To Thomas Moore

Written The Evening Before His Visit To

Mr. Leigh Hunt In Horsemonger Lane Gaol

v

Cast

Lord Byron

Thomas Moore

Leigh Hunt

Henry Brougham

Fletcher

Charles Lamb

Hunt Kraal

​

v

​

SCENE 1

 

1813, Hunt has landed in chokey for slandering the POW 

​

Byron and Moore are relaxing at Bennet Street - Byron's London HQ -  reading the notorious article

​

B: "This Adonis of loveliness - a corpulent man of fifty" - lands a man in jail for two years?! Sunburn me!

M:  "The Examiner" - ha! - a  "Nest of Villains" - that unstable quack Wm. Blake was right - 'tis fine strategizing from those Hunt brothers - The Morning Post and The Courier will be forced into even more pukesome paean-izing of the "Glory of the people", the "Protector of the arts" !! - the "Exciter of Desire" - bravo Messieurs of the Post!! (both laugh heartily) -  although incarceration is preferable to base flattery, it is a bold step

B (breathes deep): "Breather of eloquence - who cannot say a few decent extempore words if we are to judge, at least, from what he said to his regiment on its embarkation for Portugal". I say I can't help but admire the verve and venom of Hunt - it takes a great pudding to challenge the Regent's capricious hate speech laws 

M: He's a scrapper - and a good hater - certainly no "conqueror of hearts" - perchance, extending his disgust into the very top crusts of society is foolish whilst they are the poor man's butter  - very foolish, too, to befriend that law-bothering carcass of envy Henry Brougham

B(shudders): Brougham!! 'ere the name is a toe-curler yet! (inhales fine Turkish tobacco) - Hunt, mmm - he is very officious in using my title - no! - I feel sure he harbours no grudge for his lack of ready money - besides, detention to a man always in want can but save on sea-coal and excessive Kraal propagation in Hampstead 

M: Yes, well my dear Byron - I must pack a basket of billiard balls, shuttlecocks and dynamite for Hunt

B(pats M on the back): Admirable Tom - admirable - to leave the sylvan sequestration of Mayfield Cottage - and your beautiful Bess - for Hunt and the Surrey jail!

​

B and M shake hands and part - B sulks with intent around the sopha

​

B: mmm - 'twould seem the Surrey jail is the place to be at the moment - Holland House is empty - you could whistle up the wind in Carlton House - perchance I should pay the cockney stoic a visit

F: Jail - my Lord - what vestments to wear? - mourning - crepe and black gloves?

B: Hang it, Fletcher! - (broods) - why is Tommy going? why isn't he taking me? How I do love that five-foot man! (wistfully) - his Quarto two-pounds, his Two­penny Post Bag - why! he is as much a member of my menagerie as Jenny (Jenny the parrot flies into a rage) - for God's sake Jenny! I must have my own Life! - Fletcher!!!

F: Yes my Lord

B: Prepare a sombre outfit for the morn - I am going to jail

F: With or without crepe my lord

B: Without - Fletcher - look to it!! (muses) - I will take fine Moroccos of my latest best-sellers, soap? - sweetmeats - fine woollen blankets - the suffering of the poor man! - Fletcher!!!

F: Yes my Lord

B: Fill one of my travelling trunks with an assortment of goods as one in jail might require for a civilised level of comfort

F: Yes my Lord

B: But not my white Brandy - or pale Champagne

B: Of course - my Lord

​

B returns to look for more generalised insults in Hunt's article

​

v

​

SCENE 2

​

Hunt's suite in the Surrey jail is jiving with visitors

 

H: Lord Byron! My best friend! What excellent timing! (with something of malice) - How often I have turned my head round to the door, hoping that the knock might be yours - Fletcher not with you? You'll have to pour your own, my Lord! 

B(disgusted by the lack of formality, but carries on sympathetically): Hunt - how very good to see you looking so well - I say, is that a badminton court? and a billiards table? Do I smell fresh geraniums?

H: All of the above my dear Byron - all of the above! - I am as pandered to as if I were an about-to-be-decapitated French queen

B: By the Pharaoh's feet! I feel a fool - being unfamiliar with the penal code - for I have sent you a large trunk of gentlemen's necessities! Is that an original Shakespeare folio?

CL: Oh - that - yes - I made the same mistake as yourself  Lord Bryon - if you'll permit me (B is again astounded by the lack of formality in the prison system) - I, too, was taken aback by the décor - for it is something not found outside a fairy tale

​

Moore is announced by the screw

​

H: Moore - my best friend! I have heard of your new residence - please do not be so outrageous as to talk of groves and moral prospects whilst I am deprived of same

M(nods deeply):  - Hunt - Lamb - (delighted) why Byron! we shall all stand behind our plucky friend - shall we not?

B: Deuced if we won't! I have a thorough esteem for the independence of spirit - (to Hunt) and I wish our friendship may be permanent (H eyes B's watch chain - and acquiesces) -  I must say this is a fine set-up - (walking around the many rooms - spies tennis court) - of course, I but narrowly scrimped prison after my squib on the Princess's tears

H(rocks on heels): An old English baron is free of legal consequences - therefore of His Majesty's hospitality - no! - the luxury of martyrdom is for the common-folk only - my Lord

M: Flattery in any shape is unworthy of a man or gentleman - political flattery is almost a request to be made slaves

CL: The spake of a fighting Irishman! - be careful Moore - and pray Phobus at length your political ma­lice may not get you lodgings within the same palace!

H: Let's have music and dancing! - (rings for his maid) - Nancy, a song! - (Nancy commences a lively air and pirouettes around the assembled gentlemen) - Byron - you will stay, won't you?

B: I will - but by all the gods - Hindoo, Scandinavian, and Hellenic! - Hunt, you are hardly over head and ears in disgrace! (Nancy lands in B's lap) 

H: You will stay for supper my friends - we're having Ortolans with white truffles

All: With pleasure

 

v

​

SCENE 3

​

The party wakes up slowly the next morning - Nancy has fled with Charles Lamb

 

B(fresh from bath): Hair of the Dog of Herod! - what is that godawful noise??!!

​

A pack of wild children come screaming into Hunt's cell - and proceed to prod and poke his hungover guests

​

M: What in all the saints?!

H: Now children - don't jump on our guests in such a manner! Here are some left-over Ortolans - out to the tennis court and throw balls at the screws

Children: Yes papa!

H: Thousand apologies - plans for the day !? Your Lord-ship and Moore - our betters in the spheres of literature and investiture - I have pre-arranged a treat for you (curls toes)

B(groans): Fletcher!! a raw egg and pepper 

H: Ha! - there is no Fletcher here now my Lord - no, for a friend of mine - who is also irked to the very nethers by the upper classes - is to pay us a visit (looks at Ormolu clock) - In about 10 minutes Mr. Brougham will be taking coffee with us 

B: Brougham! That despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps - a violator of his word - that aspiring coxcomb?! 

​

Brougham enters

​

HB: I shall grow egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship’s good opinion, heh heh

​

H - a hack in his element - revels in the tension and rocks on his heels  - again

​

H: 'Twould seem to have escaped your notice, Byron, that I - with my all my domestic adhesions - I should be in prison for putting our atrocious Regent to the sword - whilst you - my Lord - who would not lose your liberty - perhaps at most your title - powders a peruke daily in the hope of  receiving a shuddering Royal glance

B (pale with rage): I'll Manton you yet Hunt! (H sneers and pockets B's watch chain)  - although, be damned if you won't leave what's left of your wits in this dungeon!

H: How antique Byron! (swinging his watch-chain) - violence by means of equipment a middle-income man with ten children can't buy

M: His Lordship and I will ignore this ignoble reversal of power dynamics - and will take our leave, gentlemen   

HB(scoffing): Anacreon! Tom Little! Tom Moore, or Tom Brown! - how you excel at tickling the Ton - I suppose that to-night you’re engaged with some codgers  - and for Sotheby’s Blues have deserted Sam Rogers - but must you always play the Scurra?

B: I'm sure your wife will agree - Brougham - an Infidus Scurra is a much, much worse thing to be

HB (apoplectic): I'll see you in prison - or exiled yet, my Lord!

​

M and B gather their empty trunks and baskets - and depart to find the faithful yeoman Fletcher waiting for them with a tray of eggs and pepper

​

v

​

END