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Songs, chorusses, &c. in The campaign; or, love in the East-Indies. A comic opera. As performed at the Theatre-Royal, in Covent-Garden. Written by Captain Jephson:

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Title
Songs, chorusses, &c. in The campaign; or, love in the East-Indies. A comic opera. As performed at the Theatre-Royal, in Covent-Garden. Written by Captain Jephson:
Author
Jephson, Robert, 1736-1803.
Publication
London :: printed for T. Cadell,
1785.
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"Songs, chorusses, &c. in The campaign; or, love in the East-Indies. A comic opera. As performed at the Theatre-Royal, in Covent-Garden. Written by Captain Jephson:." In the digital collection Eighteenth Century Collections Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/004799006.0001.000. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 5, 2024.

Pages

Page 8

ACT II.

SONG.—
Saib.
A Breast cold to love, is no where to be found, The grave and the gay all alike feel the wound; In vain the sweet poison we'd shun, or we'd hide, It ebbs and it flows in the heart like a tide. Oh love, sooth my heart.
II.
Doubt and fear are the guards that still wait upon love, In absence what pains two fond bosoms must prove! But the moment the cloud is remov'd from the sight, It's a whole year of sunshine, for one single night. Oh love, sooth my heart.
II.
The sun o'er our heads, that in glory now shines, Ripes the di'mond and gold, in rich India's sweet mines; But a gem lights the bosom of her I adore, Which will sparkle when di'monds and gold are no more. Oh love, sooth my heart.

Page 9

SONG.—
Howitzer.
WOMEN's tongues in motion, Are restless as the ocean; For when their clack Begins to crack, No mortal can the blow shun.
II.
Female truth's a fable, The widow in her fable Ne'er sighs in bed, For husbands dead, But those alive and able.
III.
Woman's heart's a riddle, With men they toil and fiddle; Then here they skip, And there they trip Like geese upon a griddle.
IV.
Maids when with lads they spark it, Wou'd still the golden mark hit: The fairest toast Asks, who bids most, Like cattle brought to market.

Page 10

DUETT.—Susan and Gregory.
Greg.
SUSAN, will you love me?
Sus.
No, no, no. Surely you have impudence, all impu|pudence exceeding.
Greg.
You must kiss me, Susan,
Sus.
No, no, no. Marry set you up, Sir, I prithee let me go, Think not that one of my breeding Ever will descend so low.
Greg.
Stay my dear, you must not go, Come this anger's all pretending; Sure I know you, love me.
Sus.
No, no, no. You'll see Mr. Simpleton what it will end in.
Greg.
Let us kiss and friends then.
Sus.
No, no, no, Never, never, Lord how can you teaze a body so?
SONG.—
Susan.
Wherefore languish, Pale with anguish? Tho' she swears she'll ne'er be kind, Don't believe her, Maids are ever Gently forc'd to change their mind.

Page 11

II.
Then take courage, Mind not her rage, Tho' she frowning answer no! If she's tender, She'll surrender, If she's tough, e'en let her go.
SONG, (Drill) and CHORUS.
COME hither, all ye lads, Who lead unhappy lives, Whom bailiffs hunt, or duns molest, Or scolding wives. To the standard all advancing, Drink in plenty, singing dancing; The drum calls away, My lads no longer stay. To the standard &c.
II
All ye to cruel masters Bound in servile chains, Who make you work Like Jew or Turk, And starve you for your pains. To the standard, &c.

Page 12

SONG.—
Rifle.
MERRILY rolls the soldiers life; Come, my brave boys, all fill your glasses; Joy succeeds to toil and strife, Fill to the brim a health to our lasses. While jovial thus we laugh and sing, The circling hours new pleasures bring: Merrily, merrily, frolic and play, And sport the cares of life away.
Laughs.
SONG.—
Gregory.
THO' to eating and sleeping a stranger, He gives me no thanks but a blow or a kick, Ty'd up like a dog in a manger; But my collar I've slipt and I'll play him a trick: His house but a cage is, His beggarly wages, Sour crout and sausages, I pitch to old Nick.

Page 13

II.
Tho' I work like a mule or a neger, Till my heart like my coat to tatters is rent; My visage pale, hollow and meagre, My stomach and guts still doom'd to keep lent: Tho' toiling and drudging, Yet sour and in dudgeon, The cross old curmudgeon Is never content.
SONG.—
Susan.
THO' now you saucy and proud are, You sot, too late you'll find, When food for ball and powder, You've left your brains behind. You fool, when hunger pinches, You'll rot and die by inches, Glad for a morsel to beg, Tho' now you saucy and proud are, Propp'd on a wooden leg!

Page 14

SONG.—
Gregory.
ZOUNDS! do not lay so hard on! Pox take you all; unhand me, oh! Good sir, I ask your pardon, I'll do as you command me, oh! Hold, hold, sir, Behold, sir, My sides all black and blue are grown; Your ferkins, And jerkins, Would wear me soon to skin and bone. You've beat me to a jelly, My heart with those disasters Is sunk into my belly. Hold, hold, &c.

Page 15

SONG.—
Maria.
'TWAS not his shape or air, So smart and debonair, That stole my heart away; Wit, or speaking eyes, Vows, or melting sighs, 'Twas something, I knew not what; 'Twas neither this or that; Something I cannot say.
SONG.—
Farquar.
OH, chide not, my charmer, nor think me a rover, A Soldier, of course, is a general lover; With a row dow, stand clear all, Ye beauties, both high and low; Oh, in love still I must fall, Sweet creatures, where'er I go.

Page 16

II.
One day I bow down to the toasts of the city, And next am in love with a bar-maid, if ptetty. With a row dow, &c
III.
Those eyes, and those lips like two ripe budding roses, To temptation still my heart it exposes. With a row dow, &c.
IV.
I meet beauties like you, and my fancy they bother, And make me adore your sweet self in another. With a row dow, &c.
SONG.—
Saib.
FROM tree to tree, from flow'r to flow'r, The inconstant Zephyr strays; Not e'en the sweetest rose has pow'r To fix his wand'ring breeze.

Page 17

II.
The faithful stream that round yon hill Its winding current leads, In Its first channel murmurs still, Nor roves to distant meads.
III.
Ah, heedless youth, behold in these The emblems of our flame; Thine, rover, is the wand'ring breeze, And mine the faithful stream.
DUETT.—
Lucy and Saib.
IF you would know what pain it is to part, Ask, ask, this bleeding heart, That almost breaks when I must leave thee! To you I'll still prove true till death, And then I'll spend my latest breath In sighs, my love, that I must leave thee.
END OF ACT SECOND.
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