The Merchant Prince of Cornville - A comedy by Samuel Eberly Gross

Author:Samuel Eberly Gross [Gross, Samuel Eberly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anboco
Published: 2017-01-21T23:00:00+00:00

Scene II.— A balcony.

Enter Whetstone and Violet.

Violet.

Sir Knight of the Horn of Plenty, did thy grand-uncle slay the Indians?

Whetstone.

All of them. The banks of the Mississippi were covered. He had hired soldiers under him who harvested their scalps while he slew them. In my life in Flatpuddle Smith’s Biography of Great Men, you will find him given as my great collateral ancestor.

Violet.

Thy family is warlike, but surely thou art a gentle knight.

Whetstone.

Oh, I’m gentle now; but if one of those savage Indians rose up against me, I’d heap this illustrated album of civilization, like a burning coal, upon his head! Do you know, when I was in Europe they offered to make me a reigning prince—if I’d pay for it. There were several vacant thrones, and I was about making a bid, when my gigantic business interests called me back to Cornville, and the throne fell through.

Violet.

When you were in Europe, did you visit Rome?

Whetstone.

Passed through in the night-time, and didn’t stop. No business done there; only a lot of fellows cutting figures in stone, and painting pictures under the old masters.

Violet.

’Tis cruel in thee to jest so. Thy figure shows a gallant knight, and thou dost speak by contraries to make thy showing finer. How doth the moon shine in Europe?

Whetstone.

The same old moon.

Violet.

’Tis very fair.

Whetstone.

Why, there is the so-called fair moon now, sure enough! [Looking at the moon. ] It shines like a new tin pan.

Violet.

The moon shines on thy armor, and thou thyself dost shine like a new tin pan.

Whetstone.

There’s the new moon, the quarter moon, the full moon, and the dark of the moon. The moon is good enough in its place.

Violet.

Why, where is the moon’s place, if not in heaven?

Whetstone.

In the almanac.

Violet.

Why, gallant knights and lovers gather substantial sustenance from moonlight. ’Tis prescribed by Heaven and the poets. And thou revilest the moon? Thou art a traitor to nature. Thy best place were in an almanac, in the dark of the moon, in the sign of Capricorn.

Whetstone.

Off with the mask! [Removes head-piece. ] Behold the real Honorable Mayor Whetstone, Merchant Prince of Cornville, near the capital of Illinois; called Hercules after his real grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the real Indians reeling down the real Mississippi. Do you follow me?

Violet.

Heaven guide me in this whirlwind of contraries!

Whetstone.

Take yours off, too.

Violet.

As I hate disguises, and this moonlight is a gentle vapor, I’ll unmask without more argument.

[She unmasks.

Whetstone.

Beauteous Violet, you are my future wife. Let, oh, let me take a kiss.

Violet.

Our acquaintance is too brief for a jest so durable.

Whetstone.

Come, no one sees us. Just one little kiss. [Enter Scythe, looking at them through his glass.] Professor, get out! Take notes, hunt specimens, and shelve your knowledge; but never let me see you here again. [To Violet ] Did not your uncle tell you?

[Exit Scythe.

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