Father Christmas.
St. George.
Valiant Soldier.
Turkish Knight.
Doctor.
The Saracen.
Enter Father Christmas. He walks around swinging his club and clearing the room.
Father Christmas.
Here come I, old Father Christmas
Welcome or welcome not,
I hope old Father Christmas
Will never be forgot:-
Although its Farther Christmas
I've a short time to stay,
But I've come to show you pleasure
Before I pass away.
Make room, make room,
My gallants, room,
And give us space to rhyme;
We've come to show Saint George's play
Upon this Christmas time
And if you don't believe my words,
I straight call out, walk in,
Walk in oh valiant soldier
And boldly now begin.
Enter the Valiant Soldier.
Valiant Soldier.
Here come I, the Valiant Soldier
Slasher is my name,
With sword and buckler by my side
I hope to win the game.
One of my brethren I've seen wounded,
Another I've seen slain,
So I wish to fight with any foe
Upon this British plain.
Yes, with my sword and with my spear
To 'fend the right, I'll battle here!
Enter the Turkish Knight.
Turkish Knight.
Here come I the Turkish Knight,
Come from Turkish lands to fight;
I'll fight St.George and all his crew
Aye, countryfolk and warriors too.
Who is this man with courage bold?
If his bloods hot, I'll make it cold.
Valiant Soldier.
If thou art called the Turkish Knight
Draw out your sword and let us fight
I am the friend of good St.George,
I've fought men o'er and o'er,
And for the sake of good St.George
I'd fight a hundred more.
They fight. The Valiant Soldier falls.
Valiant Soldier.
To slay this false knight did I try-
'Tis for this right I have to die.
Turkish Knight.
If St.George but met me here
I'll try his mettle without fear!
Enter Saint George.
St. George.
Her come I, Saint George, the valiant man
With glittering sword and spear in hand,
Who fought the dragon boldly,
And brought him to the slaughter,
By which I won fair Sabra,
The King of Egypt's daughter.
So haste away, make no delay,
For I can give him lusty thumps
And, like a true born Englishman,
Fight on my legs or on my stumps!
What mortal man would dare to stand
Before me with my sword in hand?
Turkish Knight.
Make not so bold St.George I pray;
Though thou'rt all this, thou'rt one I'll slay!
St. George.
My blood is hot as any fire
So I must say thee Nay,
For with my trusty sword and spear
I'll take thy life away!
Turkish Knight.
Then thou and I will battle try.
St. George.
And if I conquer thou shalt die!
So give me leave, I'll give thee battle
And quickly make thy bones to rattle!
They fight. The Turkish Knight is wounded and falls to one knee.
Turkish Knight.
Can there a doctor come to me
From anywhere in this country?
Father Christmas.
Is there a doctor to be found
To cure this man of his deadly wound!
For whatsoever wrath you feel
Towards your foeman, we must heal.
Enter a Doctor, a bottle strapped under his arm.
Doctor.
Yes, there's a doctor to be found
To cure this man of his deadly wound.
With this small bottle that you see
I cure all evils there can be.
The phthisic, the palsy and the gout,
If the devil's in I'll blow him out.
Father Christmas.
Doctor then, oh what's thy fee
For doing this grate mercy?
Doctor.
Fifty pounds is my fee
But ten pounds less I'll take from thee.
Father Christmas.
What dost say, eh? half a crown?
Doctor.
No, I tell thee forty poun'-
A small sum that to save a man,
And you've the money in your han'.
Father Christmas.
Try thy skill, it must be so,
Whe'r I pay thy fee or no.
Small money have I, but do thy best
And trust the victors for the rest.
The Doctor restores the Turkish Knight by giving him a draft from the bottle he carries. Exit the Doctor. The fight resumes but the Turkish Knight sinks by degrees and is at last killed by Saint George.
St. George.
The first one, Father, now is dead:
Call in the second, that champion who I dread.
Father Christmas looks about but nobody appears.
Pause.
St. George.
Where is The Saracen? He doth so long delay,
That hero of renown, I long to show him play!
Enter The Saracen with a loud strut.
The Saracen.
The Saracen behold in me:
I am the man who'll conquer thee!
My head is cased in Iron, my body in steel;
I'll fight with thee St.George, and make thee feel!
He looks at the dead bodies.
The Saracen.
O see what blood Saint George has spilled in fight
I'll vanquish him before I sleep this night.
St. George.
Since then 'tis not against thy will,
Nor yet against thy might,
If thou canst battle with saint George
Draw out thy sword and smite.
They fight. The Saracen falls wounded.
St. George.
Tremble, thou tyrant, for thy sin that's past,
My conquering arm shall send thy fire and fume
By one more stroke to thy eternal doom;
Aye, I, despite the steel thou boasted so,
Dispatch thee now to where the wicked go.
The Saracen.
O pardon me, Saint George, thy pardon now I crave,
O pardon me this night, and I will be thy slave!
St. George.
I never will pardon thee, thou Saracen,
But rise, and draw, and we will fight again.
The Saracen rises. They fight and the Saracen is killed, his head cut off.
Father Christmas.
To greet our ears, O what wild moans
Throughout this fight, and what deep groans!
Is there a Doctor to be found.
That can raise dead men from the ground,
So as to have them for to stand
and walk again upon this land?
I've heard of a mill that grinds old people young,
But not of a leach to give these dead me tongue!
St. George.
Yes, that same Doctor can be found
To raise these dead men from the ground,
So as to have them for to stand
And walk again upon the land.
Father Christmas.
Then, Doctor, Doctor, prithee come,
And raise these men now dead and dumb,
Saint George, thyself hadst better call him here
To save these corpses from the dreadful bier.
St. George.
I warrant he'll answer my call
Calling
Doctor, haste here and cure them all.
Enter the Doctor slowly.
Father Christmas.
Ha, Doctor, is it in thy skill
To cure dead men if he be ill?
Doctor.
Being a Doctor of great fame
Who from ancient countries came,
And knowing Asia, Afric-ay
And every mystery out that way,
I've learned to do the best of cures
For all the human frame endures.
I can restore a leg or arm
From mortification or from harm,
I can repair sword-split pate
A leg cut of, if not to late.
Father Christmas.
But Doctor.......
Doctor.
Yes, more, this little bottle of alicumpane
Will raise dead men to walk the earth again!
Father Christmas.
That is, forsooth, a strange refrain!
Try thy skill on these men slain!
Doctor.
A hundred guineas is my fee
And nothing less I'll take of thee.
Father Christmas starts astonished.
St. George.
Such money I will freely give
If that thou mak'st these men to live.
Doctor.
I put a drop to each soldier's heart,
Rise - champions - and - all - play - your - part!
The doctor places the bottle to each heart and lip if the fallen. They slowly rise as Father Christmas, Saint George and the Doctor sing a slow chant. When risen, all but Father Christmas exit walking round, singing.
Father Christmas.
You needs will have confessed
That our calling is the best.
But now we wont delay,lest tediousness befall,
And I wish you merry christmas, and gods bless you all.
Father Christmas Exits.
I do not know where I acquired this play from. Any suggestions welcome.
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