Enter a Page_.

_Page_. Ladies! I have waited, according to your commands, till Count Helmaar appeared in the ante-chamber--he is there now, along with the ladies Christina and Eleonora.

_1st Dancer_. Now is our time--Count Helmaar shall hear our song to welcome him home.

_2nd Dancer_. None was ever more welcome.

_3rd Dancer_. But stay till I have breath to sing.

SONG.

I.

Welcome, Helmaar, welcome home; In crowds your happy neighbours come, To hail with joy the cheerful morn, That sees their Helmaar's safe return.

II.

No hollow heart, no borrow'd face. Shall ever Helmaar's hall disgrace: Slaves alone on tyrants wait; Friends surround the good and great.

Welcome Helmaar, &c.

_Enter_ ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, _and_ COUNT HELMAAR.

_Helmaar_. Thanks, my friends, for this kind welcome.

_1st Dancer (looking at a black fillet on Helmaar's head_). He has been wounded.

_Christina_. Yes--severely wounded.

_Helmaar_. And had it not been for the fidelity of the soldier who carried me from the field of battle, I should never have seen you more, my friends, nor you, my charming Eleonora. (_A noise of one singing behind the scenes_.)--What disturbance is that without?

_Christina_. Tis only Aleftson, the fool:--in your absence, brother, he has been the cause of great diversion in the castle:--I love to play upon him, it keeps him in tune;--you can't think how much good it does him.

_Helmaar_. And how much good it does you, sister:--from your childhood you had always a lively wit, and loved to exercise it; but do you waste it upon fools?

_Christina_. I'm sometimes inclined to think this Aleftson is more knave than fool.

_Eleon_. By your leave, Lady Christina, he is no knave, or I am much mistaken. To my knowledge, he has carried his whole salary, and all the little presents he has received from us, to his brother's wife and children. I have seen him chuck his money, thus, at those poor children, when they have been at their plays, and then run away, lest their mother should make them give it back.

_Enter_ ALEFTSON, _the fool, in a fool's coat, fool's cap and bells, singing_.

I.

There's the courtier, who watches the nod of the great; Who thinks much of his pension, and nought of the state: When for ribands and t.i.tles his honour he sells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

II.

There's the gamester, who stakes on the turn of a die His house and his acres, the devil knows why: His acres he loses, his forests he sells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

III.

There's the student so crabbed and wonderful wise, With his plus and his minus, his x's and y's: Pale at midnight he pores o'er his magical spells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

IV.

The lover, who's ogling, and rhyming, and sighing, Who's musing, and pining, and whining, and dying: When a thousand of lies ev'ry minute he tells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

V.

There's the lady so fine, with her airs and her graces, With a face like an angel's--if angels have faces: She marries, and Hymen the vision dispels--What's her husband, my friends, but a fool without bells?

_Christina, Eleonora, Helmaar, &c_.--Bravo! bravissimo!--excellent fool!--Encore.

[_The fool folds his arms, and begins to cry bitterly_.]

_Christina_. What now, Aleftson? I never saw you sad before--What's the matter?--Speak.

[_Fool sobs, but gives no answer_.]

_Helm_. Why do you weep so bitterly?

_Aleft_. Because I am a fool.

_Helm_. Many should weep, if that were cause sufficient.

_Eleon_. But, Aleftson, you have all your life, till now, been a merry fool.

_Fool_. Because always, till now, I was a fool, but now I am grown wise: and 'tis difficult, to all but you, lady, to be merry and wise.

_Christina_. A pretty compliment; 'tis a pity it was paid by a fool.

_Fool_. Who else should pay compliments, lady, or who else believe them?

_Christina_. Nay, I thought it was the privilege of a fool to speak the truth without offence.

_Fool_. Fool as you take me to be, I'm not fool enough yet to speak truth to a lady, and think to do it without offence.

_Eleon_. Why, you have said a hundred severe things to _me_ within this week, and have I ever been angry with you?

_Fool_. Never; for, out of the whole hundred, not one was true. But have a care, lady--fool as I am, you'd be glad to stop a fool's mouth with your white hand this instant, rather than let him tell the truth of you.

_Christina_ (_laughing, and all the other ladies, except Eleonora, exclaim_)--Speak on, good fool; speak on--

_Helm_. I am much mistaken, or the lady Eleonora fears not to hear the truth from either wise men or fools--Speak on.

_Fool_. One day, not long ago, when there came news that our count there was killed in Finland--I, being a fool, was lying laughing, and thinking of nothing at all, on the floor, in the west drawing-room, looking at the count's picture--In comes the Lady Eleonora, all in tears.

_Eleon_. (stopping his mouth.) Oh! tell any thing but _that_, good fool.