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Cast

Lord Byron

Scrope B Davies

Fletcher

Lord Salisbury

Mrs. Mule

a Porter

Miss Cameron

Cheeks Chester

Tom Moore

Jenny - a Beast

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​Scene 1

 

1814, Byron is lounging by the fire in his Albany rooms

 

F: That Mr. Scrope is here to see you, my lord

B: Ah! - good - the profane jester - heigh ho! do show him in Fletcher - oh, by the way - it is Mr. Davies, if you would

F: humph

S: Evening, Byron (throws hat at F) - good god man! - you are positively supine (circles B) - are you wed to that overly comfortable sopha upon which you recline?

B(shudders): One hopes I am as approximate to yoke-hood as ever I can be, Scrope (sinks further) - truth be told, I am ennui'd to the oxters with balls and bawds and fainting dames (yawns) - this whole week I have not dined out, have heard no music, have seen nobody - I am content to merely sprawl and stare at yon flames

S: Pshaw! - we can cure that, my friend - come, a plunge - high life and low life, what? - we shall feast on a collar of brawn and make merry with the milliners at the Dog & Duck...

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Mrs. Mule, B's withered and frightening housekeeper, barges in

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MM: 'ere you!! (shoves damp mop in S's face) - leave that Lordship be! - 'tis ye and ye'rs 'ave got him crook as a eel - 'e will be stopping in til 'e be well - now - sling ye'r 'ook!

S: What is she saying?

B: Mule is somewhat protective, Scrope

F: 'Taint right Mr. Scrope! - my Lord be throwing all his poems, and unedited scribblings re. his private arrangements into the fire!! (is tearing handkerchief) - why, he does owt but smoke and feed Jenny - that feathered savage with the Devil for a sire!

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Jenny the parrot flies off her perch, insulting Mule on her way

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MM: You too, ye airborne rat!! - I'll 'av ye roast for me tea - and yer tail-feather in me hat!

B: Mule! - mind what you say - my little Jenny is prepotenate in revenge (strokes J's feathers - J smirks)

F: Mrs. Mule - we shall leave the gentlemen (whispers) Mr. Scrope, if you could persuade my Lord to take a turn outdoors, I am sure his spirits would revive

S(winks and nods): To the point of my calling, Byron - Cheeks Chester is taking on Alehouse Abercromby for the Dog & Duck annual Rum-Punch-and-a-Dunk challenge - the Emperor of Pugilism, Jackson, has opened a book 

B(revives, tepidly): Jackson, you say? - why, surely you can foresee - you'll get but very short odds on Cheeks - such a smooth reconnoiterer with a glass is he

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A double knock on the door

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F: Lord Salisbury is here to see you, my Lord

B: Heyday (sighs) - do show him in, Fletcher

LS: My lord (bows) - why, hullo Mr. Davies - pray, are you here about Jackson's book? 'tis my very reason for calling - a bunch of us Lords - and other gentlemen of good family and vanishing fortunes - are headed to the Dock & Duck - smart money is on Abercromby - what say you Byron?

B(bows): How do Salisbury (wryly) - 'twould be wise to defer to Mr. Davies on that or any other sporting matter involving batterings and blows - for myself, I intend no such excursion this or any another eve - for the present I require chastity, claret and some much procrastinated repose

LS: Damned shame, Byron(thinks) - if that be the case, why don't you take my box at Covent Garden for the season? Betwixt drinking challenges, bare-knuckle spectaculars, badger and bear baiting, touring troupes of French ballarinas - why, I shall have no time for the warblings and flummoxings of Mrs. Siddons or Keane

B: Most decent of you, Salisbury (brightens) - indeed, the theatre - of late - is an inordinately quiet scene (yells) - Fletcher?!!

F: Yes?

B: Prepare my evening clothes - I am to venture to the Mausoleum of Light Entertainment

F: Very well, my lord (smiles radiantly at S)

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S and LS depart for some gruesome action at the Dog & Duck

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​Scene 2

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Covent Garden, and the theatre is indeed bereft of gentlemen

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B(to self): Deuced if this isn't just the thing - fine roomy box - good viewing - hmm - I could pull that banquette up and have a decent doze - altogether, a quieter scenario than my rooms at the moment, what with Jenny lamping Mule at every opportunity, Mule attempting to biscuit me when she thinks me asleep - och! - the single and doubling knocking, the masques, the villainous company - which hath been the spoil of me! - the potential for yet more crim.con - no, here I can hide from the Great World and ogle at leisure

 

B sets about making himself at home, orders champagne and cigars - sends his opera glasses to the lobby to be polished

 

Yea, if I must fritter away my life - I would rather - and happily - do it alone

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A rustle is heard

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C: My Lord Salisbury? I have your glasses

B(turns to see CC): Miss Cameron? Caroline, as was? - of course (snickers) - my dear girl, his Lordship is taking the season at the Dog & Duck - I shall be occupying this box - solus!

C: My Lord Byron! (is flustered) - why, I still have my page's uniform downstairs, I....

B: Solus, Caroline! - please inform your associates in the Lobby of same - I carry no ready money or gold chains and my days on the Pearson's Remedy are over, more's the shame

C: Humph! - my Lord Salisbury would never refuse some - er - amusement - d'you know, on the spot

B: Well then, my dear, you had better high-tail it to said hostelry, had you not?

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C flounces, B feels a passing pang as he watches her familiar fairy ankle trip over the disarranged divan

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E'en the memory of that wench is exhausting - ah! Caroline - mmm, yet - one of the more enjoyable Carolines, it has to be said - got a damn fine shine on my glasses too (focuses on top-tier boxes) is that? must be - a sister of Fanny WW? - Lady M believes though but 15, a girl can quite know her own mind (brow darkens) - well, blast the sensible women in my life to hell! - for they are quite right - a wife would be my salvation - I am sure the wives of my acquaintances have hitherto done me little good 

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B gasps in shock 

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Well! even I  have delicacy enough to feel a little nauseous at seeing Admiral Astericks’ mistress - who, to my certain knowledge, was actually educated from her birth for her profession - sitting with her mother - a three-piled bawd - Bawd-Major to the army! -  in a private box!

 

An indignant B casts his eyes round the house

 

Oons and be damned! (bursts out a-laughing) - so - to count - in the next box to me, and the next, and the next, are the most distinguished old and young Babylonians of quality - 'tis no wonder Salisbury prefers the casual manly violence of the Dog & Duck (rings for hard liquor) - it is really odd, to think on't - there is Lady Blank-Blanque divorced - Lady Bumble and her daughter, Lady Babble  - both divorceable - Mrs. FitzTrollope, in the next the like - and still nearer - oops - may have had a hand in that situation​

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B reclines and attempts an alphabetical reckoning of  the attendee's most ardent investors

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​Scene 3

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A thundering conniption of menfolk is heard on the stairs - the porter tries his best

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P: So sorry, my lord - but he says this is his box!
LS: HE? it is my box, you oaf! - I am Lord Salisbury - now - out of it! (porter scurries) - why, Byron - I do like what you've done with the place

S: Hallo, Byron! - my, how revived you look! - oons - is that white brandy?

B: Go at it Scrope - and be damned if the sight of our negligibly-clad Paphians has not completely recovered my essentials! (catches glimpse of a tweedy arm) - Cheeks? is that you? - pray - did Abercromby overcome? or did you plant his face quite handy?

CC: Neither, my dear man - at this very moment he lies untouched yet comatose - in truth, I ever thought the milksop far from brave  

M(wags finger): Mock not the afflicted, Cheeks! - he is as peaceful as the sleeping angels in heaven - as quiet as daisies nodding on a moonlit grave
B: Tom! - they never told me you would be at the Dog & Duck? (glowers at S)

M: Sure - where else would I be? Look around you - who would find entertainment here? none but dowagers and brutes

B(scowls): Humph! - our man Kean has yet to take the stage - and he is quite the dasher in leggings and strappy boots

LS: Anyway - Mr. Kean's costuming aside - we are not just here to drink your brandy, my dear Byron - your man Fletcher has set us on foot of a somewhat hostile situation

M(rubbing hands with delight): Did he not come yowling into the Dog & Duck - pin-holed with blood - and sure, wasn't it then that poor Abercromby fainted stone dead before the punch was poured! (shakes head) - ah! - 'twil be his ruination

S: I believe Jackson was correct in calling a TKO...

CC: ...I believe he was - d'you know (smirks)

LS: Never mind the fate of Abercromby!(to B) - 'twould seem your intemperate parrot - yclept Jenny - was scrapping vigorously with your old woman, and Fletcher, and your decanters of claret (B gasps) - whence the doughty Nottsman besought ambulatory assistance for Mule in a paroxysm of distress

M: The bird has flown, Byron - what air she now inhabits - 'tis no man's to guess...

B: Oh, my little Jenny (slumps onto banquette)

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An ear-splitting squall rattles the theatre chandeliers

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LS: Holy fires! - why is Lady Blank-Blanque attempting to trapeze onto Mrs. FitzTrollope's balcony?

M: La! (points) - my Lady Bumble has heroically launched herself upon the curtain - ouch! she falls - there'll be slaughter - oh! - all is not lost - she has landed upon her comfortable daughter

S: Why are all the ladies tearing at their hair and feathered ribands?

M(to B): Is this pre-Kean delirium common amongst the fair ones? - they whirl like mice trapped in a larder

B(perplexed): Not by any means, Tom - why, I've yet to see such violence and phrenzy outside of Mrs. Byron's parlour

LS(takes glasses): heh heh - such public indecorum will certainly take Buonaparte off the front pages - zounds! (zooms) - the modest laces and fripperies covering immodest bosoms have been ripped to shreds

B(roars): Modesty?! pfft - that mass of concubinage has not much modesty left to lose - in, or out, of beds

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The top tiers empty - the stage is crammed with semi-naked and injured Paphians seeking sanctuary

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B(squints): Well, sap my vitals! - is that? (stands) - no! my proprietorial, pursuing little Jenny? - the cause of all?!

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Said rampaging Fury - perched on the corpse of Lady Bumble's head-dress - starts and flies across the room to B

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B: Ah now Jenny, was this well done? (J attacks B's ear - the sporting gentlemen shriek like schoolgirls) - tsk! rest easy, ye pusillanimous poltroons! - though I must avoid egotism, which just now would be no vanity - the plumed hoyden has murderous intent towards all females within my ken - yet, she shall surrender to her chain and perch - furthermore, to Mule, she will make amends

M: Ah! sure God love the little one (J preens) - applaud - my friends - the entertainment fair Jenny has conferred (raises glass to J) - behold the Pantomime! - better yet than Grimaldi the Divine - or the Dog & Duck deferred!

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The pit is in uproar as the ladies fight for scraps of clothing - Lady Bumble falls onto the lights and sets the orchestra on fire - Kean is dragged out and his strappy boots are set upon - a resigned Mrs. FitzTrollope joins the crowd in an unhinged rendition of  ‘The Virgin and the Bull'

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B(is wistfully content): Ah! - how I do delight in observing life as it really is - the many (scans stage) and myself, after all, the worst of any!​​​​​​​​​​​

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