prologue
(The scullery of the hotel. The Manager introduces Celia to Corinna, who is being guided round by him)
Manager
You that think Love can convey
No other way
But through the eyes into the heart
His fatal dart,
Close up those casements, and but hear
This Siren sing;
And on the wing
Of her sweet voice it shall appear
That Love can enter at the ear.
Then unveil your eyes: behold
The curious mould
Where that voice dwells; and, as we know
When the cocks crow,
We freely may
Gaze on the day,
So may you, when the music's done,
Awake and see the rising sun. (Thomas Carew, 1594-1640)
1. Ah, fading Joy
(Celia)
Ah fading joy, how quickly art thou past?
Yet we thy ruin haste:
As if the cares of Humane life were few
We seek out new:
And follow Fate that does too fast pursue.
See how on every bough the Birds express
In the sweet notes their happiness.
They all enjoy, and nothing spare;
But on their Mother Nature lay their care:
Why then should Man, the Lord of all below
Such troubles seek to know
As none of all his Subjects undergo?
Hark, hark, the Waters fall, fall, fall;
And with a Murmuring sound
Dash, dash, upon the ground,
To gentle slumbers call.
(John Dryden, 1631-1700)
Corinna (examining Celia)
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A Lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:
An erring Lace, which here and there
Enthrals the Crimson Stomacher:
A Cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly:
A winning wave (deserving Note)
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoestring, in whose tie
I see a wilde civility:
Do more bewitch me, than when Art
Is too precise in every part. (Robert Herrick, 1591-1674)
(Corinna takes one of her rings from her finger, kisses it, and brings it to Celia's lips, who takes it in her mouth.)
Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee,
And say thou bring'st this honey bag from me:
When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed,
Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste.
If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum
Toll forth my death; next, to my burial come. (Robert Herrick, 1591-1674)
(Impatiently, Corinna motions the Manager to leave.)
Show me thy feet; show me thy legs, thy thighs;
Show me those fleshy principalities;
Show me that hill where smiling love doth sit,
Having a living fountain under it;
Show me thy waist, then let me therewithal,
By the assention of thy lawn, see all. (Robert Herrick, 1591-1674)
(They retire together)
