[SCENE.— The same— Moonlight.]

[Two days have elapsed.]

[WOMEN and YEOMEN of the Guard discovered.

No. 13. Night has spread her pall once more
(CHORUS AND SOLO)
People, Yeomen, and Dame Carruthers

CHORUS Night has spread her pall once more,
And the pris'ner still is free:
Open is his dungeon door,
Useless now his dungeon key.
He has shaken off his yoke—
How, no mortal man can tell!
Shame on loutish jailor-folk—
Shame on sleepy sentinel!

[Enter DAME CARRUTHERS and KATE

DAME Warders are ye?
Whom do ye ward?
Warders are ye?
Whom do ye ward?
Bolt, bar, and key,
Shackle and cord,
Fetter and chain,
Dungeon and stone,
All are in vain—
Prisoner's flown!
Spite of ye all, he is free— he is free!
Whom do ye ward? Pretty warders are ye!

WOMEN Pretty warders are ye!
Whom do ye ward?
Spite of ye all, he is free— he is free!
Whom do ye ward?
Pretty warders are ye!

MEN Up and down, and in and out,
Here and there, and round about;
Ev'ry chamber, ev'ry house,
Ev'ry chink that holds a mouse,
Ev'ry crevice in the keep,
Where a beetle black could creep,
Ev'ry outlet, ev'ry drain,
Have we searched, but all in vain, all in vain.

WOMEN Warders are ye?
Whom do ye ward?

MEN Ev'ry house, ev'ry chink, ev'ry drain,

WOMEN Warders are ye?
Whom do ye ward?

MEN Ev'ry chamber, ev'ry outlet,
Have we searched, but all in vain.

WOMEN Night has spread her pall once more,
And the pris'ner still is free:

MEN Warders are we? Whom do we ward?
Whom do we ward?
Warders are we? Whom do we ward?
Whom do we ward?

WOMEN Open is his dungeon door,
Useless his dungeon key!

ALL Spite of us all, he is free, he is free!

MEN Pretty warders are we, he is free!
Spite of us all, he is free, he is free!

WOMEN Open is his dungeon door,

MEN Spite of us all, he is free, he is free!
Pretty warders are we, he is free! He is free!

WOMEN He is free! He is free!
Pretty warders are ye,

ALL He is free! He is free!
Pretty warders are ye/we!

[Exeunt all.

[Enter JACK POINT, in low spirits, reading from a huge
volume

POINT [reads] "The Merrie Jestes of Hugh Ambrose, No.
7863.The Poor Wit and the Rich Councillor. A certayne
poor wit, being an-hungered, did meet a well-fed
councillor.'Marry, fool,' quothe the councillor,
'whither away?' 'In truth,' said the poor wag, 'in
that I have eaten naught these two dayes, I do wither
away, and that right rapidly!' The Councillor laughed
hugely, and gave him a sausage." Humph! the councillor
was easier to please than my new master the
Lieutenant. I would like to take post under that
councillor. Ah! 'tis but melancholy mumming when poor
heart-broken, jilted Jack Point must needs turn to
Hugh Ambrose for original light humour!

[Enter WILFRED, also in low spirits.

WILFRED [sighing] Ah, Master Point!

POINT [changing his manner] Ha! friend jailer! Jailer that
wast— jailer that never shalt be more! Jailer that
jailed not, or that jailed, if jail he did, so
unjailery that 'twas but jerry-jailing, or jailing in
joke— though no joke to him who, by unjailerlike
jailing, did so jeopardise his jailership. Come, take
heart, smile, laugh, wink, twinkle, thou tormentor
that tormentest none— thou racker that rackest not—
thou pincher out of place— come, take heart, and be
merry, as I am!— [aside, dolefully]— as I am!

WILFRED Aye, it's well for thee to laugh. Thou hast a good
post, and hast cause to be merry.

POINT [bitterly] Cause? Have we not all cause? Is not the
world a big butt of humour, into which all who will
may drive a gimlet? See, I am a salaried wit; and is
there aught in nature more ridiculous? A poor, dull,
heart-broken man, who must needs be merry, or he will
be whipped; who must rejoice, lest he starve; who must
jest you, jibe you, quip you, crank you, wrack you,
riddle you, from hour to hour, from day to day, from
year to year, lest he dwindle, perish, starve,
pine,and die! Why, when there's naught else to laugh
at, I laugh at myself till I ache for it!

WILFRED Yet I have often thought that a jester's calling would
suit me to a hair.

POINT Thee? Would suit thee, thou death's head and cross-
bones?

WILFRED Aye, I have a pretty wit— a light, airy, joysome wit,
spiced with anecdotes of prison cells and the torture
chamber. Oh, a very delicate wit! I have tried it on
many a prisoner, and there have been some who smiled.
Now it is not easy to make a prisoner smile. And it
should not be difficult to be a good jester, seeing
that thou are one.

POINT Difficult? Nothing easier. Nothing easier. Attend, and
I will prove it to thee!

No. 14. Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon
(SONG)
Point

POINT Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,
If you listen to popular rumour;
From morning to night he's so joyous and bright,
And he bubbles with wit and good humour!
He's so quaint and so terse,
Both in prose and in verse;
Yet though people forgive his transgression,
There are one or two rules that all family fools
Must observe, if they love their profession.
There are one or two rules,
Half-a-dozen, maybe,
That all family fools,
Of whatever degree,
Must observe if they love their profession.

If you wish to succeed as a jester, you'll need
To consider each person's auricular:
What is all right for B would quite scandalize C
(For C is so very particular);
And D may be dull, and E's very thick skull
Is as empty of brains as a ladle;
While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp,
That he's known your best joke from his cradle!
When your humour they flout,
You can't let yourself go;
And it does put you out
When a person says, "Oh!
I have known that old joke from my cradle!"

If your master is surly, from getting up early
(And tempers are short in the morning),
An inopportune joke is enough to provoke
Him to give you, at once, a month's warning.
Then if you refrain, he is at you again,
For he likes to get value for money:
He'll ask then and there, with an insolent stare,
"If you know that you're paid to be funny?"
It adds to the tasks
Of a merryman's place,
When your principal asks,
With a scowl on his face,
If you know that you're paid to be funny?

Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D.—
Oh, beware of his anger provoking!
Better not pull his hair—
Don't stick pins in his chair;
He won't understand practical joking.
If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack,
You may get a bland smile from these sages;
But should it, by chance, be imported from France,
Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages!
It's a general rule,
Tho' your zeal it may quench,
If the Family Fool
Makes a joke that's too French,
Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages!

Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack,
And your senses with toothache you're losing,
And you're mopy and flat—
they don't fine you for that
If you're properly quaint and amusing!
Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day,
And took with her your trifle of money;
Bless your heart, they don't mind—
they're exceedingly kind—
They don't blame you—as long as you're funny!
It's a comfort to feel
If your partner should flit,
Though you suffer a deal,
They don't mind it a bit—
They don't blame you—so long as you're funny!

POINT And so thou wouldst be a jester eh?

WILFRED Aye!

POINT Now, listen! My sweetheart, Elsie Maynard, was
secretly wed to this Fairfax half an hour ere he
escaped.

WILFRED She did well.

POINT She did nothing of the kind, so hold thy peace and
perpend. Now, while he liveth she is dead to me and I
to her, and so, my jibes and jokes notwithstanding, I
am the saddest and the sorriest dog in England!

WILFRED Thou art a very dull dog indeed.

POINT Now, if thou wilt