Mir.
At last, thank goodness! all the weather's o'er,
And one can trust oneself outside the door.
The clouds have washed themselves completely out,
And, like poor folks, have nothing left to spout.
And the rough wind that lately roared so loud
With his huge pipe, no longer blows a cloud.
But what a storm!

Pro.
Yes, 'twas a rough is bout;
But now it's fine—see, there's a blue look-out. [Pointing to the sky.
And now each bird his lively song forth launches:
Hark! from yon tree—“Music in all its branches.”

Mir.
Yes, now it's fine—the sun shines—all looks grand in it.
But tell me, Pa'—this storm—had you no hand in it?
I do suspect, nay more, I little doubt
Your spirits raised the wind for this blow out—
You have such spirits!

Pro. (evasively.)
Yes, I'm pretty jolly.

Mir. (coaxingly.)
Nay, tell me—

Pro.
To withhold the truth is folly.
You're right, my child. It was your father's doing.
The hail and heavy wet were my own brewing;
My spells, 'gainst which no earthly powers can rub,
Made Nature form one mighty spouting club.

But come, sit down, my heart's own precious treasure;
Like Peel upon the Bank, let's cause a pressure. [They sit on the bank.
“Something to your advantage” I've to tell.
Can you remember ere you came to dwell
Upon this island?

Mir.
No, not very clearly;
A few odd jumbled recollections merely,
Of pinafores, high chairs, and worsted socks,
The measles, hooping cough, and chicken-pox.
But t'other night I'd such a dream.

Pro.
What was it, if
You recollect it?

Mir.
Why, I won't be positive.
The feeling memory doesn't seem to bring it
Back with much clearness—still, I'll try and sing it. [The band plays the air, “I Dreamt that I dwelt in Marble Halls.”

SONG.—Miranda. Tune—“Such a getting up Stairs.”
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,
'Midst richly gilt and papered walls,
With mirrors large on all the piers,
And great big cut-glass chandeliers.
  Such a pleasure-ground too,
  With a fountain in the middle,
  Such a very nice place
  You never did see. [During the chorus Prospero produces a pair of “bones” from his pocket, and accompanies her à la Ethiopian Serenaders.
I dreamt that all the fine folks there
Deemed nought for me too good or rare.
And, to serve my lightest wish, would rush
Tall men, in powdered wigs and plush.
  Such a very nice place,
  And such very pleasant people,
  Such a very nice place
  You never did see.

Pro.
So, so! Now, then, my story I will tell:
Once on a time. Yet stay, I'll sing as well.

SONG.—Prospero. Tune—“The Cork Leg.”
A tale I tell, without any flam;
I'm of noble blood by sire and dam,
In point of fact; mind, I'm telling no cram,
The rightful monarch of Naples I am.
  Ri tooral, ooral, &c.
A brother I had, who by vile machination
Palavered the whole of my population,
And got up a popular manifestation,
And forced me to sign my abdication.
  Ri tooral, ooral, &c.
So being kicked out by subjects and kith,
I escaped to this isle in the name of Smith;
Took up with the conjuring trade forthwith;
So now of my story you have heard the pith.
  Ri tooral, ooral, &c.

Mir.
Then you're a king?

Pro.
I am, by all that's rightful.

Mir.
And I a princess?

Pro.
Yes!

Mir.
Lor'! how delightful!
But to be done so cleanly of your throne,
You were no conjuror then, as you must own.

Pro.
Why, no; perhaps my conduct was a flat sort.
I stopped a dinner—or—a something of that sort,
Which made me not so popular as might be.
But never mind; again 'twill soon all right be.

Mir.
No?

Pro.
Yes!

Mir.
Fact?

Pro.
Poz!

Mir.
In earnest?

Pro.
Quite!

Mir.
Delicious!
But how d'ye know?

Pro.
What! of my art suspicious?
All the dread agents of my mystic power
Foretell the approach of an auspicious hour.
The stars, my cups and balls, the learned pig,
My hocus-pocus, card tricks, thimble-rig—
These mighty spells I've tried—they all agree.
And shortly,—“You shall see what you shall see.” [In the style of street conjurors.

Mir.
We'll leave this place, of course?

Pro.
Yes!

Mir.
That's a blessing!
For really here the dullness is distressing.
It's not the proper place for me—now is it?
There's no society—no friends to visit.
And as for fashions, as they change about,
I've not a chance of seeing what comes out.
Our fairy servants, too, tho' quick and ready,
Their characters are light, and far from steady.
And, worst of all, this is the hardest case—
There's not a nice young man about the place.

Pro.
“Cheer up, my own Jeannette”—I mean Miranda,
Of joyous hopes I'll be a propaganda.
“A good time's coming”—things will shortly mend.
But stay—to business I must now attend.
What, ho! there, Ariel? Enter Ariel, L.

Ari.
  Here, most mighty King! . .
Is there anything I can come—for to go—for to fetch—
  for to carry—for to bring?

Pro.
Silence! come here—your news? [Ariel is about to speak.
Yet, stay, though—sing!

SONG.—Ariel. Tune—“Guy Fawkes.”
I sing a dreadful hurricane, the sea like froth of Guinness' tears,
And in its fury swallows up the King and all his Ministers.
That is, it would have swallowed them—all Naples would regret it,
But a certain thing prevented it—your Fairies wouldn't let it.

Pro. (spoken.)
Hah!

Mir. (spoken.)
Oh!
  Tol ol de riddle, &c.
The Prince escaped, and swam ashore, despite the tempest's rage, Sir,
And then the King and suite got safe upon the landing stage, Sir:
That is, they would have come that way, to get themselves on dry land,
But could'nt, 'cos there's ne'er a landing-stage upon the island.

Mir.
Hah!

Pro.
Oh!
  Tol ol de riddle, &c.

Pro.
The King is safe, then.

Ari.
Safe as Kings can be
In these queer times of hot Democracy.

Pro.
Good boy! right nobly hast thou done thy work.
The Prince, you say?

Ari.
Swam like a Cove of Cork.
Though a grown man, he floated like a buoy.
They seemed not arms, but fins, he did employ.
Although we toss'd the waves about, and flung them
As if the Great Sea Serpent were among them,
He paddled through them like a thing of scales.
Indeed he might have been the Prince of W(h)ales.

Pro.
And hast thou followed my instructions?

Ari.
All!
In half an hour from him you'll have a call.

Mir.
What! call on us—a Prince!—oh! how delicious!
Although we're not as smart as he might wish us.
Is the Prince young?

Pro.
Yes! and a man of taste.

Mir. (going L.)
Then I'll get home at once.

Pro.
But why such haste?

Mir.
Why! Pa', you really put one in a passion,
As if I'm going to meet a man of fashion
In such a figure; he would think it strange.
I've got to “do” my hair, of course, and “change.” [Exit, L.

Pro.
Now to your work: you know you've lots to do.

Ari.
Yes; and you promised, when it's all got through,
Me from my present servitude you'd ransom.

Pro.
I will, and also do the thing what's handsome:
I'll give up your indentures, as I said.
And as I mean to cut the wizard trade,
I'll let you have the stock, good-will, and fixtures;
All instruments, books, spells, and magic mixtures;
The spirits, and the forms of incantation,
I'll let you have without a valuation. [Exit, L.

Ari.
Bless his old heart! there's an indulgent master.
Yet one would rather be one's own—it's faster.
Oh! won't I go the pace to some amount,
When I'm in business on my own account?
I vow I feel so happy and elated,
That with delight I'm half intoxicated.
No end of joy within my bosom's pent;
I must by some means give my feelings vent. [Ponders awhile; then dances the Cachucha, and Exit, L.

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