HAYDN
THE APOTHECARY
(cast of four, SSTT)
Amazing, the things that old Sempronio, the apothecary, can dig up in the newspapers:
Turn to any page you choose;
Find the most amazing news.
The arena of Verona
And the tower of Cremona
Which could claim the greater fame.
One could boast of elevation;
’Tother’s pride was in dilation.
Testimony thus compared,
Tempers flared,
War was declared.
So the Roman Colleseum
Told the Vatican Museum,
You and I must referee ’em
Like a game.
Mengone, his apprentice, sometimes takes over the shop.
Customer beware!
Are you afflicted with disease?
My bottles hold all remedies.
Each dread derangement they undo
And change ’em to something new.
Attention! And look at me
If you would learn my recipe.
Cum acqua quantum sufficit,
Quicksilver stir with spider spit,
Add juice of jute, put that in
A bottle beetles shat in
Translated into Latin.
You victims of the belly ache
Need only nighthawk nipples take
With tip of tongued snake . . .
Cum acqua quantum sufficit,
To quinine add a tortoise tit.
There’ll be no further question
Of acid indigestion.
Cum acqua quantum sufficit,
Or possibly the opposite,
We find a simple cure in
A drop of dragon urine.
’Tis said some sooner would endure
Sixteen diseases than the cure.
They little know the lift
When merely whiffed.
And if you’re pleased with none of these,
Come back and claim your old disease,
Or trade it for a new.
For pains and pangs abdominal
It’s time for a quick review:
A swallow of this scintillating brew,
Ooh, ooh, ooh,
ooh!
Then get set prestissimo,
Oh, oh, oh,
oh!
And hurry, hurry, hurry,
Oh, you’ve got
To hurry like a shot.
Go, go, go,
go.
Mengone and Grilletta,
Sempronio’s dazzlingly beautiful ward,
have to carry on their forbidden romance under the stern, watchful eye of the apothecary:
MENGONE:
Count the dust specks dancing color-bright;
Add the stars out on a summer night.
That’s the number,
Grilletta, my delight,
Of the fears that tear my heart.
GRILLETTA:
Count the grass blades,
tender, green and small;
Add the leaves in swirling baccanal.
That’s the number, Mengon, my adorable,
Of the hopes that stir my heart.
SEMPRONIO:
Cut the Andes from the Pyrenees;
Drive the Mongols from the Moguls.
Offer Poland to the Portuguese;
Chart a course to the Hesperides;
Let the Persian Pasha wait
To abdicate . . .
I was born a man of mission,
International politician.
To fill a crucial gap
I’ll go consult a map.
(to
Grilletta)
Keep sorting.
(to
Mengone)
Keep sifting.
Take care and do not slack,
For I shall hurry back. (He goes out.)
GRILLETTA:
Sempronio’s left us together,
Alone together!
MENGONE:
BOTH:
Alone so briefly, I’m
Impatient for the time
Our love will be no crime . . .
Volpino, a soprano,
another suitor for the hand of Grilletta, takes on the tutor with a story that comes close to home:
A tattered old tutor attempted,
I’m told,
To hoard a young girl like a nugget of gold.
’Tis said that a suitor then taunted the tutor
To let her go free, to let her
go free.
“Oh, mis’rable miser, now prove
that you prize her
And give her to me, and give her to me.
“Oh, mis’rable miser, I would
you were wiser
And astuter,” said the suitor
to the tutor.
“Oh, let her go free
And give her to me.”
The antic pedantic’s undaunted by age.
(His ward was a hummingbird locked in a cage.)
The frantic romantic compelled the pedantic
To let her go free, to let her
go free.
“Take warning, oh warder, my word is an order,
So give me the key, so give me
the key.”
His phrases emphatic unnerved the fanatic:
“You’re the warder, but an
order is an order!
Oh let her go free
To fly home with me.”
An old man, a soprano and a tenor each competing for the hand of the heroine, which will prevail?