Song.—Shylock. Air.—“The Maniac.” H. Russell.
There's some one comes this way,
Yes, 'tis the peeler—he'll lay a feeler,
  An angry hand on me.
Hic! (hiccups) If the policeman to me comes,
Hic! (hiccups) I'll quietly twiddle my thumbs,
Hic! (hiccups) I thought so—yes—'tis he that comes! Hic! hic!
No, by jingo—no, by jingo I'm not drunk! (falls into the pump trough) (ad libitum)
Right old fellow—don't mind me—
No, by jingo!—by jingo I'm not drunk!

That gas light's dancing on the wall,
The shadows double seem to fall—
I see it glancing—I see it dancing on the wall,
I see it—not just now at all—
  It's no use dancing on the wall!
Do leave off dancing!
It heeds me not—
But by jingo—I really am not drunk!

(spoken)
I'll go—jolly—so now—steady—
No, by jingo!—I'm sure I am not drunk!

Well, well, I must confess, despite their creed,
These Gentile dogs are jolly dogs to feed.
Ev'n I, myself, so far on this occasion,
Forgot myself as list to their persuasion,
Went the whole hog, and though with faith unshaken
Attempted my first essay, upon “Bacon.” Enter Tubal who passes hurriedly R. to L,
My Tubal, why this look of blank dismay?

Tub.
Oh! if you please, Miss Jessica's run away.

Shy.
Jessica! My own flesh and blood revolted!
I locked her in.

Tub.
And she herself has bolted!

Shy.
I always wondered why she eyed the men so!
What's the dog's Christian name?

Tub.
I think, Lorenzo.
She's got the start of us and bolted right off!

Shy.
Heavy the day that first the sun the light off!
Offer rewards! Use every means to save her.
Let be but catch—I'll lather the young shaver!
My only heiress, folks will say in mock,
Fled like the timid hair from a Shy-lock!
Take with you though, unthinking girl, my curse!

Tub.
She's taken something more:

Shy.
What's that?

Tub.
Your purse.

Shy.
You cannot mean she's robbed her poor old father.

Tub.
I hate strong language, but I fancy—rather!

Shy.
Unfeeling child, who's left her sire to sig
Without or tie or prop or prop-er-ty.

Tub.
Yet I've some good news too.

Shy.
What good news, pray?

Tub.
Antonio's ruined.

Shy. (with sudden animation)
Ruined is't you say?
Why that's good news indeed! How came't about?

Tub.
His ships are sunk: but why this joy? I doubt
He ne'er in that case will repay the loan.

Shy.
His fortunes wrecked I'm reckless of my own,
So vivat wrecks say I! I think, my Tubal,
They'll find it difficult to throw out my Jew Bill;
Which if he cannot meet, inform the swell,
He may meet something he won't like so well.
I'll have my bond! his ships went down at sea,
But his excuses won't go down with me.
Oh! I could dance with joy! (dances about extravagantly)

Tub.
Well, since she's fled you
Practise the pretty dance your daughter's led you! (Shylock relapses into gloom)

Shy.
Oh, Tubal! I shall never see my gold,
But what's he lost? (with animation renewed)

Tub.
Near twice as much I'm told,
As Jessica spent on her wedding trousseau.

Shy. (relapses again)
Profligate child! how could she go and do so?
P'raps though I taught her this profusion wild,
And issued too many cross checks on Child.
Antonio though shall suffer for't, or I
Will be acquainted with the reason why.

Tub.
Why, what will you gain when Antonio's dead?

Shy.
If I'm not fee'd my vengeance will be fed.
He'll answer, if he can't meet my demand,
The slight of tongue and sometimes slight of hand,
With which he used me. Now my turn commences—
What! has a Jew no feelings, passions, senses,
Affections, organs? Yes! and if they tickle us
We laugh too, don't we? Yes, of course, ridic'lous—
A kick, as to a Christian, gives us pain, (exemplifies the fact on Tubal, who runs off)
And if they kick us shan't we kick again;
And when I kick, if that I argue rightly,
It shall go hard indeed, if it goes lightly!

Song: Shylock. Air.—“Tippety Witchet.”

I.
From my first floor window handy,
Her impudence was such,
To the arms of that young dandy
She took a drop too much.

  But he shall see—a Jew may be,
  If he chance to cross my way,
  As good as he—with my one, two, three,
    Ri tol e-e. (pugilistic)

II.
Of money, she's berest me,
And that's a serious thing,
Besides that belle has left me
A mournin' for my ring.
  In play or show, away she'll throw
  My years expense per day,
  And then no doubt—my ring she'll spout,
    Ri tol e-e. (crying)

III.
But since my own flesh rebelling
Against me likes to fly,
Its place within my dwelling, (with savage joy)
Antonio's shall supply!
  Though the tin I've lost and my jewel's cost,
  No time can e'er repay,
  Yet the Christian pound I'll dance around,
    Singing Ri tol e-e. (laughing) (with alternation of feeling) Exit R.

Previous section

Next section