JULIA (not seeing him). I've made up my mind. I won't
stand it! I'll send in my notice at once!
ERN. Julia! Oh, what a relief!
(JULIA gazes at him as if transfixed.)
ERN. Then you've not married Ludwig? You are still true
to
me?
(JULIA turns and bolts in grotesque horror. ERNEST follows and
stops her.)
ERN. Don't run away! Listen to me. Are you all crazy?
JULIA (in affected terror). What would you with me,
spectre? Oh, ain't his eyes sepulchral! And ain't his voice
hollow! What are you doing out of your tomb at this time of
day—apparition?
ERN. I do wish I could make you girls understand that I'm
only technically dead, and that physically I'm as much alive as
ever I was in my life!
JULIA. Oh, but it's an awful thing to be haunted by a
technical bogy!
ERN. You won't be haunted much longer. The law must be on
its last legs, and in a few hours I shall come to life
again—resume all my social and civil functions, and claim my
darling as my blushing bride!
JULIA. Oh—then you haven't heard?
ERN. My love, I've heard nothing. How could I? There are
no daily papers where I come from.
JULIA. Why, Ludwig challenged Rudolph and won, and now
he's
Grand Duke, and he's revived the law for another century!
ERN. What! But you're not serious—you're only joking!
JULIA. My good sir, I'm a light-hearted girl, but I don't
chaff bogies.
ERN. Well, that's the meanest dodge I ever heard of!
JULIA. Shabby trick, I call it.
ERN. But you don't mean to say that you're going to cry
off!
JULIA. I really can't afford to wait until your time is
up.
You know, I've always set my face against long engagements.
ERN. Then defy the law and marry me now. We will fly to
your native country, and I'll play broken-English in London as
you play broken-German here!
JULIA. No. These legal technicalities cannot be defied.
Situated as you are, you have no power to make me your wife. At
best you could only make me your widow.
ERN. Then be my widow—my little, dainty, winning, winsome
widow!
JULIA. Now what would be the good of that? Why, you
goose,
I should marry again within a month!
DUET—ERNEST and JULIA.
ERN. If the light of love's lingering ember
Has faded in gloom,
You cannot neglect, O remember,
A voice from the tomb!
That stern supernatural diction
Should act as a solemn restriction,
Although by a mere legal fiction
A voice from the tomb!
JULIA (in affected terror).
I own that that utterance chills me—
It withers my bloom!
With awful emotion it thrills me—
That voice from the tomb!
Oh, spectre, won't anything lay thee?
Though pained to deny or gainsay thee,
In this case I cannot obey thee,
Thou voice from the tomb!
(Dancing.) So, spectre, appalling,
I bid you good-day—
Perhaps you'll be calling
When passing this way.
Your bogydom scorning,
And all your love-lorning,
I bid you good-morning,
I bid you good-day.
ERN. (furious). My offer recalling,
Your words I obey—
Your fate is appalling,
And full of dismay.
To pay for this scorning
I give you fair warning
I'll haunt you each morning,
Each night, and each day!
(Repeat Ensemble, and exeunt in opposite directions.)
Re-enter the Wedding Procession dancing.
CHORUS.
Now bridegroom and bride let us toast
In a magnum of merry champagne—
Let us make of this moment the most,
We may not be so lucky again.
So drink to our sovereign host
And his highly intelligent reign—
His health and his bride's let us toast
In a magnum of merry champagne!
SONG—BARONESS with CHORUS.
I once gave an evening party
(A sandwich and cut-orange ball),
But my guests had such appetites hearty
That I couldn't enjoy it, enjoy it at all.
I made a heroic endeavour
To look unconcerned, but in vain,
And I vow'd that I never—oh never
Would ask anybody again!
But there's a distinction decided—
A difference truly immense—
When the wine that you drink is provided, provided,
At somebody else's expense.
So bumpers—aye, ever so many—
The cost we may safely ignore!
For the wine doesn't cost us a penny,
Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!
CHORUS. So bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.
Come, bumpers—aye, ever so many—
And then, if you will, many more!
This wine doesn't cost us a penny,
Tho' it's Pommry, Pommry seventy-four!
Old wine is a true panacea
For ev'ry conceivable ill,
When you cherish the soothing idea
That somebody else pays the bill!
Old wine is a pleasure that's hollow
When at your own table you sit,
For you're thinking each mouthful you swallow
Has cost you, has cost you a threepenny-bit!