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No. 14 - Finale, Act 1.
MIDI File
(Spoken dialogue over music.)
Nebenchari: Dogs and scum and roystering vermin...
| Chorus: | Has anybody seen our cat? Pussy, pussy, puss, puss, purr! There's a deep red stain on the back door mat And a most suspicious blur! Has anybody seen our cat? Pussy, pussy, puss, puss, purr! If anyone's kill'd her it's tit for tat, Whether noble or low caste cur. Has anybody seen our cat? Pussy, pussy, puss, puss, purr! The only clue is that where she sat We found these fragments of fur! |
| Men: | Sound the funeral drum, Clash the mournful brasses; Shroud this wanton revelry, Lads and likewise lasses. |
| Archpriest: | A Royal Cat has met her doom, Kill'd by one of the upper classes, |
| Men: | Sound the brasses twang! Beat the funeral drum, |
| Archpriest: | Now the villain who did it shall surely hang, Or be stood on his head in a butt of molasses. Shroud this wanton revelry, Wave the crinkled crape; Whoever did this devilry Never shall escape. |
| Men: | Sound the funeral drum, Prepare a royal tomb, It is decreed this bloody deed Shall shroud the world in gloom. Take heed, the mourner's weed assume; Till the murderer we unearth We will not suffer love or marriage, Betrothal, death or birth. |
| 2nd. Priest: | If you this edict do disparage, Indulge in revelry or mirth, In kisses, twin, or other sins, We foretell some grave miscarriage Of the justice of the King. |
| Men: | Much uncall'd for suffering. |
| 3rd. Priest: | Reconcile your hearts to woe, Disperse and go, nor smile, and sing, We would not have uncall'd for suffering. |
| Men: | You wretched masses and noble classes, All who to life would cling, Heed well the edict of the King, Sound the cymbals-- bing! Ev'ry soul shall weeping go Till the murderer we know. This, the edict of the King! This, the edict of the King! |
| Nebenchari: | Has any searcher found a clue? |
| All: | No! |
| Ptolemy: | Pardon me, I have a few! |
| Nebenchari: | You heard the miscreant confess? |
| Ptolemy: | No, but on a gentleman's dress I saw a stain suspiciously ruddy And eke some strands of fur all bloody, The fact's suspicious! |
| Nebenchari: | Who is this vicious knave, by thunder? |
| Ptolemy: | Ah! I wonder If it will break a royal heart And sore upset the apple-cart? But see yon youth whose strong right arm embraces The willowy waist of the most fair Amasis, His ashen looks portray blood spilt, and guilt; I deeply grieve this is his wedding day! |
| Chorus: | We deeply grieve this is his wedding day! |
| Amasis: | Oh, hold your peace, old man; I beg you, go away. |
| Ptolemy: | I fear, your Potency,
this gives the show away. To think that he should go and stow away Poor Pussy. |
| Nebenchari: | Tell me now, sir, We condescend to ask you civilly; Have you connived at any way privilly The death of a Royal mouser. |
| Anhotep: | Alas! great priest, 'tis true she is a goner, Quite thoughtlessly I dropp'd a brick upon her; By all the laws of chance it should have missed her, But oh! it cannoned off the wall, and kiss'd her. |
| Chorus: | He has confess'd, he has confess'd, Oh, why? Surely he might have told a little lie; A little lie were better than to die; He has confess'd, Oh, why? |
| Priest: | Your sentence-- see, the villian winces, Death! |
| Nebenchari: | Though he were a thousand princes! This is my command. All who agree with me, Hold up the dexter hand. |
| Chorus: | We all agree, our hands you see, Death, though he were a thousand princes! |
| Nebenchari: | All those who do to mercy feel inclined Stand forth, the others stand behind. |
| Chorus: | Death, though he were a thousand princes! |
| Cheiro: | 'Twas giv'n to you alone In those dear eyes to light love's flame, Rash fool to play this thoughtless game, |
| Chorus: | This thoughtless game, |
| Cheiro: | Your life was not your own, Because of your folly She's all melancholy, She must live out her life all alone. |
| Chorus: | Alone! |
| Cheiro: | And even your death won't atone! |
| Chorus: | Atone! |
| Cheiro: | She must live out her life all alone. If I'd had your chances of winning her glances I would have risk'd nothing, I own, |
| Chorus: | I own. |
| Cheiro: | I would have risk'd nothing, I own, 'Tis a sorry eclipse With your name on her lips; |
| Chorus: | A sorry eclipse With your name on her lips. |
| Cheiro: | She must live out her life all alone. I would have done better, I own. |
| Ptolemy: | Of this terrible sin this has quite convinced her. |
| Amasis: | But that won't prevent me dying a spinster. Oh, weigh one Cat, though valuable and rare Against my lifelong agonised despair, You would not have me die a faded spinster? |
| Chorus: | Oh, fool to smite a hallowed cat; Was it worth while to die for that? Oh, fool to weigh love's joys so light; You'll die today, or else tonight. He'll die today, or else tonight, He'll die today, or else tonight. |
| Amasis: | You'll die today, or else tonight. |
| Psamtik: | Mark how the villain winces. |
| Nebenchari: | Suitable princes Grow thick as leaves in Vallambarosa. Away with him! |
| Guards: | We go, sir. |
| Nebenchari: | He must be tortured now he's caught; And send to me a full report. |
| Psamtik: | We'll place the dog in a dungeon deep, And cross-examine him closely, We'll extract from him a whimsical tale If we stimulate him jocosely. We'll note how 'neath our tortures grim He'll supplicate and grovel, Our report will be as amusing as A modern sensational novel. |
| Chorus: | We'll place the dog in a dungeon deep, And cross-examine him closely, We'll extract from him a whimsical tale If we stimulate him jocosely. We'll note how 'neath our tortures grim He'll supplicate and grovel, Our report will be as amusing as A modern sensational novel. |
| Amasis: | Be kind, be kind to him, I know your generosity, The situation is not one to treat with such jocosity, My riches, jewels all are yours, and I your slave most willing, If you will but refrain from this facetious way of killing. If in the dim forgotten past you ever had a mother, Who heard you lisp your Alphabet and made you kiss each other, By her grey hairs I beg of you to treat him like a brother. I'm very young, I do not know, perhaps you had no mother. These things to me are all a mystery; I never studied Natural History, But I will be your sister if you treat him like a brother. |
| Guards: | This weakness we must smother, No, we never had a mother, And our Pater was a hater of all sentiment and weeping, We'll not torture him unduly, But just test his courage truly, And his torture will be naught you can consider out of keeping |
| Anhotep: | Sweetheart, despair not, I am not yet beheaded; Tomorrow maybe we shall yet be wedded. But you and Pharaoh have a care, oh! For tho' I die beneath assault and battery, In halting verse my dying curse Shall spiflicate your Sacred Cattery. I curse their fur; It shall drop off in patches; I curse their claws; They'll poison scratches; I curse their tempers, They'll grow like Diogenes; I curse their wooing And their little progenies; I curse their brains; They'll get congestion; I curse their food; They'll have indigestion. I curse their home life, I curse their morals; Their eyes shall be scratched out in frequent quarrels. I curse each whisker, I curse each tail; They shall sing out of tune, Their voices fail. I curse their living and to humour all these popular fallacies It is my curse that each shall die nine deaths from paralysis. |
| Chorus: | Strike him, lynch him! Death and fury Lynch our judge and lynch our jury. Kill him! kill him! This his final hour. |
| Nebenchari: | Stand back! stand back! You guardsmen, take the sinners corse. You rabble who would intervene; What's sauce for cats I think may well be sauce for him. Perhaps you gather what I mean. Tonight while all of you take forty winks, Easy in conscience like the white-soul'd child, In ways from which imagination shrinks We will avenge the Cat he has reviled. And yet the terrors of the night shall pale Before the possibilities of day, 'Till, when the sun is heaven high at noon, Death he will welcome as a Royal boon. For not till the sun has mounted to the crown of heaven's proud dome Shall my mounting wrath be appeased and my eager headsman strike home |
| Chorus: | Strike him, lynch him! Death and fury Lynch our judge and lynch our jury. Stone him to death. |
| Men: | Put him to death. |
| Ladies: | Put him to death! |
| Men: | Put him to death. |
| Ladies: | Put him to death! |
| All: | Strike him, lynch him! Strike him, lynch him! Put him to death, to death. |
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Page created 27 September 2016 .