by Nigel Dennis
COUNT (eating): Yea, right as the passing ding-dong, and fit for a corpse in his shroud.
CAPT: If ye have breath to converse, lesson the twenty-sixth is soon ready at hand.
DUKE: Nay, nay, sweet instructor, we are silent as clay pipes.
CAPT: Must still learn the way with underlings. Unrobe that dais, mount me upon it.
Attendants uncover throne, assist Captain to mount it.
DUKE: What, y’are on my throne, dog?
CAPT: To instruct a play rightly, the forms must be mimicked. I am pretending judge; ye are three varlets must defend thyselves with thy wits. Now I ask pompous: Sirrahs, it is evidented that you did mischievously purloin ten livres from the groom o’ the duke’s chamber when ’a was fuddled and unstrung. Do I say right, Master Groom?
1ST ATTEN: Ay, Lord Justice, but I was only unstrung; not fuddled, musing on philosophic themes.
CAPT: Thy philosophy snored and had bad breath. Well, accused, didst ravish this stinking philosopher?
DUKE: Nay, good my lord, I but stood there to guard the sleeper from prowling thieves.
PRINCE: And I was not so much as present at all, Lord; but with Tib and Arthur in another town.
COUNT: For me, I never did see these two men before now, nor do I know any groom.
DUKE: My lord, he decoys like a false mushroom, and is an atheist come straight from the galleys.
PRINCE: My lord, these are both young foragers who love a purse; but I am old in purity as I am babe in innocence.
CAPT: Thieves’ separate quarrels, mind you well, pupils, indicate conjunctive guilt. Now I order: Mr Serjeant, seize and search these villains! (Attendants search Duke, Prince, and Count.) What findings, sir?
1ST ATTEN: On villain Count, a wretchedly scrabbled sonnet to ’s mistress.
CAPT: Read it forth
1ST ATTEN: Under suppression of thine eye’s black darts,
Encircled total by thy lips’ red rounds,
I lose possession of my wandering parts
And lifeless drop as Acteon ’fore his hounds.
What, what! cry I, does blood not then resume
When ’tis abducted by the siren’s call?
And can I not at all on life presume,
Until Hermione withhold my fall?
How then may I …
DUKE: Dog, not in play, but truth! Hast flapped cow’s eyes at my mistress?
COUNT: Let’s stop the play, or further harm be done.
CAPT: Play’s must be played out, little ones, or what’s a teacher for? A drivelling sonnet’s bad evidence; bad, bad, but not to present point. Search the next caitiff. (Attendants search the Duke, find the ducal seal, keys, and gold, which they hand to the Captain.) Oh, shocking, shocking, here’s the theft itself; ten livres, precious keys, and the ducal warrant! Take them below, dungeon them, Mr Serjeant.
DUKE: Sirrah, what lesson’s this? I would now I had swung you!
CAPT: Peace, peace, my lord, ’tis but a pretending end to a pretended day, an interlude serving to teach thee how to sleep on cold stone. Thou’lt laugh and be proud tomorrow, chockfull of hard wisdom.
DUKE: Methinks I have engorged enough. What say you, Antioch?
PRINCE: That peaceably we should go below, and become sage as frogs from observation of damp quarters. ’Twill stand us in good stead if ever we are downset in earnest.
DUKE: It’s foul and horrid, but I must not wail. Tedium has left my life.
CAPT: Tomorrow, when the laughing turnkey comes
And bends the intércedent lock ’twixt you and day,
The gentle world will seem so sweet and dear
That thou wilt praise provision of contrast.
And I shall be again a sailor low,
And thou shalt be again a thund’ring duke
And all the world refitted as it was.
What’s more delectable than old identity?
PRINCE: Come, brothers, sweet dreams wait below.
DUKE: Sweet as rats’ eyes, doubtless; but I’ll go.
COUNT: So down with wisdom, folly’s on the throne.
Exeunt Prince, Count, and Duke, guarded.
III.1
Scene: The ducal Chamber. Enter Captain and First Attendant.
1ST ATT: Captain, the milkmaids have put up their buckets, the kine is browsing these many hours and we approach a noon sun.
CAPT: Icar showed that to stop the sun were a fool’s errand.
1ST ATT: The duke is heated hotter nor any Icar; nay, he is flaming rabid, rattling his bars like a bedlam Joseph.
CAPT: What says the Prince of Antioch?
1ST ATT: He counsels patience, sir.
CAPT: Then take thou heed of his counsel, which is excellent.
Enter Turnkey.
TURN: Sir-Captain, my lord demands that I undo the door.
CAPT: Hast the door’s key?
TURN: How may I have what hangs on thy belt?
CAPT: And how mayst thou worry, then, to do that for which thou hast not? (Exit Turnkey.) Inform me, sir: what’s the Duke do in mornings?
1ST ATT: As the whim takes him: to hunt, if buck have showed; to judge, if judgement’s arose; elsewise, to talk, game, be clowned and see his espaliered peaches how they’ve prospered.
CAPT: So I too. Yet a man who’s dressed for the poop must redress if he’s to talk to a splayed peach. Fetch me clothes, Privy Counsellor.
1ST ATT: Didst call me Privy Counsellor?
CAPT: Ay, sir: wouldst not be?
1ST ATT: Ay, indeed: ’tis most elevating.
CAPT: Then bid my valets, grooms, and chamberboys dress me a degree higher than myself. And, passing the armoury on thy way, see that the locks are fast, or thou and I may drop like the said Icar.
Exit 1st Attend.
Enter Hermione.
HERM: Where’s my lord?
CAPT: About to doff small canvas and put on royalty’s whole rig.
HERM: Nay, he’s seized and flummoxed.
CAPT: Flummoxed, madam? Does he not stand before you, poised as a line of kings?
HERM: Thou scabby tar! Unhook that crooked elbow from his throne! Blunt, raucous starling; get you to other eaves for your droppings!
CAPT: Have a care, strumpet! E’en monarch’s mercy hath an elastic snap!
HERM: Monarch! Algerian goat! Muscovite dissembler! Undo the Duke!
CAPT: Out, bawdy-toy! Here are my cooks will shave and put a fresh apple in my mouth, that I may come to banquet glowing.
Enter Grooms and Valets with clothes and robes, and 1st Attend.
1ST ATT: Do your work, dressers. But first, do ye swear fealty?
GROOMS: We do.
VALETS: If need be, fifty times.
CAPT: Thank you, my Privy Counsel. Where’s my court?
1ST ATT: Closeted tight for the most part, fearful of a change in the wind, my lord.
CAPT: They’re fully pardoned. Summon them. Remove this frantic whore, lest she blush at sight of a naked man.
Grooms exeunt with Hermione. Valets attire the Captain, assist him to the throne, hand him the Duke’s sceptre and a nosegay.
1ST ATT: Now, sire, thou’rt all complete – throne, seal, keys, sceptre, and the little bouquet that gives hard monarchy his sweet touch.
CAPT: Now farewell dangerous sea, and impudence
Of high waves’ spray, farewell, farewell!
Power and appearance, twin necessities,
Are grid and mantle to the new-rose peer.
And now my dictive tongue must change its tune,
Forswear its vulgar past, and choppy mode,
Drop finally the coxon’s hoy, belay,
The galley mandate and the sailman’s curse,
Pronouncing hencetoforth in prime blank verse.
Ah, how this throne rides neatly in my swell!
How most becoming is this sceptre’s spar!
Two little minutes under ermine’s flag
Convince my keel ’twas ever over me.
Prick me a genealogy, my
Counsellor,
Limn it ablaze with lilies and with crowns,
Plantagenista in a dragoned field
And quarterings of Geoffrey and Capet.
Next week, I’ll hear the fierce uproarious tales
Of how my grandsire with his train of knights
Grasped Christ’s sweet body from the maudlin Turk
And built thereon this happy, purple world!
1ST ATT: Thyself to be a sirer, good my lord.
For shortly comes thy grand imbroglement
With noble Artois’ daughter, Radegund.
CAPT: Sweet Radegund, art thou the unknown dam
Wilt loose my princely spate?
Fertility’s expensive, doth she bring
A gorgeous dower?
1ST ATT: Ten thousand livres, my lord.
CAPT: A stingey price. Command my brother,
The lord Artois, to make it twenty.
1ST ATT: He’ll be much vext, my lord.
The contracks are all signed, the lawyers drunk.
CAPT: Hereby I them unsign.
Artois must learn, as must
Each duke and princeling in the cope of France,
That Brittan’s fields have now a stronger sun.
Send out my couriers and tell the world
That for the nonce I hereby do suspend
All treaties, greements, truces, and allies
Formed antecedent to mine own ascent.
Dickrings and bargains made by simpleton
Shall be dismissed unread by this cold eye;
And so I bid you trumpet on my men
To gallop up and down intelligence
That: ‘Brittan’s throne is took by Captain Jack;
Old parleys join old clothes in sea’s deep wrack!’
Trumpets.
III.2
Scene: Hermione’s boudoir. Enter Catriona and Hermione.
HERM: Weep, woman, weep; the coup has fell.
The very throne whereon his elbow leaned
Doth now uphold his butt.
Methought the stone, melted by ’pugnant ire,
Would vomit up and toss him off itself.
Alas! it stands rock-ribbed, shows no dismay,
And bears his false impression with aplomb.
CATRI: Deep in its heart, too deep for handkerchief,
I vow it weeps, poor throne!
HERM: And those the Duke loved well?
Are they, in whispers, framing dreadful plots
Will shrill betimes the usurper from his seat?
CATRI: Much otherwise. Within the library
I saw young Albert, whom the Duke so loved,
Stitching embroidery upon a gilded frame.
Strike you no blow for freedom? I inquired.
To which the pigeon, trimming his needle,
Remarked that brawls so much upset him
That any conflict was not to his taste.
So say they all, some furtive, some unshamed;
And armoury’s lockt as tight as is their hearts.
HERM: When men to wax inmelt at sight of fire,
Ladies must steel their flesh and take the glint.
Good Catriona, thou and I are such
Must sprout a mannish stance and save the realm.
CATRI: Wield halberds, Madam? How?
I have no craft in cleaving, lopping, chops;
Even stilettos make my soft womb turn.
I ne’er have shrunk from any man’s embrace,
But do reject his cannon, out of face.
HERM: I speak of art, not arms.
Nay, woman-like, we must dissimulate,
Practise for virtue’s sake our nastiest vice
And boldly feign to be what we are not.
CATRI: Disguises, Madam?
HERM: Ay, thick as thick. I’ll not see Baalbeck founder.
CATRI: Baalbeck, Madam?
HERM: Ay, he’s writ me a sonnet, and I love him. In truth, I ever have. She that loved the Duke was some other: I know her not.
CATRI: Methinks, Madam, thou has been thoughtful, as I advised.
HERM: Nay, I thought not at all, only remained silent; at which, my heart did speak.
CATRI: I’ll not press thy heart, then, Madam, knowing well how tripping is the tongue of my own.
HERM: Well spoken. Let’s turn to our disguises. To find what they should be, we’ll ask: What is their purpose? What our mission?
CATRI: Why, marriage, Madam.
HERM: Marriage is no mission, methinks.
CARTI: Is’t not, Madam? It were surely a mission to save men from celibacy. There’s but one man may have no wife and that’s the Devil himself.
HERM: Devil or no, our weddings must await. Our mission now must be to free our friends: we’ll bind ’em in due course.
CATRI: And they the riper for it, being under obligation to us and so, ashamed to spurn the hands which loosed them.
HERM: I am ever shamed by thy blunt speech, Catriona.
CATRI: ’Tis from the heart, Madam, or thereabouts. Let’s disguise as pedlars, and buy entry to the gaol with knick-knacks. Or as vintners, and regale the turnkey till he snore. Or spinners of yarn that’s making a rope of hemp and would try if it fits.
HERM: These are too rough. We cannot feign the too robust.
CATRI: How’s piety, Madam, to feign?
HERM: Better, better. Proceed.
CATRI: Once, in a moral play, good ma’am,
I was the part of Lazarian nun.
My eyes so low they bandied with my toes
And all agreed I was the thing herself.
But that’s long since, and many a broad moustache
Has rubbaged off the mantle of my bloom. Yet,
I could feign once more.
HERM: Nay, Catriona, nuns are grown naughty.
At night, when all’s asleep, the Abbess
Rises, and takes a pick and spade in hand.
Helped by her sisters, emulating moles,
They tunnel underground for leagues and leagues,
Come up at last i’ the Bishop s cell
And ravish every friar.
CATRI: Is’t so, Madam? Why, when
I’ve walked the meadows, I’ve remarked,
How, underfoot, the ground springs up and down.
I’d not believed ’twas all athrob with nuns.
HERM: Catriona, we must be friars.
CATRI: What, Madam? Do friars not tunnel too?
HERM: Nay, ’tis woman’s work, sappery.
CATRI: What of our beards, Madam? Can we raise them up,
And set them to our chins?
HERM: We’ll be young friars, in whom the academy
Hath gaoled the refulgent whisker under skin.
CATRI: And what thereafter, ma’am, when we’re made vicars?
HERM: Thereafter comes hereafter, we shall see
What chance and skill provide. Attend
The chapel vestry, Catriona bring two garbs.
CATRI: I’ll choose the most becoming,
Intact with hood and necklace rosary.
Yet not delay and haver, as it were
A pedlar’s holiday.
III.3
Scene: The Palace Dungeon, with Duke, Prince, and Count. Enter Turnkey, carrying food.
DUKE: Open, open, foul, dismal, and abominable! I’ll have thee on the rack, heresiarch, soon as my foot’s on stool again!
TURN: ’Tis not a promise doth much coax my key to the lock. Nevertheless, ’twill help forward thy own limbs to the rack, doubtless.
DUKE: What, rat’s guts! Dost threaten me with my own rack?
TURN: Racks, beds, thrones – they, inanimate, agree and accommodate whomsoever may fall into their keep. Now, here’s a platter of old tripes will stuff thy gab.
Pushes plate under bars. Duke hurls tripe at Turnkey’s head.
DUKE: Like to like! See Master Tripe twine with his brother!
So’ll a halyard twine soon to Master Mariner.
Exit Turnkey.
PRINCE: Impetuous duke! Prithee, recall ’tis all a play for our improvement; a play played with much subtlety and earnestness, that we may learn, and for which we should tout thanks and not ingratitude.
DUKE: If it’s a play, ’tis drawing out so long and miserable that, willy-nilly, it’s grown true to the life and beastly. What say you, Count?
COUNT: That if it’s a play, we must make our own words and acts, for they’ve forgot to give us the book; and that if it’s life, similarly we must plot to do what worms and prisoners do – discover a way out. If it’s life, then death’s coming on the heels of the tripes; if it’s play and unrehearsed, then let’s meet art with art. Those that have no identity but that which is foisted upon them, must embrace it or create a better.
DUKE: I warrant; if thy brother the Prince had but a bead of thy sagacity in his noddle, he’d still have a crown to set atop it. So, Prince, ’tis a play for our instruction: master has set us a problem and left us to cudgel an answer: he asks us, how do we propose to make exit? Wilt play in this play?
PRINCE: Ay, readily. I had not thought it was so subtle. Now I’m all fire to begin.
COUNT: Good brother, damp the fire somewhat, like a good player, lest thy plot appear in the face to be read before thou’rt ready to disclose it.
DUKE: Ay, try to pretend that thou art truly locked in a dungeon. Now, let’s huddle to plot. Insinuous Count, make suggestion.
COUNT: ’Tis known through all the world that mariners
Are superstition cased as fish with scales.
This wicked sailor seated on the throne
May easily put off his salt regail
And stride inpompous on a royal stage:
Yet, in his heart, where valet may not buff,
Must still reside the supernatural quake
Awaiting apparitions of distress.
Could we but find apparel of the mist,
Some chalky-white enclosure for ourselves,
Remove from here and hover round his throne,
We’d throw him in a fit.
DUKE: Design’s so sweet and cunning to my thought
That it doth quite transport me to that place.
I see him frothing on his velvet knees
While three inspiréd ghosts do circle him
And moan and gibber him to mental crack.
And yet, and yet, withal my lovely dream,
