’s no opening for a nice young man.

A case for Mr. Wakley then I’ll be.

(Attempts to stab himself. The Guard stops him.

Guard. No, fellow; we’ll have no felo-de-se.

(Guard attempts to seize Guy, who eludes him and rolls round the stage, pursued by the Guard with a halberd in the most approved W. H. Payne style. Guard at last stops him.

Cat. Guard! Place him in that seat, and bind him there,

Unanimously voted to the chair;

Search all his pockets through, and if you see.

Any small sum of money, give it me;

To do so, you’re aware, is quite the thing,

As lately taught by ex-policeman King.

(They place Guy on the chair, who falls off again, and is replaced; while this is being done Monteagle takes Catesby aside.

Mont. (Confidentially.)’Twould seem, I fear, an act of exultation 
For us to attend his first examination, 
The outside, therefore, of the House I’ll get to—

Cat. I, to your Lordship’s feeling words, say "ditto."

(Catesby and Monteagle put on the large cloaks and hats the Conspirators have left and begin to steal off.

Guy. (Faintly.) My heart is broken—all seem’s cold without—
My brain’s on fire, and I can’t put it out! 
One hope is left me, since all others fail,
When my head’s off, Ainsworth will write my tale!

(Catesby and Monteagle have just reached the wing, when they are perceived by the Guard.

Gua. Arrest those traitors!

(Guards pursue them on to the wing, and bring them back.

Guy.                 Lead on!

(Thunder. Ashtaroth rises through trap.

Ash.                             Stop! You’re my own.

Guy. To me, sir! You’re entirely unknown. 
Who are you?

Ash.            One you very soon will know—

I’m the great pyrotechnist from below!

In yonder powder barrel you shall be 
confined, and so be carted off by me.

(Pushes Guy behind the powder barrels. R.H. Music. The Spirit of the Thames rises through trap R.H.

Tha. Stop-stop!

Ash.          Pray who are you?

Tha.                             The eldest daughter 
Of Father Thames.

Ash.          With all the powers of water 
I am at enmity—they dread my ire.

Tha. Pooh! Stuff! You’ll never set the Thames on fire.

Song.-Spirit of the Thames.

Air—"L’Hirondelle d’Hiver.."

Ash. What do you want!

Tha.                 I came because I heard 
You say you’d take Guy Fawkes, which is absurd. 
Don’t you see all these people all the time 
Are waiting for the real Pantomime?

Ash. I won’t play in it.

Tha.                             Wait till you’re asked. 
Let out Guy Fawkes whom you have yonder casked, 
Or I’ll put you out.

Ash. (Goes to cask and lets out Guy Fawkes.) Well, then there he is.

Tha. Now for bad spirits see my remedies. 
Catesby! You wished to change your constitution: 
Change you shall have, and many a revolution. 
Therefore ‘tis your’s the struggle to begin,
So quick come forth as spangled Harlequin.

(Music. Catesby changes to Harlequin.

This talisman (gives wand), renowned for magic power, 
Will guard you from your foes in danger’s hour. 
And hold, another boon I would bestow, 
Beauty shall follow you wheree’er you go;
One of my Naiads links her fate with thine, 
And shares thy hopes and fears as Columbine.

(Music. Columbine dances on.

One more to make up the full set between us,
Guardsman! From Mars desert, and follow Venus.
At once your passion and your form discover,
And change to Columbine’s old-fashioned lover.

(Music Guard changes to Lover.

Ash. Ha! Is it so? Baffled, but not yet foiled,

All your expected pleasure shall be spoiled.

(To Monteagle) Monteagle! Follow them by night and noon. 
Not as thyself, but slippered Pantaloon.

(Music. Monteagle changes to Pantaloon.

(To Guy Fawkes) And you, who would the kingdom’s peace destroy And in vile purposes your thoughts employ. 
From your ambitions hopes shall be thrown down. 
Guy Fawkes! Appear as mischief-making Clown!

(Music. Guy Fawkes changes to Clown.

Tha. Now to begin. Laugh, dance, run, jump, and tumble, 
Till grave folks smile, and cynics cease to grumble.

(Fairy and Ashtaroth sink through traps, R. and C. Music. Rally. Comic Business begins.

Editors note- Follows a series of pantomime scenes involving Harlequin and others…descriptions only, no lines.

Finale-Spirit of the Thames