'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts by Spokeshave (poetry books to read .TXT) 📕
- Author: Spokeshave
- Performer: -
Book online «'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts by Spokeshave (poetry books to read .TXT) 📕». Author Spokeshave
I greet thee, gentlemen, to conclave sweet.
Wisdom hath whispered in mine willing ear
That we uncumbered by the darker tint
Of those who meet us at official board
Could better sound the depths of special woes
Which daily do beset us as we toil
With earnest hearts to boost the public weal
By filling vacant posts with Democrats!
Sir Windbag:
But, Francos, list; a more disturbing mob,
Whose crop is filled with discord and contempt,
On which they daily feed, I ne'er have sized.
'Twere well to laws enact to hold in curb
These brainless cubs who wield a pricking quill
And words indite with vitriol for an ink,
Which burns the meaning into quiv'ring brain
And leaveth scars which time can ne'er efface.
A son of Erin in official place
Did eulogize my effort at the club;
And I, elated, loaned it to the press
For publication if the writer willed;
But scruples seemed to fill his vacuous mind,
Hence it was hidden from the public gaze.
Now it hath disappeared, and Rumor saith
'Tis to be published in a stealthy way.
Zounds! 'tis enough to cause the blood to course
Like mercury adown the burning veins.
Could I but lay my eager hands upon
The thiefly neck, I'd wring it with good zest.
Francos:
But, Windbag; why didst thou thy tongue unloose,
And set it wagging vaporings and froth?
Thou mightest have known the foe didst ready stand
To thrust thy words adown thy choking throat.
Imprudence on its shoulders ever bears
A burden which may crush its author down;
'Twere best to keep the pen in constant leash,
For, words, indited not, work little harm.
Sir Windbag:
But softly, Sire, Thy record is not clean,
If but tradition wears a truthful garb.
Plug hats and coats of a latest Tammany style
And "pleasure saturnine" did figure cut
When first thy mouth did voice the burning thoughts
That trickled from a brain much overwrought
By meditation on conditions here
Which bore so heavy on this downtrod race.
Francos:
Alas! 'tis true. Indoctrined by the words
So eloquently voiced by one who long
Hath dwelt within this city, where before
The bar he wondrous reputation gained,
I waited not to form a judgment sound,
But leaning on a faith of fiction born,
Awoke to find selfseeking underneath
Each silver work this vampire spouted forth.
Sir Windbag:
Francos, indeed thou hast my sympathy
For this fat prophet wore an honest mien
So that e'en I who boast a subtile brain
Did fall before his wordy blandishments.
'Tis well! we then are quits. But why this call?
What matter of great import draws us here?
Francos: (to Windbag)
The welfare of our party is at stake.
"Our" is the word, for thou the Rubicon
Hast crossed, and henceforth—lest thou bolt again—
Deep in our councils, e'er thy duty calls.
Sir Higgs:
Most honored sirs, why this entanglement?
Both, through the want of deep experience,
Have, as the sacred writer once did say,
"Over the whiffle trees foolishly kicked."
Sir Henmart:
Ha, Ha! Sir Higgs, the Bible saith not so!
But but let it pass. We politicians read
The party platform more than sacred word,
And make it standard for our daily lives.
Francos:
But, sirs, the matter pertinent this hour
Involves the honor of our party's name.
When first I reached these shores, one Seldonskip,
As scrivener, did bear me company.
Alas! he captive fell to woman's wiles
And with a former gallant measured arms
Hence I was forced, if peace were to be kept,
To send him "kiting" to his distant home.
This strippling came of Democratic stock,
Hence, to protect our party from dire shame,
I tried to keep the cause of his deport
A secret close, within official halls.
But emissaries from the spying press
Did quick discern the matter and did blaze
It on the pages of their various sheets
And point with scorn at Democratic worth!
Sir Henmart:
But, Sire, 'tis in the past, and what have we
To do with fool gyratings of this callow youth?
In Kansas we do low within the grave
Deep bury memories that prove unkind.
Francos:
Ah, sir, thy words deep meaning ever bear,
And if the past were all I'd bid it sleep.
But now a new distemper hath appeared;
For one who was selected for his worth
And whom I boasted as a model man,
Within whose veins did course a newer blood,
Hath fool-like fallen on his knees before
The goddess Venus, and to Bacchus fell
A willing victim; while his babbling mouth
Did spew dire boastings of official pull,
While Folly's goblet filled unto the brim
Slopped over, when in wordy contest, he
With green-winged parrot did engage, and fain
Its neck would there have wrung because its hue
Proclaimed not sympathy with those who bear
The orange flag when they procession make!
The guardsmen of the peace should ever soar
On wings of probity and moral worth
As Erin's Isle had furnished many such
I deemed I'd found a jewel in the rough;
But when there trickled through the spying press
A literary effort from his pen,
Wherein he said a woman "clumb" a wall
My faith in his attainments quick did fade.
Sir Higgs:
But, Sire, this dire misfortune comes in trail
Of boosting all who wear the party tag.
If I should speak the promptings of my heart,
'Twould to be give this fool a parting kick.
Sir Windbag:
But there be may in this bristling mob
Who slur at all who from proud Caesar's hand
Have gladly licked the crumbs his bounty gave
To soothe the hunger of his starving host.
Francos:
Ha! Thou hast hit the nail upon the head,
These bumpkins must not have a new made food
For laughter at our misadventure here,
Hence it were wise to send this fellow off
As if he in the path of duty treads.
Nor must we breathe but that his quick return
Will fill expectant hearts with honest joy,
Thus may we darken shades of memory.
Sir Henmart:
But did this officer a contest wage,
With her whose heart went out unto her bird?
Francos:
What! hast thou heard, on wings of rumor borne,
This matter in full detail free discussed?
Sir Higgs:
Sir, 'tis but common chatter on the streets.
And naught can hide it from the public gaze.
Francos:
Alas, there is one remedy in view
We all must strong denial ever make.
Oh, that one of the scum so strong entrenched
Had by his conduct rendered me a chance!
I would his vileness on the nonce have voiced,
But now 'twere best to cloud this matter well.
Sir Higgs:
Methinks this scuttling goes too far by half
In ousting tried officials from their posts.
'Twere wise to zeal politic well repay,
But still, efficiency should ever bring
Reward. And this, indeed, involves us all,
For dire distempers in the tropics breed:
Hence it were best to kindly caution woo.
Francos:
Sir Higgs, indeed thou ever reasonst well.
Sore ills encompass us on every side
And now do pests my happy home invade,
Bearing dire fevers on their pigmy wings,
Alas, the song they sing rejoiceth that
Efficient doctors, who did battle wage
Against them, are removed and in their place
Incompetents installed. Indeed, their stings
Convincing plea do ever make that we
Should quick return to paths trodden before
And wage crusade against the swarming pests
Until their songs are legends of the past.
Sir Windbag:
But hold, sweet Francos: did not God design
That e'en the insect should his life enjoy?
Indeed, his joyous song of gratitude
Doth only cease that he may puncture make
To meet requirements which God hath ordained.
Hence it were well to nature's laws obey,
For e'en this insect, as it wings its way,
Hath fond desire, and "knows just what it wants."
Francos, Sir Higgs and Henmart (in concert:)
Oh Rats! Rats!! Rats!!!
Francos . . . . . High Cockalorum.
Sir Henmart . . . Vice Cockalorum.
Sir Higgs . . . . Councillor.
Sir Windbag . . . Councillor.
Col. Toady . . . Grand Enumerator.
Scene: Executive Chamber.
Francos:
Ah! woe is me, my gentle councillors.
Again has treason shown its slimy head;
And from its source, I fear me, it doth bode
But ill to us, who God's anointed are.
If pedagogues may raise disdainful voice
And gross abuse on the elect bestow
Can safety from vituperation vile
From out this rotten mob be e'er assured?
Sir Henmart:
Good Francos, as this matter emanates
From out the sphere of my prerogative,
I feel a special sorrow doth becloud
The sunny pathway which I late have trod.
I find it difficult to blaze my way;
The competent among my teaching corps
Are those who dare opinions firm to form;
If loyalty alone shall be test,
'Twill leave us but a small unthinking host,
And then efficiency will find its grave
Within the tomb of our official rage.
Sir Windbag:
But Caesar grieveth that his mighty star,
Which in the human firmament doth shine
So brightly that it lighteth up the world,
Should be bespattered by this inky mud.
Col. Toady:
Ah, it were sacrilege to thus befoul
The mighty soul whose penetration deep
Hath by selection brought this galaxy
Of excellence to lead this groping state
In paths which lead to freedom and to pow'r.
Sir Higgs:
Alas, 'twas ever thus. I, in the past,
Have suffered from the pricks of nagging quills,
And all who mount aloft on fortune's wing
Must bear with ripe philosophy such ills.
Francos:
But loyalty! In Tammany I learned
That duty meek, subservient, should mark
The underlings, who but a stairway make
By which capacity doth climb to pow'r.
Efficiency! it were an idle word,
And rings not soundly on politic ear;
Obedience, the watchword e'er should be.
To do and not to think we must demand.
The welfare of our party e'er should be
Our slogan even in this wilderness;
And he who doth as critic act a part
Should quickly feel the headsman's shining blade.
Sir Windbag:
But, sire, from signs I read on every hand
If such a policy were long pursued
We must import from out our native land
More Loyal Democrats, who longing wait
To most efficiently infuse "new blood"
Where now stagnation makes the veins turn blue.
Col. Toady:
Right, right you are! I know an anxious host
Who long have languished from the want of pap,
And once were they turned loose, the energy
So long stored up would vivify this state,
But this fool civil service bars the way—
It should be thrust aside for party's good.
Francos:
Thy words do to my willing ear appeal,
But our politic foes are strong entrenched,
While mockish sentiment doth strongly point
To danger, if we cast the scoundrels out.
Col. Toady:
But, sire, in Washington they work a plan
Which, while it seems to vindicate the law,
Roots out the vermin by demoting them,
And thus our Southern veterans find a place.
Sir Higgs:
But, friends, doth prudence warrant such a step?
Already inefficiency doth creep
Into each bureau till our revenues
Do warning give that we must now beware.
Sir Windbag:
But, gentlemen, our salaries are sure;
If needs must be, cut down and slyly pare
Along the line where least resistance lies,
And on our predecessors throw the blame.
Francos:
But Caesar an accounting will demand
Should this frail craft be wrecked or run aground,
For he doth wish to cast it soon adrift
With crew well drilled to threatening shoals avoid.
Sir Higgs:
Here wisdom surely speaks in trumpet tones,
And hence we must adventure wisely make
To guide the vessel on its way with care
And launch it as a well-manned sturdy craft;
Then, whatsoe'er befalls them, we can wash
Our hands, for they by importunity
Most strong, will then have ventured on the cruise
In unknown seas where dangers dark do dwell.
Col. Toady:
Ha! well we know the course the ship will take
With men of color standing at the helm;
But let them reap the tares which they have sown,
We care not if they cut each other's throats.
Sir Windbag:
But, gentle sir, if they desire to war,
Why should we hinder such a sportive game?
They own those isles, and why should we debar
Them pastimes, for "they know just what they want."
Francos:
But, sirs, we wander from the vital point.
I called this conclave to impress with force
The import great of sifting from our ranks
Those evil-minded men, whose loyalty
Is doubtful, and may bring lasting reproach
Upon our policies, and thus besmirch
The reputation
Free e-book «'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts by Spokeshave (poetry books to read .TXT) 📕» - read online now
Comments (0)