The Libertine
John I am thirty three. . . years old. I am dying. I have tried to speak the truth. But I have been betrayed. Elizabeth. . . speak to me of abduction.
Elizabeth I was eighteen. And worth two and a half thousand a year. You ambushed me, bundled me into your coach and rattled me away. The King thrust. . .
Singer If underneath death’s cold wing His restless soul should fly. . .
Lizzie He charmed the tenderest virgins with delight. And with his style did fiercest blockheads fright.
Singer Beyond the grasp of fools T’would meet with the bliss they deny So stand for him Knell for him As he lies low in kneaded clay Pray for him who prayed too late That he might shine on Judgement Day. . .
John So, there he lies at the last. The deathbed convert. The pious debauchee. Could not dance half a measure, could I? Give me wine, I’d drain the dregs and toss the empty bottle at the world. Show me our Lord Jesus in agony, and I mount the cross and steal his nails for my own palms. There I go, shuffling from the world, my dribble fresh upon a Bible. I look upon a pinhead. . . and I see angels dancing. Well? Do you like me now? Do you like me now? Do you like me now? Do you like me. . . now?
Singer Christe Eleison. O Domine Deus. Dona nobis pacem. O Domine Deus. Dona nobis pacem. O Domine Deus. Dona nobis pacem. O Domine Deus. Dona nobis pacem.
