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Scaphio:  We can't wait--we must concoct one at once, and put it into
          execution without delay.  There is not a moment to spare!

                 TRIO -- Scaphio, Phantis, and Tarara.


               With wily brain upon the spot
                    A private plot we'll plan,
               The most ingenious private plot
                    Since private plots began.
               That's understood. So far we've got
               And, striking while the iron's hot,
               We'll now determine like a shot
               The details of this private plot.

Sca.:          I think we ought--(whispers)
Phan. and Tar.:     Such bosh I never heard!
Phan.:         Ah! happy thought!--(whispers)
Sca. and Tar.:      How utterly dashed absurd!
Tar.:          I'll tell you how--(whispers)
Sca and Phan.:      Why, what put that in your head?
Sca.:          I've got it now--(whispers)
Phan. and Tar.:     Oh, take him away to bed!
Phan.:         Oh, put him to bed!
Tar.:          Oh, put him to bed!
Sca.:               What, put me to bed?
Phan. and Tar.:     Yes, certainly put him to bed!
Sca.:          But, bless me, don't you see--
Phan.:              Do listen to me, I pray--
Tar.:          It certainly seems to me--
Sca.:               Bah--this is the only way!
Phan.:         It's rubbish absurd you growl!
Tar.:          You talk ridiculous stuff!
Sca.:          You're a drivelling barndoor owl!
Phan.:              You're a vapid and vain old muff!

                (All, coming down to audience.)

          So far we haven't quite solved the plot--
          They're not a very ingenious lot--
               But don't be unhappy,
               It's still on the tapis,
          We'll presently hit on a capital plot!

Sca.:     Suppose we all--(whispers)
Phan.:         Now there I think you're right.
          Then we might all--(whispers)
Tar.:          That's true, we certainly might.
          I'll tell you what--(whispers)
Sca.:          We will if we possibly can.
          Then on the spot-- (whispers)
Phan. and Tar.:     Bravo!  A capital plan!
Sca.:     That's exceedingly neat and new!
Phan.:    Exceedingly new and neat.
Tar.:     I fancy that that will do.
Sca.:          It's certainly very complete.
Phan.:    Well done you sly old sap!
Tar.:          Bravo, you cunning old mole!
Sca.:     You very ingenious chap!
Phan.:         You intellectual soul!

          (All, coming down and addressing audience.)

          At last a capital plan we've got
          We won't say how and we won't say what:
               It's safe in my noddle--
               Now off we will toddle,
          And slyly develop this capital plot!

(Business.  Exeunt Scaphio and Phantis in one direction, and Tarara in
the other.)

           (Enter Lord Dramaleigh and Mr. Goldbury.)

Lord D.:  Well, what do you think of our first South Pacific
          Drawing-Room?  Allowing for a slight difficulty with the
          trains, and a little want of familiarity with the use of the
          rouge-pot, it was, on the whole, a meritorious affair?

Gold.:    My dear Dramaleigh, it redounds infinitely to your credit.

Lord D.:  One or two judicious innovations, I think?

Gold.:    Admirable.  The cup of tea and the plate of mixed biscuits
          were a cheap and effective inspiration.

Lord D.:  Yes--my idea entirely.  Never been done before.

Gold.:    Pretty little maids, the King's youngest daughters, but

Lord D.:  That'll wear off.  Young.

Gold.:    That'll wear off.  Ha! here they come, by George!  And with-
          out the Dragon!  What can they have done with her?

               (Enter Nekaya and Kalyba timidly.)

Nekaya:   Oh, if you please, Lady Sophy has sent us in here, because
          Zara and Captain Fitzbattleaxe are going on, in the garden,
          in a manner which no well-conducted young ladies ought to

Lord D.:  Indeed, we are very much obliged to her Ladyship.

Kalyba:   Are you?  I wonder why.

Nekaya:   Don't tell us if it's rude.

Lord D.:  Rude?  Not at all.  We are obliged to Lady Sophy because she
          has afforded us the pleasure of seeing you.

Nekaya:   I don't think you ought to talk to us like that.

Kalyba:   It's calculated to turn our heads.

Nekaya:   Attractive girls cannot be too particular.

Kalyba:   Oh pray, pray do not take advantage of our unprotected inno-

Gold.:    Pray be reassured--you are in no danger whatever.

Lord D.:  But may I ask--is this extreme delicacy--this shrinking
          sensitiveness--a general characteristic of Utopian young

Nekaya:   Oh no; we are crack specimens.

Kalyba:   We are the pick of the basket.  Would you mind not coming
          quite so near?  Thank you.

Nekaya:   And please don't look at us like that; it unsettles us.

Kalyba:   And we don't like it.  At least, we do like it; but it's

Nekaya:   We have enjoyed the inestimable privilege of being educated
          by a most refined and easily shocked English lady, on the
          very strictest English principles.

Gold.:    But, my dear young ladies---

Kalyba:   Oh, don't!  You mustn't.  It's too affectionate.

Nekaya:   It really does unsettle us.

Gold.:    Are you really under the impression that English girls are
          so ridiculously demure?  Why, an English girl of the highest
          type is the best, the most beautiful, the bravest, and the
          brightest creature that Heaven has conferred upon this world
          of ours.  She is frank, open-hearted, and fearless, and
          never shows in so favorable a light as when she gives her
          own blameless impulses full play!

Nekaya    Oh, you shocking story!

Gold.:    Not at all.  I'm speaking the strict truth.  I'll tell you
          all about her.

                         SONG -- Mr. Goldbury.

          A wonderful joy our eyes to bless,
          In her magnificent comeliness,
          Is an English girl of eleven stone two,
          And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!
               She follows the hounds, and on the pounds--
                    The "field" tails off and the muffs diminish--

          Over the hedges and brooks she bounds,
               Straight as a crow, from find to finish.
          At cricket, her kin will lose or win--
               She and her maids, on grass and clover,
          Eleven maids out--eleven maids in--
               And perhaps an occasional "maiden over!"

               Go search the world and search the sea,
               Then come you home and sing with me
               There's no such gold and no such pearl
               As a bright and beautiful English girl!

          With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs,
          She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims--
          She plays, she sings, she dances, too,
          From ten or eleven til all is blue!
               At ball or drum, til small hours come
                    (Chaperon's fans concealing her yawning)
               She'll waltz away like a teetotum.
                    And never go home til daylight's dawning.
               Lawn-tennis may share her favours fair--
                    Her eyes a-dance, and her cheeks a-glowing--
               Down comes her hair, but then what does she care?
                    It's all her own and it's worth the showing!
                         Go search the world, etc.

          Her soul is sweet as the ocean air,
          For prudery knows no haven there;
          To find mock-modesty, please apply
          To the conscious blush and the downcast eye.
               Rich in the things contentment brings,
                    In every pure enjoyment wealthy,
               Blithe and beautiful bird she sings,
                    For body and mind are hale and healthy.
               Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill--
                    Her heart is light as a floating feather--
               As pure and bright as the mountain rill
                    That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather!
                         Go search the world, etc.