Scene: Exterior of Castle Bunthorne. Young maidens wearing aesthetic draperies are grouped about the stage. They play on lutes, mandolins, etc., as they sing, and all are in the last stage of despair. Angela, Ella and Saphir lead them.
CHORUS. Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still.
Twenty love-sick maidens we,
And we die for love of thee.
ANGELA. Love feeds on hope, they say, or love will die;
CHORUS. Ah, miserie!
ANGELA. Yet my love lives, although no hope have I!
CHORUS. Ah, miserie!
ANGELA. Alas, poor heart, go hide thyself away,
To weeping concords tune thy roundelay!
Ah, miserie!
CHORUS. All our love is all for one,
Yet that love he heedeth not,
He is coy and cares for none,
Sad and sorry is our lot!
Ah, miserie!
ELLA. Go, breaking heart,
Go, dream of love requited!
Go, foolish heart,
Go, dream of lovers plighted;
Go, madcap heart,
Go, dream of never waking;
And in thy dream
Forget that thou art breaking!
CHORUS. Ah, miserie!
CHORUS. Twenty love-sick maidens we, etc.
ANGELA. There is a strange magic in this love of ours! Rivals as we all are in the affections of our Reginald, the very hopelessness of our love is a bond that binds us to one another!
SAPHIR. Jealousy is merged in misery. While he, the very cynosure of our eyes and hearts, remains icy insensible – what have we to strive for?
ELLA. The love of maidens is, to him, as interesting as the taxes!
SAPHIR. Would that it were! He pays his taxes.
ANGELA. And cherishes the receipts!
Enter Lady Jane.
SAPHIR. Happy receipts!
JANE. (suddenly) Fools!
ANGELA. I beg your pardon?
JANE. Fools and blind! The man loves – wildly loves!
ANGELA. But whom? None of us!
JANE. No, none of us. His weird fancy has lighted, for the nonce, on Patience, the village milkmaid!
SAPHIR. On Patience? Oh, it cannot be!
JANE. Bah! But yesterday I caught him in her dairy, eating fresh butter with a tablespoon. Today he is not well!
SAPHIR. But Patience boasts that she has never loved – that love is, to her, a sealed book! Oh, he cannot be serious!
JANE. 'Tis but a fleeting fancy – 'twill quickly wear away. (Aside.) Oh, Reginald, if you but knew what a wealth of golden love is waiting for you, stored up in this rugged old bosom of mine, the milkmaid's triumph would be short indeed!
Patience appears on an eminence. She looks down with pity on the despondent maidens.
RECITATIVE – PATIENCE
Still brooding on their mad infatuation! I thank thee, Love, thou comest not to me! Far happier I, free from thy ministration, Than dukes or duchesses who love can be!
SAPHIR. (looking up) 'Tis Patience – happy girl! Loved by a Poet!
PATIENCE. Your pardon, ladies. I intrude upon you! (Going.)
ANGELA. Nay, pretty child, come hither. Is it true
That you have never loved?
PATIENCE. Most true indeed.
SOPRANOS. Most marvellous!
CONTRALTOS. And most deplorable!
SONG – PATIENCE
I cannot tell what this love may be That cometh to all but not to me. It cannot be kind as they'd imply, Or why do these ladies sigh? It cannot be joy and rapture deep, Or why do these gentle ladies weep? It cannot be blissful as 'tis said, Or why are their eyes so wondrous red? Though ev'rywhere true love I see A-coming to all, but not to me, I cannot tell what this love may be! For I am blithe and I am gay, While they sit sighing night and day. Think of the gulf 'twixt them and me, 'Fal la la la!' – and 'Miserie'!
CHORUS. Yes, she is blithe, etc.
PATIENCE. If love is a thorn, they show no wit Who foolishly hug and foster it. If love is a weed, how simple they Who gather it, day by day! If love is a nettle that makes you smart, Then why do you wear it next your heart? And if it be none of these, say I, Ah, why do you sit and sob and sigh? Though ev'rywhere true love, etc.
CHORUS. For she is blithe, etc.
ANGELA. Ah, Patience, if you have never loved, you have never known true happiness! (All sigh.)
PATIENCE. But the truly happy always seem to have so much on their minds. The truly happy never seem quite well.
JANE. There is a transcendentality of delirium – an acute accentuation of supremest ecstasy – which the earthy might easily mistake for indigestion. But it is not indigestion – it is aesthetic transfiguration! (To the others.) Enough of babble. Come!
PATIENCE. But stay, I have some news for you. The 35th Dragoon Guards have halted in the village, and are even now on their way to this very spot.
ANGELA. The 35th Dragoon Guards!
SAPHIR. They are fleshly men, of full habit!
ELLA. We care nothing for Dragoon Guards!
PATIENCE. But, bless me, you were all engaged to them a year ago!
SAPHIR. A year ago!
(To others.)