ORLOFSKY
I sing to the king fermented, tra la la,
Bubbly ornamented, tra la la.
There’s simply no describing
The pleasures of imbibing.
The curse of human dryness
Is banished by his highness:
Champagne the first,
The king by acclimation,
The monarch of libation
In bubbly coronation!
ALL
A toast, a toast, a toast!
ORLOFSKY
Then up with a magnum, let it pass,
Rim to rim, glass to glass,
Hail to his spirit, cheer it on,
And drink till the night is gone!
EISENSTEIN
A monk in a monastery, tra la la,
Sings to the golden berry, tra la la.
It makes the life monastic
No longer feel so drastic.
He finds it more consoling
Than even holy rolling.
Champagne the first, &c.
ADELE
In love the effect is awesome, tra la la,
Up like a budding blossom, tra la la.
It makes the heart grow fonder,
Makes blondes look even blonder,
It turns the cold and stony
To thoughts of matrimony!
Champagne the first, &c.
HANNA
They sing of a Vilya in old peasant tales,
A spirit that haunted the high mountain vales.
A huntsman once found her asleep where she lay,
And magically loved her from that very day!
Opening her pale blue eyes,
Slowly she began to rise;
How he sang underneath the twilight skies!
"Vilya o vilya, oh what have I done?
Why must I love you, my pale ghostly one?
Vilya o vilya, my sun and my sky,
Why must I love you or die?"
The spirit reached out with a pale ghostly hand
And charmed him away to the high mountain land.
Through cold snowbound passes and dark trackless glen,
And no one below ever saw him again.
Even to this very day
You travelers who go astray,
Listen well: you can almost hear him say:
"Vilya o vilya, oh what have I done?
Why must I love you, my pale ghostly one?
Vilya o vilya, my sun and my sky,
Why must I love you or die?"
JOHN STYX
When I was king of the Boeotians,
I had a palace of gold and pearls.
I conquered lands, I conquered oceans,
I just never got round to girls.
When I was king of the Boeotians,
I put it off till way too late.
I had desires, I had emotions,
I just never had a date.
Was I just going through the motions
of being king of the Boeotians?
Were you my Queen of the Boeotians,
down here in Hades we’d be wed.
I’d live out all my carnal notions,
except that this time I’d be dead.
We’d be the sweetest little drama
that Mister Homer ever played.
I’d be your Pop, you’d be my Mama,
and maybe finally I’d get laid.
These are just some of the oddball notions
you get from kings of the Boeotians.
HELEN
My birth was unlike any other...
A detailed sketch need not be drawn.
It sort of happened when my mother
Got into trouble with a swan.
The swan was one of Dad’s disguises,
Employed for, shall we say, surprise,
And I was one of his surprises.
But things like swans
Can have their use:
It gave my mom
A good excuse!
(Gazing into a mirror)
O Fatal Gift, what a farce you can be,
When men resort
To that sort
Of disguise
For their sport.
O Fatal Gift, how annoying you are!
It can be viewed
As quite crude
When you’re not
In the mood.
In Greece, to court a girl, of course, is
A business deal when kids grow big.
The groom is traded for some horses,
The bride is bartered for a pig.
I’ll grant you, yes, they may grow fonder —
A miracle or two would help!
But what if she’s been known to wander?
My man is gone,
The Prince is due,
The show goes on—
What was my cue?
O Fatal Gift, what a tease you can be,
When every guy
Who drops by
Gets that look
In his eye.
O Fatal Gift, what a torment you are!
Should I commence
A defense
For the sake of
Suspense?
BARINKAY
Adventure was my middle name,
The circus was my claim to fame.
In double jig-time I was king,
Performing in the center ring.
I learned to hurdle, skip, and vault,
Trapeze with double somersault,
My battles with the savage lion
Were positively death defyin’.
I rode the hippos single file,
I wrestled with a crocodile,
The monkeys juggled with precision,
The platypus did long division,
From Singapore to Transylvania
I was a high-falutin’ mania! Ah!
Living life on a dare,
On a wing and a prayer,
Anytime, anywhere,
It’s called flair,
It’s called flair!
BARINKAY
I flittered here, I fluttered there,
My bread I buttered everywhere.
Behold there’s nothing up my sleeve!
O unbelievers, now believe!
I learned to prestidigitate
When, at the tender age of eight,
I took the number two position
With Magnus Rex, the great magician!
I hocussed high, I pocussed low,
From Bali-Hai to Kokomo,
I raised the demons from their slumbers,
And picked the winning lotto numbers.
And in a séance most uncanny,
I spoke with Cleopatra’s nanny! Ah!
Living life on a dare, &c.
FIGARO
Way for the wheelingest dealer in town, make way!
La la la!
Powder a wig or empower a crown, I’ll say!
La la la!
Come visit my barbershop,
right round the corner,
my little safe harbor;
I am your barber,
best of the best, best of the best!
I know the city, beginning to end, just me.
Friend of a friend of a friend of a friend! Trust me!
If you want the score, worry no more, knock on my door!
In this incredible town, I am the one getting it done!
Movers and shakers, fantasy makers, dreamers and fakers
all come to my shop.
Big politicians, social ambitions, secret commissions,
straight to the top.
La la la!
Trimming and lathering, gossiping, gathering,
I do it all, but that’s only part.
Stroking your vanity, keeping your sanity
while I assist affairs of the heart.
Budding romances, volatile glances!
Damsel and dandy do crave their candy!
When things get sandy—
tra la la lé ra—
Figaro’s handy,
tra la la la la la!
Full-service hairdresser, part father-confessor,
all willing and eager; master intriguer!
Best of the best, best of the best!
Why am I popular? Why do they smother me?
Sure, I give haircuts, but there’s another me.
Talk to your barber, go ahead, spill it.
"I got a problem! I’m in the skillet!
Who’s gonna find what’s the matter,
who’ll cut through the chatter?
That barber, that guy with the gleam in his eye,
finger in every pie.
He’s the man, he’s the one who can get the job done!
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!
Such grief I’ve got! Relief I have not!
My brain may burst! Mine’s the worst!
No, I asked him first!
No me! No me! Me! Me! Me! Me!"
One at a time, folks! One at a time, folks!
One at a time, folks! Figaro’s here!
"Figaro? Who’s he?
Oh, Figaro!"
That’s me!
Figaro cares! Figaro buzz!
Figaro dares! Figaro does!
Figaro flies! Figaro flops!
Figaro tries! Figaro tops!
Taking a dash of it, making a hash of it,
getting some cash of it, nailing it down!
Talk of the town! Talk of the town! Talk of the town! Talk of the town!
Calling all Figaros! Where is that Figaro?
Look at him, look at him, there is that Figaro!
Ducks in a row and tied up in a bow,
don’t you know Mister Figaro’s done it again!
La la la!
Even impossible rivers are crossable
when you call Figaro! Ten out of ten!
Figaro at your service! Figaro is the one!
Merciful saints preserve us, Figaro’s getting it done!
I am the one! I am the one! I am the one!
CARMEN
A tambourine begins to play,
A rhythm regular and stable,
While over at an empty table,
A gypsy woman starts to sway.
A fellow seated near the bar
Begins to strum on a guitar,
And all at once she's on her feet;
The night is warm, the mood is sweet,
The night is warm and the mood is sweet.
Tra-la-la!
He taps a rhythm with his heel,
She answers with a bit of singing,
Her shoulders start a rhythmic swinging
In a mood that both of them can feel.
The song and dance begin to merge,
The harmonies begin to surge,
Then comes a moment of confusion,
And then a sudden resolution,
And then it grows and grows and grows again!
Tra-la-la!
The music takes a sudden turn,
They drive as fast as they are able,
The dancer leaps upon the table,
The gypsy fire begins to burn.
For in the rhythm of a song
A gypsy heart can do no wrong,
A fiery furnace burning madly,
They release themselves all to gladly,
As they sing and dance the night away!
Tra-la-la!
NEMORINO
You cannot hide your heart from me.
I saw it gleam in your eye;
One little tear told everything,
No matter how much you deny.
No matter how hard you try,
That heart of yours cannot lie.
Tell me you love me, tell me you love me,
And let me die.
Someday two hearts may beat as one,
Singing their sweetest song,
Then for a lifetime hand in hand,
Together and simple and strong.
Goodbye to every tear and every sigh,
And oh my happy heart, how it would fly!
Soaring straight up to the sky,
And in that very moment I’d happily die.
Ah! Soaring straight up, straight up to the sky,
And in that very moment of love, I could die.
TONIO
(Peeks out from the parting of the curtain)
My friends, a word.
Permit me, sweet ladies, good gentlemen,
Just in case you don’t know me,
I am The Prologue!
Because ours is a play in the tradition of classical drama,
The Author has decreed that I should come before you as always,
But with a difference,
For I have not come here to say:
"The sorrow you see is not real: we’re actors.
If our misery seems a little too real,
Don’t let it bother you."
No! No!
The actor is not forever in costume,
The clown not always in makeup.
We who appear on the stage are a lot like you.
Everyone here has had moments of sorrow,
Even he who has written this.
One day as he was writing,
Something inside of him made him remember.
His eyes filled with tears of pain long forgotten,
And in anguish, he wrote what was inside his heart.
Therefore, what you will see are all of the feelings
That all of us live with.
Recalling a moment of blinding hatred,
You will feel the pain we feel.
Cringe at the mocking laughter, the cry of agony.
I ask you for nothing
But to look beyond the bright facade of our profession.
And remember that inside the actor
We are but flesh and blood.
We feast and we hunger,
And we know that under the surface
We all are the same as any one of you.
That’s The Author’s conception.
Now sit right back and see how he’s done it.
(Calling offstage)
Lights up, curtain is rising!&
ISABELLA
Do go on you naughty thing!
Young rapscallion, so Italian.
Give a wife just one last fling.
Act your age, my raging stallion!
Just because, forsooth, I’m married
doesn’t mean I’m dead and buried.
When the birdies sing of spring,
who the hell needs this old thing?
(Slipping off her wedding ring)
Giddyap, oh you thing!
Give a girl a last nasty fling!
PIETRO
Give me one good raunchy tale;
grinning, gloating and worth quoting.
Give this almost married male
one last blast of wild oating.
When they drag me down the aisle,
let them wonder, why that smile?
What’s the rascal dreaming of?
Can’t be marriage, must be love!
Giddyap, you wild thing!
Give a Prince a last nasty fling!
CAVARADOSSI
And the night, filled with starlight,
And the air sweet with summer,
The quiet of the meadow,
The sound of an echoing footstep,
A form among the shadows…
And we met and I held you.
The smile of summer and a touch of starlight,
A thing of beauty.
How easily I reach and feel and know that moment,
Yet could I feel a night would last forever,
Would last forever…
And suddenly it’s over,
And suddenly forever!
The endless dawn so suddenly upon me
Is now forever!