'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts by Spokeshave (primary phonics books txt) 📖
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Spokeshave (AKA Old Fogy)
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Title: 'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts
Author: Spokeshave (AKA Old Fogy)
Release Date: April 5, 2007 [EBook #20989]
Language: English
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(T.N. cont. at end of book). "A COMEDY OF ERRORS" IN SEVEN ACTS BY SPOKESHAVE ALIAS OLD FOGY SUPPLEMENTED BY "SIR WINDBAG CONSULTS COUNT LUIE," "AN
IMAGINARY OFFICIAL CONSULTATION,"
"A DEMOCRATIC WAKE," "A
COUNCIL OF WAR" AND "A
SOLEMN CONCLAVE" BY OLD FOGY LUZON PRESS E. J. HABERER, Publisher. 1914 PREFACE
As many were not able to secure all the Acts of "A Comedy of Errors" owing to the editions having been exhausted, and as numerous friends have expressed a desire to secure it entire, the author has concluded to publish it, supplemented by four more recent compositions.
With malice towards none and charity to all, this modest booklet is launched on the uncertain sea of literature.
—Old Fogy.
Manila, November 15th, 1914.
A COMEDY OF ERRORS By SPOKESHAVE ACT I Dramatis PersonaeCaesar . . . . . . . Ruler of the State.
Francos . . . . . . Governor General of a Province.
Quezox . . . . . . Resident Delegate from the Province.
Page.
Scene: Throne Room at the Capitol
Caesar: Most noble Francos, I greet thee heartily.
A function truly noble falls within thy grasp;
And thou wilt with it deal as only sages can.
The distant Isles are now crushed by the pow'r
Of ruthless tyrants, who on plunder bent,
Oppress a helpless, but a worthy race,
Which groans beneath a yoke of foreign make,
And hence it fitteth not the sable necks
On which it now, relentless, firmly rests.
'Tis well, we know, how, filled with visions vain,
Our predecessor sought to stuff those minds
With mental food fit only for those born
To skins of whiter tint, and hence with grasp
Of firmer structure, built by kindly Time,
Who fashioned us in more ennobled mold;
While power divine to cap the climax grand,
With hand so deft, gave it its final touch.
These men with vision faint who planned so vain
Knew not the knightly thought bred in the south.
The north winds chill and stunt the subtle power
Which flourishes alone 'neath southern skies,
To read unerring from the page of truth
That God has fashioned some to mount aloft,
While others grovel on a lower plane.
Hence we must cherish ever in our hearts,
The thought that pigment marks the subtle line;
And so throw off a burden on us laid
By those who blindly cast their shoulders down,
To bear a load which deep ingratitude
Alone will be the recompense for all our pains.
Francos: My liege, I grasp the thought: a burden dark,
Which now each year a golden tribute calls,
Must be disposed of quickly, but so sly
That watching nations may not fling a slur
Upon our honor as we cast adrift
This alien race to face the world alone.
Caesar: Sweet Francos, truly thou hast quick discerned
The thought which wisdom fathered in my mind.
"Be wise as serpent, harmless as the dove,"
Should be our watchword as we scuttle ship,
For there be those who speak with venomed tongues
Of serpents, as we cast them helpless off.
But if we of politicos make use,
And to their clamour lend approving smile,
We may while coolly thrusting them aside,
Meet with the thoughtless world's approving nod.
Francos: Ha! Ha! methinks I see my path made clear
'Twere wise to fellowship with only those
Who, longing for the flesh pots, lend their aid
To further us in this our deep design.
Caesar: Hold! Francos, hold! The very walls have ears.
Suspicion once aroused our game is up
In silence let our worthy scheme mature;
An utterance unwise may spell defeat.
Francos: Most noble Caesar, thou at wisdom's fount
Hast drunk until the fountain hath run dry.
I ready stand to follow each command
Ignoring every judgment of mine own.
Caesar: When I before the gods did minister,
I learned that strategy cured many ills;
And when Parnassus high I made my throne,
I found it well to wield an iron hand.
And now to work our pleasure in these Isles,
'Twere best to blend these methods in our scheme,
Whilst thou with honeyed tongue shall words employ
The callow forum shall my will obey.
But silence! put a padlock on thy tongue;
A word unspoken never worketh harm.
While he who babbles layeth down his shield,
And thus an enemy may work his death.
Francos: Mine ears are open to thine every word,
Would that they could but hear in distant Isles;
For when I beard the lion in his den,
Thy potent thoughts were then a healing balm.
Caesar: Thou sayest well, Francos, but lend an ear;
Avoid our enemies; they counsel ill.
(To Page) But, page, entreat sweet Quezox to attend
While we in converse measure every act.
Enter Quezox: Most honored sire, I come at thy command,
And wait your pleasure; if by any means
My words, convincing, can this matter solve:
The land that bore me bids me loud proclaim.
So we consider wisely, let us call
The Commoner, whose wisdom is renowned.
That he may with us weigh each tangled point,
And thus make our solution doubly sure.
Caesar: Sweet Quezox, caution is a precious thing.
And while 'tis known that council oft is wise,
Yet it were better Wilhelm were left out
For he hath visions which from tender plants
To forest monarchs grow, with roots so deep
Emplanted in the soil, that naught can stir.
Beside, financial ills have him beset,
And he now eager, filthy lucre seeks.
Francos: Most honored sire, I would from Quezox learn
What stern encounters I must early meet.
He from the first did see the canker grow
And hath a remedy, methinks, conceived.
Caesar: Speak, Quezox, speak! and free thy surging mind.
For well I know abuses rankle there.
Our enemies politic, firm entrenched,
Have borne with heavy hand upon thy race.
Quezox: Ah noble sire, how well thy mind conceives
The ills which bear my hapless people down.
Much learning fits thee for the ruler's seat
And keen discernment flashes from thine eye.
There pigmies move within a circle charmed
And fatten on rich spoils with cruel glee.
They force their alien ways with tyrant hands
Upon my people; and with cold disdain
Refuse our council, when 'twere meet and wise.
I beg thee, cast them out, both root and branch
And clean official nests from grafty filth.
Our patriots, able, then can claim their own
And on the ruins build a blissful state.
Caesar: Most noble Quezox, thou hast touched the sore.
In Francos thou wilt find a helping hand,
Council him wise for he the subtle wiles
Of crafty scheming men may not discern.
Quezox: Ah, noble sir, if I advice may breathe,
It were to shun the brood of vultures well.
They're skilled indeed to sing the siren's song,
And play with flattery on honest minds.
I feel 'twere well to journey to these Isles
In company with Francos, at thy will,
Thus guarding him from every idle tongue,
Which might make impress on an open heart.
Caesar: Sweet Quezox, thou art wise, it shall be done.
And as you journey, meditate and plan
To lop off every head that blocks thy way,
Or lacks in sympathy for thy great work.
For Francos hath been trained for civic life
Where virtue reigns and intrigue hath no place.
But with thine aid and to guide a fearless soul,
And Tammany his pattern, all were well.
Francos: Great Caesar, trust me well; I smell the rot
that distance cannot smother, and will clean
The halls of state, and there implant true men.
Caesar: And silence! speak nor write not idle words,
For they are often swords which cleave the soul;
When enemies who wield a cunning hand
Shall thrust them back, and laugh in gleeful scorn.
E'en I regret what in an idle hour,
I thoughtless paged regarding freedom's gift.
And now they sting me, sting me to the soul.
Oh that I ne'er had penned such childish thoughts!
Hence hold thy tongue or honeyed words proclaim
Which may mean little or perchance mean much.
And now farewell, and hie thee on thy way:
Again I say a padlock on thy tongue.
Quezox and Francos moving backward, and making obeisances.
Adieu, most noble Caesar, since the time
When Washington first donned the regal crown.
We'll smoke the woodchucks out and tan their hides
And parchment make, on which, in words of gold,
Shall be inscribed, so all the world may read:
"Saturnine pleasure it to us doth give,
To see them walk the plank from scuttled ship."
Caesar: Ha Ha! but speak it not aloud, until 'tis done.
Both: Whist! whist as mice! We'll oil the guillotine.
Exeunt both while Caesar washes his hands with invisible soap.
ACT II Dramatis PersonaeFrancos . . . . . . Governor General of a Province.
Quezox . . . . . . Resident Delegate from the Province.
Seldonskip: . . . Secretary to the Governor General.
Capt of the Ship:
Scene: On shipboard
(Quezox, slowly walking the deck, soliloquizes.)
I feel a mighty task doth bear me down.
When distance held the burden in its hand,
It seemed, that, like a vessel on the stock,
'Twould easy, when the holding blocks were moved,
Slip gently down into the sea of states;
But now that nearness stares me in the face,
Wearing prophetic grin, methinks, I see
Deep obstacles which bar the slippery ways,
On which the ship must glide to waters deep.
A ship to safely sail in troubled seas,
Must boast a captain skilled in wat'ry lore.
But he were helpless, if the vessel's crew
Have not the cunning which of years is born.
Alas, from out the black and threat'ning sky,
One star alone of all the eyes of Night
Doth faintly pierce the gloom and light our way
To safe solution of the knotty point.
If but the Captain wear a stately mien
And walketh deck with slow and kingly tread,
Lieutenants skilled, by filthy lucre bribed,
May box the compass and so save the ship.
But who shall Captain be? Ah there's the rub.
There many be who fain would walk the deck,
Though he who bears the burdens of day
Forsooth should then be decked with laurel crown.
But there be schemers, working in the dark,
Who ready stand to grasp the hanging fruit
While he who plants and watereth the tree
With itching jaws may ne'er its fruitage taste.
Caesar hath said that Francos aid will lend,
To further us in working our designs,
And yet fear whispers to mine anxious mind
Honor hath made his soul its dwelling place.
Hence "graft," even to aid his upward climb
To higher honors, findeth not his ear.
As he hath gold, methinks the chink of coin
Charmeth him not; belike 'twould poorer men.
As skilled musician fingereth the harp,
So must I play upon his prejudice,
Which finds no virtue in politic foes,
And thus shall shrewdness do its perfect work.
But Seldonskip? I love this hombre not.
He looketh on our race with proud disdain,
Hence I with poison must sour Francos' mind,
That he but vileness in this boor shall see.
Some men, I ween, would tread in virtue's path,
Unless strong passion, born of love intense,
Should goad them to stretch out a greedy hand,
And grasp from beauty's
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