'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts by Spokeshave (primary phonics books txt) 📖

Sir Windbag, (to Count Luie):

"Oh that mine enemy would write a book."

A wise man in the past hath shrewdly said,

Knowing full well that when one's thoughts are paged

They like foul spirits menace peace of mind.

Alas! 'tis so, when tongue shall like a bird

Take wing, soaring aloft, and as the wind

Fly aimless over mountain, hill and dale,

Until tired nature doth demand repose,

Why did I Roosevelt as a pattern take

And boast his doctrines as the wisdom's fount

From which I drank as a disciple might

Who worships blindly at his idol's shrine?

And now these varlets point with taunting grin

At what my demigod hath ordered here,

And oh, ye sages, what shall I reply?

For now his work I purpose to undo.

When I with eloquence did picture draw

Of tyranny which from above did flow,

And with convincing tongue did loud proclaim

That pow'r should ever from below take root;

I little dreamed that subtle minds would carp

And inconsistency against me charge

For earnest effort which eventuates

In placing pow'r within the crafty hands

Of those who long have under Spanish rule

Imbibed the time clad notion that the few

Who by the accident of happy birth,

May make a gold mine of the hapless poor.

They voice in cutting words that I who late

Have cast my lot in these downtrodden Isles

Should study well conditions e'er I speak

As cock-sure as a teacher to his class.

I, in triumphant tone, did voice the truth

That in our homeland stinking graft prevails,

But, ah! I overlook the damning fact

That ignorance among our foreign born

Hath been the hotbed whence this thistle grew,

And that our Governor did get his boost

Into the forum through that rotten host

Which proudly boasts a "Tammany" as its god.

And do the people of our Empire State

Evolve the doctrine which I loud proclaimed?

No! in the dire extremity they laid

Restraining hand upon the venal mob,

Sternly refusing "what they know they want"

But now strong opposition draws the veil,

And I behold, to me, the starting fact,

That human minds oft vain illusions hug

Which time alone hath pow'r that grasp to loose;

And only then through friction with the world

Will freedom from provincial slavery

And mental lassitude be e'er attained.

When I my glorious deeds with savage tribes

Did iterate before the gaping throng,

It seemed to me as to the schoolboy raw

That ne'er before had such superb exploits

E'er been achieved by knightly mortal man.

But now 'tis said my predecessor wrought

Like wounders in a less ostentious way

And mine are but a copy of his acts.

Within my brain indeed are many wheels

That heretofore have whirled me into place,

But they ne'er buzzed the fact that in these Isles

Abode Americans who dare to speak

In plain derision of officials high;

Forsooth, I dreamed they at the public trough

Did feed; but, lo! an army, small but brave,

Hath thrown its skirmishers into the field

And offered battle with a cold disdain

That maketh chills run down my weakening spine

And causeth question whether my defy

Was born from Wisdom's or from Folly's womb.

Quick in my logic's dome where thought doth dwell

Those wheels whirled out these brilliant, burning words:

"These varlets have no place within these Isles

And quick should speed them to their native land;"

But mem'ry doth recall the "pine-tree" wilds

Where fate decreed that I should have my birth,

Only to later bid me wander forth

And seek asylum in the "Empire State."

Indeed, it seems that in man dwells a force

That doth impel adventure from the spot

Where nature willed that he should ope an eye

In childish wonder at God's handiwork:

So here again I, like to hair spring gun

In careless hand, went off, alas, "half cocked,"

And now I fear to ope my babbling mouth

Lest I should put my clumsy foot therein.

Count Luie:

My honest frend, for so I speak thee fair,

Since thou hast from thy shoulders ever cast

That damning cloak, Republican in woof.

And armor of Democracy hast donned,

Fear not that words so deep an import bear.

The mob applauds today, but quick forgets.

I once, before we kenned our party's stand,

Did lightly tongue imperialistic thoughts.

The throng did loud applaud my eloquence,

Which made demand that Filipinos here

Should be debarred, when they procession form,

From proudly marching 'neath their flag of state.

And now my tender bowels do me gripe

As I reflect that this tyrannic act

Runs counter to the doctrines thou dost teach,

Because, you bet, "they know just what they want."

Sir Windbag:

But will the rabble not thy words recall,

And like to mud, flung from the grutter deep,

Will they not sore disfigure and besmirch

Thy reputation for consistency?

Count Luie:

Fear not; we who do ornament the bar

Can twist and turn as doth the shuttle-cock,

And in our mouths today words have a ring

Which changes with tomorrow's rising sun.

Sir Windbag:

I quick discern the import of thy speech,

And in the past have seen it verified.

If mem'ries of the people were not short,

Disaster to us patriots would befall.

When like a parson one can slip the tongue

And speed it like a race-horse on its course,

'Tis well; but let some ill-bred boor

Bold interruption make, in query's form,

The discourse of its symmetry is shorn,

While bond of sympathy 'twixt him who speaks

And those who list receives a brutral shock,

Which doth demand dexterity to soothe.

Thus, when I wisdom spouted at the club,

A man most pestulent did query put

Anent the spreading of our civic rule

O'er Moros, if it proved to be the case

That they demur and, "knowing what they want,"

Prefer to rule themselves in custom's groove.

I, loyal to the ethics of our craft

Tried to becloud the query, and declared

That Moros loved the Filipinos well.

But this persistent boor did pin me down

Until imprudently I answered, "No!"

And this unwisdom now doth trouble me.

Count Luie:

But, gentle Windbag, these were idle words

Which on the record have no place. 'Twere well

To quick erase them from the memory:

Words only spoken vanish into air.

Sir Windbag:

Thou dost console me, Luie, and I feel

A kindred spirit fills thy giant form;

But tell me, from among thy many friends

Are hearts that for me beat in sympathy?

Count Luie, (eying the ceiling):

Good Windbag, a searching introspection

Finds but few, excepting only those

Who office hold or look with longing eyes

For vacancies the future may disclose.

Sir Windbag:

But when "the Man of God" his voice doth raise

In ecstasy to praise my every word,

Will not his former flock follow the bell

Which in the past hath led to pastures green?

Count Luie:

Alas, I fear their memories will point

To former words, which voiced another song,

When he did nurse at theologic teat

And softly chant imperialistic creed.

Sir Windbag, (eagerly):

But may not my convincing words have caused

Conversion to the views of "Era New?"

Count Luie, (doubtfully):

'Twere wiser to ascribe his recent "flop"

To strong desire to hold a paying job!

Sir Windbag:

But this Sandixo seems a proper man,

Who boasts a heart welling with gratitude.

He eloquent approved my every word,

And lays his duty wholly at my feet.

His words do ring as from an honest mould,

Yet rumor whispers divers ugly tales.

Thou knowest how his record truly reads:

How far should confidence extend her hand?

Count Luie, (hesitatingly):

Friend Windbag, if to thee I ope my heart,

'Twere in strict confidence 'twixt man and man

For publication I would loud proclaim

"This man a patriot with noble aims."

If for opinion private thou dost ask,

I will a tale unfold much to the point.

One Quezox, holding now a place of pow'r,

With tongue of silver did to me extend

A promise to advance my ev'ry plan

For preferment to an exalted place.

Alas! he turned me down with sweet disdain.

Eating his words, whilst I did gulp down "crow."

Sir Windbag:

Ah Ha! I see! The game, not fairly played,

Doth lose its zest, and confidence once lost,

Like to a maiden's virtue, ne'er can be

Restored. 'Tis sad, yet though 'tis sad, 'tis true.

But, honored sir, the hint you give will keep.

Perhaps this man may look with greedy eye

Upon some high official post, which we

Must give because "he knows just what he wants."

Count Luie:

But softly, friend, if this thy doctrine be,

'Twere best to pack thy grip and ready stand

To get thee hence; for in these lovely Isles

There be not seats of honor to go round.

Sir Windbag:

Ha! Think you this politico aspires

To me supplant my important post?

Count Luie:

A royal flush; he doth, for in time past,

'Neath Aguinaldo, he that chair did fill!

Sir Windbag:

But tell me, is this not a pliant race

Which skilful hand may at its pleasure mould?

Count Luie:

'Tis said the serpent warming on the breast

With sting doth ever show its gratitude!

Sir Windbag:

Thou by enigma seemingly imply

That all our labors here are but in vain.

Methought within thy heart dwelt confidence

In the ability of this proud race

To guide their ship of state on troubled seas,

And trim its sails to meet each threat'ning storm.

But now thy cynicism breeds a fear

That thy past words do bear "Pickwickian sense."

Count Luie:

Sir Windbag, thou unto our party grand

Art but a convert new, and needs must learn

That platforms are the Bible which we read,

And to them we do blindly pin our faith.

If one has doubts, he, like a Christian true,

Must stifle them and reason throw aside,

'Tis thus we from the Sunny South do act,

When facts run counter to our party creed.

Sir Windbag:

Alas! I in my innocence did deem

The words you uttered in the last campaign

Did true portray the situation here,

But now I fear they were but party gush.

But, ah! "The pen is mightier than the sword."

These venomed quills must be from porcupine;

For deeper do they bore, as I reflect

That I invited all their smarting wounds.

I sought to give their idol Worcester but

His proper place by "damning with faint praise;"

And now they prod me as the muleteer

Doth goad his jackass when he thoughtless brays.

Count Luie:

But, sir, remember that the ass can kick,

And that when kicking, asses never bray,

So gird your armor on and lop each head

Who hath at your dilemma dared to scoff.

Sir Windbag:

But Riggs! he hath in beaten trail proclaimed

What the old regimen hath always mouthed.

While I the "Era New" did bold announce,

And now my head is crowned with pricking thorns.

Count Luie, (reflectively):

Thine adversaries, though at vantage now,

Should be subdued by strategy and guile.

I from sore strait triumphant did emerge

Through trenchant pen of a compatriot.

This noble scion of Democracy

Did wield a telling blow in my behalf

And thrust the adversary 'neath the rib,

Laying him low in controversial dust.

Sir Windbag, (eagerly):

His name? his name? that I may quick engage

This champion to bolster up my cause.

Count Luie, (whispers mysteriously):

He is but small in stature, but, ye goods,

His valor fits his name, which is, La Mutt.

An Imaginary Official Consultation Dramatis Personae

Francos: . . . . . High Cockalorum.
Sir Higgs: . . . . First High Councillor.
Sir Henmart: . . . Second Councillor.
Sir Windbag: . . . Third Councillor.

     Scene: Official Residence.