answer to some elegant verses

Sent By A Friend To The Author,

Complaining That One Of His Descriptions

Was Rather Too Warmly Drawn

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CAST

Lord Byron 

Reverend Becher

Elizabeth Pigot 

John Pigot 

Caroline (maybe)

 

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SCENE 1

1807, Southwell - the Pigots sitting room - 'Hours of Idleness' has just been printed

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B: CANDOUR compels my verse, BECHER!

REV: It seems to have compelled you somewhat too far my boy

JP: Limping decorum may yet land you a publisher, my Lord 

REV: Mr. Pigot is quite correct - recollect I am both your censor and your friend - and believe that my strong yet just reproof will extort applause in the hereafter

EP(whispers to the Rev): Be sure to keep a copy

 

The Reverend checks his pockets

 

B: Yes, do, Becher – once I am out in the world, I shall never again allow wild error to pervade my strain

EP(with sorrow): Byron, promise me yours will never be one of the ceaseless echoes of the rhyming throng

B: Mmm (ponders) – ‘throng’ - well that rhymes with ‘wrong’ - one of my favourites – so I really can’t make any promises

 

The company spies a wonderous creature, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, cascading down to the Village green

 

B(pales): Sunburn me!! Or rather, HIDE me!! – surely there is still a priest hole from the good old times in this house Becher?

REV: This! This is the inevitable outcome of curbing the precepts of prudence! – which, incidentally, you could control if you had half a mind to

EP: If it please your Worship - allow youth the fierce emotions of the flowing soul!

B: If only you weren’t engaged to that chap out in India, my good Queen Bess

EP(brightens): er, not engaged, so much, a vague understanding, in truth

B(darkens): tomatoes, tomato's – Sweet Lord she is nearly upon us!!

 

Byron hides under the sofa, John Pigot refrains his sister from following suit

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SCENE 2

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B(from under the sofa): oh! a dog bone – NO!! I must not eat my friends, however, this is something quite how I imagine a sauna would be - deuced if I couldn't shed some flesh under here

 

Faint knocking at the door, as if by a fairy hand of unnatural smallness

 

REV: Oh, again! (takes in breath) More censures on the hapless victim I will shower (sighs and opens door)

C: Hello your Majesty, is my Lordship Byron about the place?

REV: My dear, he is outstript and vanquish’d in the mental chase!

C: He’s at his Mam’s?

REV: No child, he’s taken his lyre, his heart; his muse, the simple truth to a place far below us

C: Huddersfield?

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John Pigot intervenes, the Reverend, overcome with shame at being indirect with the truth, is comforted by the charwoman

 

JP: My, you really are a dasher, aren’t you! Thing is, his Lordship - that heedless boy! - is totally haunted by love’s delirium, not to say exhausted altogether, and will be unavailable for the foreseeable future

EP (leaping up): Yes, that’s right. Back to your washtubs with your premature desires!

C: But I need to work on My Lordship’s bosoms!

EP(unmoved): A housemaid! (sneers surprisingly well) whose virgin breast is void of guile, whose wishes dimple in a modest smile, whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer? pfft

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Choking sounds from beneath the sofa

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E & JP: BYRON!! (rush to lift up retro sofa ruffle, and drag B out)

C: Is he dead?!! (looks closer) Is he wearing the chains of love, as in, MY chains of love?

B: Almost choked on that deuced bone (splutters and blushes) – well hello … my warmly-drawn friend

C: My hair is golden blonde, you are quite obsessed with it  - and my ribbons - (grabs locket) THIS hair is LIGHT BROWN!!

B: oh, unholy fires

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SCENE 3

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The Reverend, perhaps too casually, strolls back into the room

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REV: Dear, dear!! - the young – bless them – and the old, have all worn the chains of love – but this really has to stop with the lockets, the hair, the racy poetry, the extramarital relations

B (to C): Quite right. Sorry my willing rustic crumpet - you do set me afire - but the preacher is right – and we must obey, thence to part

C: But your tormented bosoms!!

B: They can fend for themselves, for they are not soft

EP(to B): Soft enough for a wife to lay her head, I’d wager

B: You’d lose, my dear friend

 

C, after scratching Byron’s nose, stealing the dog bone and Byron's cufflinks, trots off

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B(rubs nose):Becher! I am chastened! Will you - at the same time - spare the childish verse?

REV: I shall retain a slim volume my Lord

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END

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