Europes' REVELS FOR THE PEACE, AND His MAJESTY'S HAPPY RETURN. A Musical Interlude. Performed at the THEATRE IN Little LINCOLNS-INN-Fields, BY His MAJESTY'S SERVANTS. With a Panegyrical POEM spoken There, on the same Occasion. Written by Mr. MOTTEUX. LONDON, Printed for J. Tonson at the Judge's Head, near the Inner-Temple-Gate, in Fleetstreet. 1697. TO Sir Theodore Janssen. SIR, THO' I make bold to Prefix your Name to this hasty Product of a Loyal Muse; I do not presume to Impose it on your Generous Nature in the formal way of a Dedication. I do it chief to acknowledge Obligations which my Poetical Circumstances will not suffer me to return as I Wish. Too Happy, if I be not thought one of those designing Debtors who come to own a Debt to have an opportunity of Enlarging it. Your Zeal for his Majesty and the Public good has justly distinguished you among the best and most useful of his Subjects; and as it has biased you to think Favourably of the following Pieces in Manuscript, I hope it will incline you to Honour them with your kind Acceptance now they appear in Print. Had I been the Master of Leisure sufficient to have undertaken a Poem more worthy this great Occasion, I would then have been Proud of Devoting it to your Patronage. But as these Lines are, I wholly leave them to their Fate; nor am I without Hopes of redeeming the Esteem of the Ingenious, by something more valuable on this or some such Noble Theme. 'Tis what I am most Ambitious of Attempting and what▪ I might doubtless compass, could I but Cloth in Robes of Poetry some of those admirable Ideas which you have sometimes Communicated to me on that great Subject. But Rich and set Dresses are expensive and not so soon nor easily put on. Thus I must be content to let my Muse appear in a lose Deshabillé; perhaps, as well as other Females, she'll be liked ne'er the worse for't, chief when Graced with her Singing and Dancing Attendants. 'Tis for their sakes she goes a Revelling; and after all, if she helps but to set 'em off on the Stage and make 'em Please, she may be said to have done what the most topping Muse often endeavours in vain. So hard it is to be Merry and Wise, if I may use the Expression. Those who know me well are sensible that 'tis not for want of good Will that I give not now something of more Moment; and others may consider that Poetry has its Curses, as well as Blessings. Poets like Misers starve themselves for the meager satisfaction of leaving behind them what may Divert others, the one Toiling for the bare Fame of Wit, and the other for the Reputation of Wealth; where both should be put to a better use. We should study to reconcile those two Benefits; and in that follow your Prudent Example. But few can be so happy as to be Masters of your moderation in a flourishing Youth, and a Plentiful Fortune, or blest like you with a sprightly Wit guided by a solid Wisdom, at once to use and Improve it. You ever were a Friend to Ingenious Recreations, but your Application to important Affairs, is always Predominant over the allurement of Pleasure when it interferes with them. Even many of the Moment's which you have retrieved from your own private Concerns, have been devoted to Discoveries useful to the Public; while I have been condemned to Drudge on Laborious Trifles, and Till the barren Fields of Poetry for the precarious hopes of a slender Crop. Yet give me leave, Sir, to do myself the Justice of putting you and others in mind that my Application to this ungrateful Study was at First the Fruits of an involuntary Idleness; being Deprived of a handsome Patrimony in France before the War, and since that of the small Correspondence I had there, which is now wholly lost. Thus I am Doomed to Write on, having nothing to trust to below but my Pen, and the reviving Smiles of some generous Noblemen, among whom I make bold with all due Veneration to mention the Great Mr. Montague; that vast and most Happy Genius, whose profound Sagacity, Indefatigable Care, and Admirable Conduct, have been so highly instrumental in Reforming the Coin, and restoring the Credit of the Nation: Sudden and amazing Wonders, which being effected in War, defeated the Hopes of the King's Enemies at home and abroad, and mightily conduced to the Establishment of this glorious Peace. While the Muses are blest with such Patrons, we have reasonable Hopes of sharing the sweets of that Universal Good, and of being more effectually inspired to sing the Praises of those, to whom the World owes such mighty Blessings. As for my Humble Muse, 'tis what she most earnestly desires, the rather since it may enable me to give you some more Authentic Marks of the deep Respect, with which I subscribe myself, SIR, Your most Humble Servant, P. MOTTEUX A PANEGYRICAL POEM ON His MAJESTY. As a PROLOGUE to this Interlude Spoken by Mr. Hodgson. WHEN Britain welcomes her Returning Lord, For Peace, for Freedom, for Himself Restored: Our Joys should, like our Blessings, be extreme, And Praise should wanton in its boundless Theme: The King has found so many Ways to Bless, What Muse can even her private Debt express? Let joyful Throngs than sing their Gain Increase, Since Britain's Soul on War engendered Peace; Peace given the World her Parent to Adorn, Got in his Camp, and in his Palace Born. Let others sing how He his Thunder hurled, And proved, like Jove, the Umpire of the World; How, even opposing Foes, his Fame advance, France shook the Globe, but William humbled France: How wondering Kings from distant Empires came, And found the Hero greater than his Fame; Even when remote, like the Sun's active Ball, Seeing, enlivening, and Controlling all; King over Kings, by their free Choice assigned, Lord of his Fate, yet Master of his Mind; By wise Delays, even Master of his Foes, Yet to the World's Command, preferring its Repose. In Wonder lost, the Muse's humble Train, Wished but to sing how by his Toils they gain: But how can Words our grateful Thoughts display? Or what are Thoughts, such Blessings to repay? Born to give Liberty to each Degree; He even the Stage from Slav'ry's Yoke did free. In an expensive War, with wondering Eyes, The Muses saw New Theatres arise. Wit from the Generous, large Supplies received, And even the players, nay, even the Poets lived: Nor did the Sound of War disturb our Sports, While he, for hard Campains, disclaimed the Ease of Courts. Oh! Now our Rest and Freedom are insured, May he enjoy the Pleasures he secured! Taught by the Virtuous Ruler of our Isle, The Stage, Reformed, has learned a Chaster Style. Even with the Pious, 'twill at last be famed, For Virtue cherished, and for Vice reclaimed: Such Deeds in Peace, will prove the Monarch's Care, Who, Boldly Wise, reformed the Coin in War. Britain, itself a World, was first designed To free the Greater, then adorn Mankind: Ease (Freedom's best Attendant) here will raise In heightened Souls, the Noble Lust of Praise. Royal Academies shall grace the Age, And many Dorsets Patronise the Stage. To William's Court, all Noble Arts will run; The Muses move still Westward like the Sun. His Fame by them, and They by him shall live, He who gave Peace, will every Blessing give. The Persons Represented in the Interlude. AN English Officer. Mr. Boman. Messenger of Peace. Mrs. Hodgson. An English Country man. Mr. Trefuses. An English Country Woman Mrs. Lawson. A Dutch Boor. Mr. Bright. A French Officer. Mr.— An English Lady. Mrs. Boman. An Irish Raparee. Mr. Lee. A Country Lass. Mrs. Willis. A Soldier. Mr. Wiltshire. A Savoyard with a Raree Show. Jem. la Roche. Spaniards, Dutch, French and English Dancers. Twelve Grenadeer who Exercise. Chorus of Britain's and other Nations. EUROPE's REVELS, AN INTERLUDE. Performed at the Theatre in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields, at the King's Return after the Conclusion of the Peace. Set to Music by Mr. John Eccles. After a Warlike Symphony, an Alarm with Trumpets and Drums. Enter an English Officer. ARm, Britons! hark! how from afar Alarming Drums and Trumpets call to War. " France, whose exerted Powers decrease, The Lines that are thus marked (") are left out in the Singing lest the Performance should be too long. " Collects them for a last Effort; " But when she cannot fright, will court " And bribe us into Peace. Enter Britons. Officer. See how all the Brave assemble! How they hurry All to Glory! William Thunders, Armies tremble. Death or Conquest is the Cry. Now we sally, Now they fly; Now they rally, Charge, and die. Cannons roaring, Squadrons pouring; Shouting, Routing, We pursue 'em, We Subdue 'em. Rage and Horror, Groans and Fear, Blood and Slaughter every where. The Chorus with all the Instruments repeat the foregoing Lines from See how all the Brave, etc. Enter a Lady at the Close of the Chorus, and the Martial Music immediately changes, at her first Word, into softer Notes, with accompaniments of Flutes Peace! Peace! Peace tunes the World: Harmonious Peace Bids War and Discord cease. Thus does it Heaven and William please, William whom nothing can oppose, Who can like Neptune calm the Seas, And bless, like Jove, his very Foes. Advance, happy Nations, to praise him, advance, From Britain, from Spain, from Belgia, from France; Sing William, and Peace, sing, revel, and dance. Enter many People of several Nations: Among them a Spaniard, and a Spanish Woman with Castanets; then a Dutch Boor and Boorin, a French Valet and Waiting-Woman, and an English Clown and his Wife dance after their Country Fashion. After the four Nations have danced severally, the English Clown speaks to the rest. Eng. Clo. Hold Neighbours; since our Country has set you all a Dancing, you shall e'en dance after our Country Fashion: As for my Brother Hans the Dutchman, his hoping, (Dancing I should have said) agrees well enough with mine; As well, I cot, as the Fiddle and the Dancing Bear. Dutchm. Yaw varacktick Broeder. Most of the rest is omitted. Eng. Clo. But this Outlandish Spaniard; And you, Master Monsieur, don't foot it a whit like unto us; why, you wriggle and frisk about like the Hobby Horse in a Morris; but that's no wonder, for they say the very Dogs, Heaven bless us! dance in your Country. Then there's he there bristles like one of our Turkeys; stalks about like a Boy on a pair of Stilts, and snaps his Fingers like Roger our Barber, or like the Puppet in the Recreation of the orld. Eng. Wo. Come Husband we'll e'en change Partners; let me alone for teaching one of the Gentlefolks. Eng. Clo. Odszooks, you're in woundy haste to be doing with Gentlefolks, goody Nimble-hips: These Wives are always plaguy ready to change Partners, and shake their Tails with Strangers: Well no matter, there's the French Monsieur, go bestir your Stump together: Let Jack Spaniard take Hans the Dutchman's Vroe; And let her be sure to put him in when he's out: Come Master Signior, As my Dame says, we'll change Wives; Odszooks, that's all the Fashion with us now adays; wert not for changing now and then, there would not be half the Dancing that there is among us— Heyday! I fancy this same Spaniard is like most other folks, he does not care any Body should dance with his Wife; But he's for dancing with every body's Wife but his own. Od's niggs, 'tis all a Case; for once it shall be as I say: Come Cuckolds all a-row.— Play me an English Hornpipe. A French Officer makes his Addresses to an English Lady. Fr. Off. Madame, me be, de tout Mon Coeur, Your very humble Serviteur. Begar me wish to have the Peace, Only to come embrace your Knees. Your Roy Guillaume is brave en Diable; Me saw him take Namur dat's impregnable. ‛ We all looked on, for we had den ‛ But hundra twenty tousan Men. Your Soldier can do Wonders too▪ And love to Fight as we to Dance▪ But had day all been such as you, Begar, they would have Conquer France. E. Lad. Still the same I find you are, Skilled alike in Love and War. Gallantry in both you show, But a little Falsehood too; And with Strong deluding Art, Win a Fort, or bribe a Heart; Tho' 'tis like Inconstant Men, But to give 'em up again. French Of. We be like all the World indeed, And give up vat we cannot keep; But if me get Possession here, Me never give you up, Begar. Struggles with her. Eng. Lady. Forbear, forbear! Er. Of. Ma Cheer! My Dear! Engl. L. 'Tis all in vain. Fr. Off. Is't all in vain? Eng. L. 'Tis all in vain. Fr. Off. Is't all in vain? Jer'nie! me then—- me,— Begar, me go home again. Both. Adieu, adieu, go home again. To him a French Woman. ‛ Oh! Vat do I see? ‛ Will dis Ingrat still vanton be, ‛ And to gain oders Ruin me? E. Lad. ‛ Let roving Thoughts and wand'ring cease, ‛ And sigh no more for Foreign Charms: ‛ At Home enjoy the sweets of Peace, ‛ In your fond faithful Consorts Arms. All three repeat the last four Lines An English Officer to the English Lady. Herald ‛ Now, my Dear the War is over, ‛ And I can be wholly thine. ‛ Come be kind: Yield to your Lover, ‛ And no Flame shall last like mine. She. ‛ Hold, Sir Bully! who'd surrender ‛ When the Siege is hardly laid? ' 'Tis not every bold Pretender, ‛ Whose first Summons is obeyed. Herald ' 'Tis our way now to be daring, ‛ And at once to come and take; ‛ Pressing, storming, without caring, ‛ What Resistance you can make. She. ‛ Feeble Towns may thus be taken, ‛ Chief when surprised or sold; ‛ Then they're plundered, and forsaken; ‛ But I can defend my Hold. Herald ‛ You'll be used as ill, if early ‛ On good Terms you do not yield. She. ‛ I'm ashamed to beat a Parley, Bashfully. ‛ But you're Master of the Field. Herald ‛ You shall be well treated; fear not: ‛ Let the Fortress be resigned. She. ‛ Oh! Your Servant, Sir, I dare not, ' Till the Articles are Signed. Both. ‛ Come, 'tis just it should be so, ‛ Since, like Foes, all Lovers deal: ‛ Here's my Hand, now let us go, ‛ And within we'll Sign and Seal. Exeunt. A CLOWN. ‛ Come Neighbours, now there's Peace let's Sing: 'Troth I love those that love the King. see his Liege, I came alone, ‛ And left the Parson with my Joan. ▪ Jog Joggy, jog on; drive, drive on the Wagon: ‛ Go Gaffer, jog on, go, get us a Flagon. 2. Our Landlords thought the Taxes deep; ‛ But we must Sow we can Reap. ‛ What Clown can grudge his Money now? 'Odsnigs, not I; and so, God speed the Blow. ‛ Jog, Joggy, jog on; drive, drive on the Wagon, ‛ Go, Gaffer, jog on; go get us a Flagon. Enter an Irish Rapparee. 1. Hub, ub ub, booh Dish can't be true: The War does cease, But there's no Peace. I know, and find 'Tis Sealed and Signed, But won't believe 'tis true. Hubbub, ub, booh. 2. A hohne! a hohne! Poor Teague's undone. I dare not be A Raparee: I ne'er shall see, Magrawmacree, His Mistress. Nor my more dear Garon. A hohne! a hohne. 3. Away, away! I must huzzah: 'Twill hid my Fears, And save my Ears; The Mob appears. Here's to Nassau, Dear Joys 'tis Usquebaugh. Huzzah! Huzzah! A Country Lass. Come Girls, let's be merry; the War's at an end; We all shall get Husbands: The times now will mend: There's I and our Mary, Black Susan and Sarah, Were Woundily Weary, With living Unwed; In a woeful quandary, How we should do to tarry. None asked me to Marry, Or part with my Maidenhead. Our best Lads to the Wars went so fast, And the rest were most of'em such Loobies, E Cod, I feared we at last Must ha' suitered the Lubberly Boobies. Enter a Soldier, who runs and kisses her. Dear Joany, My Hony. What hast thou forgot me? O— How the Wench Stairs! I'm Thomas the Thresher, just come from the Wars. I'm still thy Sweetheart; and by Cannons and Mortars, I'll take thee by Storm; and I'll beat up thy Quarters. Herald By Cannons and Mortars, I'll beat up thy Quarters. She. Hold, Thomas! you may not Nay, Thomas you sha' not. She. Go, I hate you, I vow; You look, and you talk like a Gentleman now: Come, off with this Gear, And don the Reparel, that once you did wear. Go, I hate you, I vow. You look, and you talk like a Gentleman now. Herald Well since the War's over, my Bravery shall down. Off goes the brave Soldier, on goes the plain Clown. He pulls off his Red Coat, Throws down his Arms and his Wig, and appears, in a Moment, dressed like a Country Fellow; she leers on him all the while; and then at last runs and kisses him. She. Oh now▪ how I like thee! Oh now I'm thy own! Thou art Handsomer now, And finer, I vow, Than all the spruce Gentry and Boars in our Town. Both Merrily. Thus now we agree. Let all do like me, She, Like thee. To keep their Necks free. Leave threshing of Jackets, and get 'em all Wives; Then thresh in their Barns, with a thump, thump, thump; Then thresh in their Barns, and lead all merry Lives. Enter a Young Savoyard with a Rareeshow. O Rareeshow! brave Show▪ Who see my fine Show? He lays down his Show, opens it and shows it, singing first a Savoyard Song. Here be d' Inglish and French to each oder most civil, Shaka Hand, and be Friends, and hug like the Deevel▪ O Rareeshow etc. He turns the Motion at every Burden. Here be de Savoyards a trudgin tro France, To sweep a de Shimny, to sing and to dance. O Rareeshow, etc. Here be the Great Turk, and the Great King of no Land; And dear be some gallop from Hungary and Poland. O Rareeshow, etc. Here's the brave English Beau for de Packet Bot tarries, To go make his Campain, with his Tailor at Paris. O Rareeshow, etc. Here be d'honest Captain a cursing the Peace. Here's another disbanding his Coach and his Miss. O Rareeshow, etc. Here be d' English Ship fetch Plenty and Riches. And dear de French Caper a mending his Breeches. O Rareeshow, etc. Here be de Grumbler set out Lights and dissemble, And dear be de Mob make 'em squitter and tremble. O Raree Show, etc. Here be de Sea Captain a reeling ashore, Here's one spend all his Pay, and boarding a Whore. O Raree Show, etc. Here be the brave Trainband a drinking Carouses, And dear be de Soldiers a storming deir Spouses. O Rara Show! brave Show! Who see my fina Show? Sings the Savoyard's Ditty, and Exit. Twelve Grenadeer rejoice for the King's Return, and exercise at the sound of the Hautbois and other Instruments. The Grand Chorus. Rejoice, rejoice, the World has Rest, William returns, and all are blest. He comes, he comes, the best of Kings; More welcome than the Peace he brings. Run to meet him, Haste to greet him. In lofty Notes sound William's Praise! Sing gentle Peace in softest Lays! Hail! Ye great Blessings of Mankind! Glorious William! gentle Peace! Live and reign for ever joined. The End of the Interlude. Words for a single Song on the Kings Return. Designed for a Private Performance. Come, let us revel, drink, and sing, We have a Peace, we have our King, Now, Britain, thou'rt a happy Nation. Thy Lord, whose Toils the World have freed, That like a Chaos disagreed, May rest, and view his new Creation. There's nothing left for thee to do, But to thyself, thyself be true, And joyful homage pay him. thou'rt loved, admired, and feared abroad; Rebellion's quelled, and Faction's awed: Command the World while you obey him! See! Britain's happy Sons rejoice! Now Heaven and Peace confirm our Choice. We're happy all, The great, the Small, The Old, the Young, The Weak, the Strong, The Poor who wants, The Rich who grants, The Saint who cants, The Rake who rants, The thoughtless Squire, the thinking Wit, The trusted Beau, the trusting Cit; The Clown, the Lawyer, the Tarpawlin, And every Sect, and every Calling. All think of new Blessings, new Plenty will reign, The Richer will save, and the poorer will gain. The Toper in Claret will find all his Wants, And the Clown in right Nants, Will whip off his Noggin; The Matron her cold Tea will sip, The Sailor his Punch and his Slip, And the Bawd her flaming Snapdragon. Thus all hearts are eased, And new Joys on us call; For his own private Good each of us is pleased, And the King for the good of us all. FINIS.