Parody of a

“Persian Song"

of Hafiz​

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Cast

Lord Byron

Douglas Kinnaird

Reverend Francis Hodgson

Nancy - Senior Beverage Technician

Kitty - see above

a Pot Boy​

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Scene 1

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1811, the Dog & Duck public house - 4 o' the morn

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K(is frazzled): God help us, Nancy - how I wish these jug-bitten scapegraces at the Devil! How will we ever shift them? 'twas time called two hours hence

N: In truth, they look sorely bewildered (shakes head with pity) - we shall summon The Watch, by heavens!

K: Nay - Mr. Spooney will put us on the Town if his most profitable patrons appear at Judge Jeffries petty sessions

N: Humph! they do keep old Spooney comfortable in silk pantaloons! (points at gentlemen) That less bosky one is a Lord of somewhere up North - fairly flush in the pockets - that impatient ginger man is a banker..

K: Mr. Kinnaird? Pray, how do ye know?

N: He never pays (snickers) - and that small man would appear to be a Divine in training - holy fires, Kitty - 'twil take a swinging miracle to move these beaux!

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The girls glare and puff at the devout drinkers - Hodgson clicks his fingers          

H: Hoy! Bar Maid!

K: Time's been called, gentlemen!

H: Ha, yes! time - ha! - pfft! in this boozy ken? now, Kitty (imagines himself seductive) - if for this Shilling white (holds aloft a button) - would thoud’st let me love - nor scratch or scold - that ruddy cheek and ruddier hand - why, 'twould give my Bardship more delight than all the ale that e’er was sold

K: Your bardship! - that's a new one

B: I believe - my dear Kitty - that the Reverend Hodgson means to say - so much as - “Sweet maid, if thou would’st charm my sight and bid these arms thy neck infold that rosy cheek, that lily hand, would give thy poet more delight than all Bocara’s vaunted gold"

K: oh, er - gold? who is this man Bocaras? does he own the Groat & Goat in Narrow Lane?

N: Don't be listening to that drivel, Kitty! - the taps are off, Reverend - lord above - have ye no homes to go to?!!

B(flutters eyelashes, which shame the raven's wing): Fetch your pot boy, my black-eyed Nancy - let yon liquid ruby flow and bid thy pensive - yea, exhausted - heart be glad (whispers weakly) and tell Hodgson his Eden cannot show a stream so clear as Rocnabad, a bower so sweet as Mosellay

N: We have no French wines in here, my lord, not since our troubles on the Peninsula

B: Well yes, my girl (attempts to stand) - now, Mr. Spooney usually provides two soft beds - and chambermaids - when a late one is pulled (sits) - Kitty, will you fluff my pillows and warm the sheets? the canny Bridget - late of this house, and your Master's employ - did not hesitate to court a crown at 4 in the morning

K: We're not on the Town as yet, my lord!

DK(nudges B): Oh! when these ogling chambermaids - whose fingers fumble beds of down, their dear expensive charms display - each glance my dwindling cash invades and robs my purse..

B: Aye, as footpads on the Turnpike way..

K: Humph! - footpads?! what - dost thou think me some by-blow's blowing?

H: Don't mind him, my bird of paradise (takes K's hand) - his words trip over is tongue oft times - 'tis a poet's curse, you understand - now, how about you rustle us up a barrel of porter and a brace of pigeon pies

N(interrupts, angrily): What?! I'll have ye all put a brace sharpish if ye don't make for the door (waves arms threateningly)

K(is inspired): Well - there are some pies left, Mr. Kinnaird - and oysters for you, Reverend Hodgson

H: Well done, Kitty! wheel them out at your leisure - off you trot - chop chop! (leers to lads) - prime article that, my friends - certainly knows the obligations of hospitality

B: Aye, a dashed handsome and buxom young termagant she is, Hogdson (sighs, sleepily) - each glance my tender breast invades, and robs my wounded soul of rest (snores)

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The girls plan and plot in the pantry​​​

 

​Scene 2

 

All remaining Dog & Duck booze and foodstuffs are laid out 

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DK: Zounds! (leaps up) - have you not done well, my dears! (bows, unevenly)

K: You are most welcome, Mr. Kinnaird - please, do loosen your boots - I shall pour - ale? porter? pie or oysters?

DK: All of the above my dear Kitty - all of the above!

B: Girl, let that stupid booby go and bring me a pint of gin

H: Nay, Byron! - over here Nancy...

DK: I believe I am owed a pie

N: One at a time, Sweet Jesus!! (pot boy brings over ale) Mr. Kinnaird - your ale - Reverend - your pigeon pie...

H: I wanted oysters! Where are my oysters?

DK: Oysters? I'm not paying for out-of-season oysters! 

H: Speak not of pay! (munches pie) - oh! let us change the theme..

B: Let us talk of odours, talk of wine, talk of the flowers that round us bloom, tis all a cloud, ’tis all a dream - to love and joy our thoughts confine, nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom

DK: Gloom? let us talk of Bitters - talk of Gin - talk of the Beef that begs thy coin

K(stamps foot and hoists apron): Beef?! Sweet suffering haddock! -  to bread and cheese restrict thy din, nor dare hope to touch the dear Sirloin!

N: My lord - would ye care for a jug of Porter? 

B: Porter? 'Tis perilous stuff, my girl(mumbles) - I have no intention of getting hypochondriacal, or dropsical and Brown Stout has just such resistless power to make me tragical 

DK: Nancy! - Nancy, this oyster is ogling me with a green eye!

H: Kitty! - there are feathers - and a (squints) claw? - in my pigeon pie!

B: Damn your eyes, why is my gin bubbling like sulphur? Nancy, do you intend my stomach to crucify?

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​Kitty and Nancy are patiently triumphant behind the bar​

 

 

Scene 3

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The drunken blackguards - excepting B - are squirming on the floor of the Dog & Duck

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K(giggling): My, my, Nancy! - they've destroyed their inexpressibles! Was the porter deranged? Were the oysters malignant? Did the pigeons too strenuously protest their change in habitation?

N(also giggling): We had better send the pot boy for some buckets to ease their liver's agitation (both girls sneer pitilessly) 

DK: Oh! Kitty - thou thundering demon! (is ill)

K: 'Tis but the drink you should be cursing - 'tis not my fault ye've lost your reason

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B is not unwell, having no truck with dinner at any time - however, he is in somewhat of a temper

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B: O! fair perfidious maids - whose eyes our secret haunts infest, and youth so lovely and so coy! Yet say, how fall such bitter words from lips which streams of sweetness fill, which nought but drops of honey sip?

K: Enough foolery for one night 'ere we take to ye all with Spooney's whip!

H: What cruel answer have I heard! and yet, by heaven, I love thee still - my, er - Nancy?

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The front door crashes off its hinges - The Watch has arrived

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W: You're knicked, my fine gentlemen! We've been informed of your antisocial behaviour

​K & N: Yay!! Thanks be to God, the Watch is here!

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The Watch gathers up the intoxicated rogues

 

H: Unhand me, you unlicensed cockney - I am a man of the cloth! (is ill)

DK: Yes, he is - and my brother owns a bank in the Mall

W: Tell it to the judge - Kitty, Nancy - good eve - have you by chance some twine 'ere we can drag these blockheads out?

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The girls oblige - The watch drags the men out - Kitty and Nancy retire

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K: Aye me, Nancy - perchance the Town would be less exhausting!

N: You haven't made the bed (fluffs blankets) - what? what is this effronterie!

B: Good evening my dears

K: My lord! 

B: yes - I had to fluff my own pillows - come, the sheets are cold

N: How did you get here

B: I sent the pot boy for the watch - my comrades were so fairly foxed they foamed me into a reformer

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N whispers into B's little white ear, which is unlike any other ear in London

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B: And right you are -  - now, my charmers - I require buttermilk -

​B: Hey day! what devilish answer have I heard? and yet, by Jove, I’ll kiss thee still!​​

B: Can aught be cruel from thy lip, Kitty? yet say, why be so damned absurd as to box my ears and let such execrations slip!

 

The maid for whom I turn buffoon.

 

While musick charms the ravish’d ear; While sparkling cups delight our eyes, Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age.  Go boldly forth, my simple lay, Whose accents flow with artless ease, Like orient pearls at random strung: Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say; But O! far sweeter, if they please The nymph for whom these notes are sung

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​​​​So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?​​​

​END