John (smacking his lips). Say, gentle Lupus, where didst find them both?
Wolf. Listen! I’ll tell you while you lay the cloth.
(Sings).
I’m a wolf, I’m a wolf, in this big lonely wood,
And I live in a hole in a tree,
And I daily prowl forth in my free, hungry mood
To look for my dinner and tea.
I never object to the wing of a man,
Or a tender young lamb gives me joy;
But what I like best is a slice off the breast,
Or the leg, or the arm, of a boy.
To-day I’m in luck, as you plainly may see
By the morsels that kick in my maw;
Fetch a knife, fork, and spoon, John, for you and for me.
Dinner’s ready! Young boys taste best raw.
Rom.
Oh, impious monster, hold thy howling jaw!
And you, John, to your flocks return once more.
Forbear to talk of eating me and Remus,
You ugly, wicked, ill-conditioned schemers.
1. Here I should remark that to be strictly accurate my tragedy should be called a tragic opera. It abounds in songs calculated to stir familiar chords in the breasts of a popular and juvenile audience.
2. It may here be objected that my heroes are at this time only a few weeks old. But instances of precocious children (especially in tragic drama) are not unheard of; and after careful inquiry the author is not satisfied that in the present case the young persons in question did not speak fluently. Allowance must, of course, be made for youthful inexperience in the matter of rhymes.
Remus.
D’you hear, you cads? Shut up, and let us be.
You shall not dine off Romulus and me!
John (in alarm).
Upon my word! What if the boys are right?
Friend Lupus, thanks—I’d rather not to-night.
Wolf (scornfully).
What? Do you funk it? Well, I call that rough.
John.
Fact is, I can’t help thinking they’d taste tough.
Rom. and Rem. (excitedly).
We would! we would! we’re awful tough to eat;
We’re only skin and bone and gristle; and no meat.
(They sing).
Two little kids from nurse are we,
Skinny as two kids can be;
Never a bite since yesterday,
Two little kids from nurse.
Dropped we were by our cruel ma
(With full consent of our awful pa)
Into the stream of the river Tiber -
Two little kids from nurse.
We were nearly drowned, when the stream stood still
And left us dry (and hungry) till
This old she-wolf came to take her fill
Of two little kids from nurse.
You let us be, or we’ll tell our ma,
And she’ll inform our awful pa;
If he comes round, you’ll catch a Tartar—
Two little kids from nurse.
Wolf (turning pale).
Your words alarm me! Gentle lads, behold,
I’ll be your nurse until you’re two years old.
Then if you have not found your pa or ma,
I will adopt you. What say you?
Rom. and Rem..
Hurrah!
John.
So now that’s settled, let’s chant one more strain,
And after that I’ll to my home again.
Song.
Rom..
Who ran to gulp me where I lay,
And took me in her mouth away,
And talked of eating me to-day?
The she-wolf.
Rem..
Who scrunched my arm and clawed my side,
And would not heed me when I cried,
But whispered, “Won’t he taste prime fried?”
The she-wolf.
John.
Who wouldn’t spare two pretty boys,
Until they kicked and made a noise?
Who ever thus her time employs?
The she-wolf.
Wolf.
Who’s not as bad as people say?
Who’s going to nurse you night and day,
And wash your face and help you play?
The she-wolf?
(Exeunt dancing.)
Scene II.
The Same. Six Years Later.