[]
CLUMP and CUDDEN; OR, THE REVIEW: A COMIC MUSICAL PIECE, IN ONE ACT, As it is PERFORMED at the ROYAL CIRCUS. WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY Mr. DIBDIN.
Printed in the Year MDCCLXXXV.
CHARACTERS.
[]- CLUMP,
- MR. JOHANOT,
- CUDDEN,
- MR. CONNELL,
- PLATOON,
- MR. MATHEWS,
- LATITAT,
- MR. COPELAND,
- RAZOR,
- MR. LEACH,
- BIRCH,
- MR. HENLEY,
- STUD,
- MR. JOHANOT, Jun,
- PLUNDER,
- MR. GASCOIGN,
- JUDE,
- MRS. HENLY,
- JENNY,
- MISS ROMANZIN [...],
- FANNY,
- MISS JAMESON.
[]CLUMP and CUDDEN.
SCENE I.
The Door of a Public Houſe—A Table, Bowls, Glaſſes, Pipes, Tobacco, &c.—At the Table are ſitting CUDDEN, PLATOON, LATITAT, RAZOR, BIRCH, STUD, PLUNDER, RIFLE⯑MAN, &c.
AIR.
CHORUS.
WOULD you live, lads, a life of jollity,
Take a touch here of our quality;
To us ſoldiers come,
Here Bacchus of Mars beats the drum,
While Venus attending
Our joy is befriending;
Your zeal then to ſhew to the field and the fair,
Quickly here to the ſtandard of pleaſure repair.
Does the loud trumpet call to glory,
Or flute to tell ſome am'rous ſtory,
Alike alert in ev'ry duty,
Now war his paſſion, and now beauty;
He fights the foe, or courts the fair,
Can kindly love, or bravely dare,
[4] And honour ſeek 'midſt claſhing arms,
Well to deſerve his miſtreſs' charms.
Would you live, lads, &c.
PLATOON.
Fine-ſounding words!—honour and fame!—
I ſays they're nothing but a name:
Courage and merit are neglected—
We gemmen ſoldiers an't reſpected—
We're only thought by monkey beaux,
With paper ſkulls and powder'd cloaths,
And ſilks and ſattins, bags and fine tails,
Fit only for the cat o' nine tails.
CUDDEN.
'Cod, well zed, corp'ral—folks may boaſt,
But zummet's wrong—here goes a toaſt—
Here's may they long be zick i' their beds
Who firſt made—jumping over heads—
ALL.
Bravo! my boy.
CUDDEN.
Lawyer, what zayſt?
LATITAT.
I ſays o' th' great, that bad's the beſt:
And harkee!
[Whiſpers.]
CUDDEN.
No!
LATITAT.
[5]True.
CUDDEN.
Indeed!
LATITAT.
Fact.
Sponge—
CUDDEN.
Good Lord!
LATITAT.
Gen'ral bankrupt act.
CUDDEN.
That's gwain to ruin thicker and faſter:
What's thy opinion, friend ſchoolmaſter?
BIRCH.
Why, if they'd take th' advice of a fool,
Your great ones ſhould be ſent to ſchool.
STUD.
I ſays, that, while upon my grounds
They'll let me hunt my pack of hounds,
It matters nothing what their ways are:
What do you ſay to this, friend Razor?
RAZOR.
I ſays, take matters in the groſs,
As how I thinks we're ſhav'd too cloſe.
PLATOON.
[6]You think! old Strap and Suds—you!—you!—
Did I command what would I do!
I'd raiſe each ſoldier's pay diurnal,
And ev'ry corp'ral make a col'nel.
CLUMP.
Cod, well ſaid, corporal, again.
PLATOON.
Plunder!
PLUNDER.
Here.
PLATOON.
Muſter all the men.
See their accoutrements are new,
This ev'ning's fix'd for the review,
When Phoebus ſhall, in all his charms
Glitt'ring, adorn the ſoldier's arms.
AIR.
This, this, my lad, is a ſoldier's life—
He marches to the ſprightly fife,
And in each town to ſome new wife
Swears he'll be ever true:
He's here, he's there, where is he not?
Variety's his envied lot,
He eats, drinks, ſleeps, and pays no ſhot,
And follows the loud tattoo.
[7]II.
Call'd out to face his country's foes,
The tears of fond domeſtic woes
He kiſſes off, and boldly goes
To earn of fame his due.
Religion, liberty, and laws,
Both his are and his country's cauſe;
For theſe thro' dangers, without pauſe,
He follows the loud tattoo.
III.
And if at laſt in honour's wars
He earns his ſhare of danger's ſcars,
Still he feels bold, and thanks his ſtars
He's no worſe fate to rue.
At Chelſea, free from toil and pain,
He weilds his crutch—points out the ſlain—
And in fond fancy once again
Follows the loud tattoo.
SCENE II.
All go off except CUDDEN and PLATOON.
CUDDEN.
Here, jog a tiny bit this way.
PLATOON.
What ſay'ſt, my hearty?
CUDDEN.
What do I zay?
[8] Can'ſt keep a ſecret? be one's friend?
PLATOON.
Upon my ſword.
CUDDEN.
Nay, there's no end
When ſoldiers their fine oaths begin.
Hark thee to me—Thou know'ſt our Jin;
She loves this mazzard here—dev'l fetch me—
And yet I do not think ſhe'll catch me.
PLATOON.
Why not?—ſhe's young.
CUDDEN.
She is, and fairiſh:
But lookee, I knows all the pariſh,
And, ſpite o' their ſimp'ring ſmiles and frippery,
There never was an eel ſo ſlippery;
Beſides, in your ear, I've had my will of her,
And ſo I am more doubtful ſtill of her.
Now this is what I wants to do,
To try our Jin—ſo ſay but you
I'm with the other honeſt hearts
Liſted, and gwain to voreign parts;
I ſoon ſhall by her wimp'ring ſee
If, as ſhe ought, our Jin loves me.
PLATOON.
Enough ſaid, lad—here take this crown
As part o' th' liſting money down.
CUDDEN.
[9]Nay, that's as eaſy done as ſpoke.
'Twon't liſt me tho'?
PLATOON.
Pho! that's a joke.
CUDDEN.
I underſtand—you'll ſay, d'ye hear,
That I am liſted.
PLATOON.
Never fear.
Nay, zounds! I'll ſwear it, if that's all.
March—turn your toes out—at roll call
Fail not to-morrow, ſir.
CUDDEN.
Ods curſe it!
How very natural he does it.
AIR.
Good Lord! 'tis a wonderſome ſight to behold
The ſoldiers bedaub'd all with ſilver and gold,
And to hear for miles off the loud drum and fife,
How they thump 'em and blow 'em away for dear life;
While the girls ſlyly watch to chuſe him for a lover
Who readieſt and beſt
Can turn on his heel,
Can march and can reſt,
And ſhoulder to boot,
And face to the right, and to the left wheel,
And preſent and make ready, and fire and ſhoot,
And come to a handſome recover.
[10]II.
The moment a village the red coats come in,
The wenches, good Lord! how they titter and grin;
And 'teant only the young ones that crowd on the green,
But all ages, from ſeventy down to ſixteen.
While the girls, &c.
SCENE III.
The Village; a poor Houſe is ſeen; CLUMP is working in a Stall underneath the Window; JUDE is within-ſide ironing, and JENNY fits on a Bench at the Door knitting.
TRIO.
Neighbour, neighbour,
Work away,
What like labour
Makes us gay?
The world is ſad,
It knows not why.
Your poets in rhimes
May rail at the times,
But ſince they're ſo bad,
And no cure's to be had,
'Tis better to laugh than to cry.
But look behind,
And you ſhall find
For one poor pleaſure—plagues a ſcore;
[11] Nor is, I fear,
One whit more clear
The proſpect, ſhould you look before.
Then, far beyond blind Fortune's pow'r,
Live and enjoy the preſent hour.
RECITATIVE.
JUDE.
I'faith I muſt not loiter ſo;
Give me my baſket.
CLUMP.
Ere you go,
I would thou'd'ſt ſpeak a good word for me.
JUDE.
Whence is it, girl, thy looks are ſtormy
T' our old friend Clump—when o' the ſudden
They ſtill clear up for that rogue Cudden?
JENNY.
Why, mother, if you will be told,
I like not Clump becauſe he's old;
Beſides, my Cudden's ſmart and gay,
And drinks and rakes all niggledy jay.
O Cudden! Cudden! thou has won me;
And then he's rich too.
JUDE.
Mercy on me!
How ſhe does rattle!—Jenny, Jenny,
Don't be a fooliſh headſtrong ninny.
[12]
If thou ſay'ſt nay becauſe Clump's poor,
Thou ought'ſt not to be bleſt for ſure;
For as there's no ſtate e'er ſo high
But has at times it's miſery,
So thoſe in ſtation e'er ſo low
Some ſweet contented moments know.
AIR.
The world's a ſtrange world, child, it muſt be confeſs'd,
We all of diſtreſs have our ſhare;
But ſince I muſt ſtruggle to live with the reſt,
By my troth 'tis no great matter where.
We all muſt put up with what fortune has ſent,
Be therefore one's lot poor or rich,
So there's but a portion of eaſe and content,
By my troth 'tis no great matter which.
II.
A living's a living, and ſo there's an end,
If one honeſtly gets juſt enow,
And ſomething to ſpare for the wants of a friend,
By my troth 'tis no great matter how.
In this world about nothing we buſied appear,
And I've ſaid it again and again,
Since quit it one muſt, if one's conſcience is clear,
By my troth 'tis no great matter when.
SCENE IV.
[]CLUMP. JENNY.
CLUMP.
Oh dear! our Jin!
JENNY.
What!
CLUMP.
Nan!
JENNY.
The brute!
CLUMP.
Pray, let me get the length o' your foot.
JENNY.
How! what! win my affections you!
CLUMP.
Yes, I—now prythee buckle too.
JENNY.
Oh! no.
CLUMP.
And you're determin'd?
JENNY.
Yes.
CLUMP.
[]And why?
JENNY.
For reaſons you can't gueſs.
CLUMP.
Nay, where th' ſhoe pinches, you may ſwear it,
None know ſo well as them that wear it.
JENNY.
You're not my choice.
CLUMP.
Why, aye, that's true;
But then, you know, often a ſhoe
That's ready made will fit ſome folk
As well as if 't had been beſpoke.
JENNY.
And then ſuch difference between
Our ages—I am ſcarce ſixteen,
And you how much?
CLUMP.
But ſixty-three.
JENNY.
And prythee how would that agree?
CLUMP.
Why juſt as if I put together
An old ſole t' a new upper leather.
JENNY.
[15]Ho! ho! it takes away the breath o' me.
CLUMP.
Od rot thee, Jin—thou'lt be the death o' me.
AIR.
Whenever I'm mending a ſhoe,
Ev'ry thing in my ſtall that I view
To my doating remembrance brings you,
While my heart in my boſom goes thump:
The beſt callimanco's your hair,
Your ſkin is the lining ſo fair,
My awl to your eyes I compare,
That wounded the heart of poor Clump.
II.
Your teeth, which like ivory ſhew,
Are the pegs in a white even row
Which I drive, while at every blow
My heart in my boſom goes thump.
Each object of you bears a part,
Your wit, that's ſo piercing and ſmart,
Is my knife—but my lapſtone your heart,
Which will ne'er let you pity poor Clump.
SCENE V.
JENNY. FANNY.
JENNY.
Thus I'm oblig'd to act the part
Of pleaſure with an aching heart;
[16] For tho' I ſcoff at this poor elf,
I'm not much better off myſelf;
Ah! Couſin Fanny! trick'd out too.
FANNY.
I'm going, child, to the review,
To ſee my ſoldier in the field
His bayonet draw, his muſquet wield;
To ſee him to the rank repair,
More willingly becauſe I'm there.
AIR.
When in order drawn up, and adorn'd in his beſt,
If my ſoldier appears with more grace than the reſt,
If his gaiters are jet, his accoutrements fine,
If his hair's tied up tight, and his arms brightly ſhine,
Let him turn, wheel, or face, march, kneel, ſtoop, and ſtand,
Anxious ſtill to obey every word of command;
Erect like an arrow, or bending his knee,
'Tis not for the gen'ral, 'tis all to pleaſe me.
II.
If with ſmoke and with duſt cover'd over by turns,
To gain a ſham height, or falſe baſtion he burns;
If of danger in ſpite, and regardleſs of fear,
He ruſhes to fight when there's nobody near:
In ſhort, let him turn, wheel, march, &c. &c.
SCENE VI.
[17]PLATOON, JENNY, FANNY.
RECITATIVE.
FANNY.
And ſee! I ſcarcely ſound love's drums,
But at my call my ſoldier comes.
PLATOON.
My Fanny—What! and Jenny here,
I've news that ſhall thy ſpirits cheer;
For which thou'lt give me ample thanks,
Cudden ſhall pay thee for his pranks.
JENNY.
What pranks?
FANNY.
Nay, coy it not to us,
The beſt will be too amorous
Sometimes, ſpite of the niceſt care,
When at our feet men ſigh and ſwear.
JENNY.
I plainly ſee he has told all:
Women ſhould think before they fall,
Leſt they that hour ſurvive and weep:
Prudence by love was lull'd to ſleep.
AIR.
A novice in love, and a ſtranger to art,
As pure as my wiſhes my unpractis'd heart;
[18] When I roſe with the lark, and out-warbled the thruſh,
Free from falſhood or guile, for I knew not to bluſh:
Thoſe paſt days I deplore.
When innocence guarded my unfully'd fame,
When to think, and to act, and commend were the ſame;
When on my face,
With artleſs grace,
Danc'd frolick, ſport, and pleaſure—now no more.
II.
Ere I liſten'd and lov'd, ere man ſmil'd and be⯑tray'd,
Ere by horror appall'd, and of conſcience afraid;
Loſt to each fond delight that e'er woman adorn'd,
By a hard-judging world look'd at, pity'd, and ſcorn'd:
Thoſe paſt joys I deplore.
Thoſe joys, ere by man's artful treach'ry forſook,
Which, guiltleſs and pleas'd, with the world I partook;
When on my face,
With artleſs grace,
Danc'd frolick, ſport, and pleaſure—now no more.
PLATOON.
Well, cheer thy ſpirits—he's—
JENNY.
Well what of him?
PLATOON.
Nothing, but you'll get all ſhut of him.
[19] He's liſted—
JENNY.
Liſted!
PLATOON.
With a view,
As he believes, juſt to try you;
But if you'll give into my whim,
The ſcheme ſhall pretty well try him.
FANNY.
What is't, Platoon?
PLATOON.
What are thoſe drums?
As ſure as murder here he comes.
SCENE VII.
JENNY, FANNY, CLUMP—aukwardly dreſſed as a Drummer.
Why! what the devil have we here?
CLUMP.
—I ſpoſe I looks a little queer;
Alter'd all over dreſs and phiz,
Come, you ſhall hear how the thing is:
The cruelty of that there creature,
Thinks I—as how no human nature
Can't ne'er ſupport, and ſo I goes,
Quite whelm'd, as one may ſay, with woes,
To drown myſelf—where was I?—ſtay!
Oh! meeting neighbour Mudge i'th' way;
[20] Says neighbour Mudge—wer't me I'd liver,
Than like blind puppies drown i' th' river,
For a captain liſt—grow great in ſtory,
Go to the wars, and die with glory;
And ſo, d' ye ſee, without more myſtery,
That I may make a noiſe in hiſtory,
I'm come, 'tis true, for I'm no hummer,
To you to liſt me for a drummer.
PLATOON.
A charming thought—Jenny, my heart,
Speak, girl; can'ſt act a ſprightly part?
JENNY.
I could once, ere, to reaſon blind,
I lov'd, and loſt my peace of mind.
PLATOON.
And ſhalt again, girl—Clump, this way;
Doſt thou love Jenny here, I ſay?
Like a ſoldier ſpeak—doſt doat upon her?
CLUMP.
Damme—and zounds—and 'pon my honour.
PLATOON.
Haſt thou a heart?—ſpeak out, you ninny.
CLUMP.
I had before I gave 't to Jenny.
PLATOON.
Well, thou'lt have her's, with int'reſt lumping,
If thou'lt give Cudden a good thumping.
CLUMP.
[21]A what?
PLATOON.
A baſting.
CLUMP.
Well, I'll ſee.
PLATOON.
And then, like my dear Fan, ſhall ſhe,
To pay attention to her lover,
Follow thee, Clump, the whole world over.
AIR.
Say, Fanny, wilt thou go with me?
Perils to face by land and ſea
That tongue can never tell ye?
And wilt thou all theſe dangers ſcorn,
Whilſt in theſe arms
I hold thy charms,
Enraptur'd ev'ry op'ning morn,
When the drum beats reveillez.
FANNY.
II.
Yes, yes, Platoon—I'll go with thee,
In danger whatſoe'r it be—
Believe 'tis truth I tell you;
My conſtant mind ſhall peril ſcorn,
Brave all alarms,
So in my arms
I hold thee every op'ning morn,
When the drum beats reveillez.
PLATOON.
[22]III.
Still, Fanny, wilt thou go with me?
Suppoſe the cruel fates decree—
Alas! how ſhall I tell you?
The news ſhould come—thy ſoldier fell,
And thou ſhalt hear,
Appall'd with fear,
Next morn his fatal paſſing bell,
When the drum beats reveillez.
FANNY.
IV.
Still, fearleſs, will I go with thee,
Reſign'd to cruel fate's decree,
And bravely this I tell you:
When on the ſpot my ſoldier fell
I'd ſhed a tear,
The world ſhould hear,
Mingling with his, my paſſing bell,
While the drum beat reveillez.
BOTH.
V.
To the world's end I'd go with thee,
Where thou art—danger ne'er can be;
My joy no tongue can tell you:
And ſure ſuch love may perils ſcorn,
Brave all alarms,
While in my arms
I hold thee ev'ry op'ning morn,
When the drums beat reveillez.
CLUMP.
[23]I'll do't, my boy—I'm ready for'n.
PLATOON.
He's coming! ſure as you are born.
SCENE VIII.
PLATOON, CLUMP, CUDDEN, FANNY, JENNY. Make up to Jenny.
CUDDEN.
Well! how goes it
About our ſcheme—I ſpoſe ſhe knows it.
PLATOON.
Our ſcheme—a likely way to hobble her;
Why zounds! ſhe's married to the cobler.
CUDDEN.
To Clump—fine work! and ſo he'll find it.
PLATOON.
Come! come with me! and never mind it.
CUDDEN.
I'll ſpeak a little to um firſt,
Sarvent, good volk—Dam't I ſhall burſt;
Now dounty think as I'm uneaſy,
Why, zounds and fire! art thee run crazy,
Our Jin!
CLUMP.
Nay make not ſuch a clatter,
Good friend!
JENNY.
Pray, fellow, what's the matter?
CUDDEN.
[24]Nay nothing, fellow!
CLUMP.
Come don't bluſter;
I'cod he's in a charming fluſter.
CUDDEN.
But, Jin!
CLUMP.
Nay, take away thy paws!
CUDDEN.
Doſt naw thee'ſt get a lick i'th' jaws?
CLUMP.
Hey! what?
CUDDEN.
Nay dam't, then there 'tis for thee!
PLATOON.
Come, now's your time.
CUDDEN.
What! can't that ſtir thee?
Then take another.
CLUMP.
Save me—murder!
I'll carry on the farce no furder;
I'm too much of the dunghill cock
For the wars to take off this fool's frock:
And, Maſter Cudden, as for thee,
Thy Jenny is no wife for me.
CUDDEN.
[25]Not married! thou'ſt a good eſcape,
Clump—Harkee! look before doſt leap,
For fear, d'ye ſee, thy wife ſhould cheat thee:
Curſe it, I'm ſorry that I beat thee.
AIR.
'Twere better I took your advice, my good neighbour,
Henceforward my conduct I'll mend;
With joy and content to my laſt will I labour,
Still ſtriving to make a good end.
And then as to love I'll ne'er think of a woman,
No, never! I'll ſwear it by goles;
But, like methodiſt preachers on Kennington Com⯑mon,
I'll live by the mending of ſoles.
II.
Many battles I'll fight—o'er a pot of good porter
Whole armies I'll kill—in my ſtall
To no ſoul—of a ſhoe—will I ever give quarter,
And what hides will I pierce—with my awl.
And then as to love, &c.
SCENE IX.
PLATOON, CUDDEN, JENNY, FANNY.
PLATOON.
Well! was not it a pleaſant jeſt?
CUDDEN.
[26]What, about I?—Nay, you knaw beſt;
It mought, but I can't ſay I ſaw't.
FANNY.
'Twas ev'ry bit the corp'ral's fault.
JENNY.
He made us to it.
CUDDEN.
Ah!—mayhap ſo,
But I'm not to be caught i' th' trap ſo.
AIR.
CUDDEN.
A man that's benighted or drunk may miſtake,
And headlong fall into a ſnare,
But ſober, at noon, all his ſenſes awake,
He'll ſure take a little more care;
So whimper or ſnivel, I ſay 't to your face,
Toy as much as you will, but no prieſt ſhall ſay grace▪
JENNY.
A woman, no longer her reaſon in view,
May headlong fall into a ſnare,
While the brute her betrayer ſtill leaves her to rue,
That ſhe took not a little more care;
So, tho' I've been faulty, I ſay 't to your face,
No toying henceforth till the prieſt ſhall ſay grace.
CUDDEN.
[27]Away to the wars then, a ſoldier, I'll go,
To find in each quarter a wife;
I'll roar and I'll rant, wench a little, or ſo,
But no one ſhall ſnap me for life;
For, in ſpite of their fanzies, I'll ſay to their face,
Toy as much as you like, but no prieſt ſhall ſay grace.
JENNY.
Adieu! and for ever then, ſince thou wilt go,
May'ſt thou find in each quarter a wife;
'Twill never vex me—mind, 'tis I tell thee ſo,
A more kind one will take me for life;
For, whatever thou think'ſt, I declare to thy face,
I never will toy—till the prieſt ſhall ſay grace.
CUDDEN.
Here, take thy money, friend.
PLATOON.
What money?
CUDDEN.
Why, that I took to liſt—
PLATOON.
No, honey;
That trick won't paſs—you're liſted fairly;
Aye, and ſhall ſerve too—
FANNY.
It works rarely.
CUDDEN.
[28]Thou ſhalt get hang'd firſt.
PLATOON.
That we'll ſee;
Come, come, ſir, march along with me.
CUDDEN.
You're not in earneſt?—Jenny!—Fanny!—
You cannot have the heart now—canny?
PLATOON.
Come, maſter Cudden, here's the truth:
All who betray imprudent youth,
Who lye, that women may believe,
And leave them afterwards to grieve,
And their malignant ſtars to curſe,
Deſerve thy fate, and ten times worſe.
Come, march; ne'er let thy ſpirits faulter;
Thou mad'ſt for thy own neck the halter.
JENNY.
Bye, Cudden.
FANNY.
He's in a rare flurry!
PLATOON.
Come!
CUDDEN.
You're in ſuch a woundy hurry:
Will nothing move thee, corp'ral?
PLATOON.
No.
CUDDEN.
[29]What money wou'd'ſt take to let me go?
Speak; I can give thee zummet handſome:
How much woot hay?
PLATOON.
Not the king's ranſom:
And yet there is a price.
CUDDEN.
Wounds! ſay it.
PLATOON.
But ſhall I have't—if thou can'ſt pay it?
CUDDEN.
Aye, that thou ſhalt, if 'twere a guinea.
PLATOON.
Give us thy hand then—Marry Jenny.
CUDDEN.
I ſpoſes ſhe won't ha me now:
Woot?—Jenny, ſpeak—
JENNY.
I know not how—
If thou'rt ſincere.
PLATOON.
I'll make ſhort work:
To-morrow morn we'll all to kirk,
[30] And ſoon as e'er the prieſt ſhall tie
Cudden and you, and Fan and I,
There, before all our friends at large,
He ſhall receive his full diſcharge.
[Drum beats.]
But hark! I muſt retire from beauty,
For the drum calls me to my duty.
CUDDEN.
Jin, gi'us a kiſs; I'm thine for ever,
JENNY.
And ſhall we never part?
CUDDEN.
No, never.
SCENE draws, and diſcovers an open hilly Coun⯑try, where all the Manoeuvres are performed of a Review and Sham-Fight: after which the Characters come forward.
CHORUS.
Thus ſoldiers ſhould in time of peace,
That martial ſpirit ne'er may ceaſe,
Their nation's glory to increaſe,
Appear in this trim array;
While each, of emulation vain,
Shall follow in the noble train,
While the drums beat
To the battle's heat,
And the ſpectators, one and all,
With joy obey the public call—
While fifes ſhall ſweetly ſweetly play—
In chorus joining, cry—Huzza!
The END.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 3340 Clump and Cudden or the review a comic musical piece in one act as it is performed at the Royal Circus Written and composed by Mr Dibdin. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D135-3