Part 12

Serena. Promise me one thing first.

Conrad. I do with pleasure. What is it?

Serena. That when you’ve regained this maid, You will retire from the Corsair trade; Marry, and live respectably.

Conrad. Agreed! I’ve long been weary of the life I lead-- So I’ll reform.

Serena. This is indeed felicity!

Conrad. Turn steady, and go in for domesticity: Stand for churchwarden, and the vestry sit on; Aye, and pay rates and taxes like a Briton.

Duet.--Air, “Home, sweet Home.”

Serena. All pleasures are fallacies for those who roam; Howe’er folks may grumble, there’s no place like home.

Conrad. Tho’ duns may come daily--tho’ poor’s rates may call-- Give me them and the butcher’s bill dearer than all.

Serena. Home, home, sweet home, } There’s no place like home; } Whoever deny it, there’s no place } like home. } } [Together.] Conrad. Home, home, sweet home, } A slow place is home; } However, I’ll try it, and go in } for home. }

Both. Farewell! Farewell! [SERENA sinks, R. C.

Song.--CONRAD.--Air, “My Mary Ann.”

Fare you well, my own Mary Ann, Or whatever your name may be; These fairies seldom give their names, And so I christen she, “Mary Ann.”

Let me once more see my own turtle-dove, I’ll keep my word with you; Excuse me if I’ve named you wrong, And still assist me, do, Mary Ann. Fare you well, my own Mary Ann, &c. [Exit, R.

SCENE V.--The Harem, with the Gardens of the Pasha’s Palace.

ODALISQUES dancing. Enter GULNARE, L., and ZULIEMA, R.; the ODALISQUES dance round GULNARE.

Zuli. How’s this? Am I no longer mistress here?

Gul. Well, don’t be angry with them, there’s a dear; You can’t put old heads on young shoulders.

Zuli. No. But you can take the young heads off them, though. They’d best not slight me!

Gul. Madam, pray control Your passion; do now, there’s a good old soul.

Zuli. Old soul! No matter--we shall see.

Gul. No doubt With spectacles you might--you won’t without!

Zuli. Proud beauty; though your eye now brightly twinkles----

Gul. There--there; don’t frown, it only shows the wrinkles.

Zuli. Dare you thus openly, then, to deride One whom the Pasha’s chosen for his bride?

Gul. Nay, I’ve no wish a quarrel to be picking; But you must own, my friend, you’re not a chicken.

Zuli. I blush for you.

Gul. You can’t--your paint beneath----