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 

a Caroline

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SCENE 1

 

1807, Southwell  parochial house - ‘Hours of Idleness' has just been published

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B: CANDOUR compels my verse, BECHER!

REV(closing book): It seems to have compelled you somewhat too far, my boy

JP: If I may - limping decorum may yet land you a publisher in the Capital, my Lord 

REV: Mr. Pigot is quite correct - (wags finger) 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 - I suspect it shall be much sought after

 

The Rev. checks his pockets

 

B: Yes, do keep one, Becher - for 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 wondrous creature, with long blonde hair tied up by a velvet ribbon, 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!! (tears hair) 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(moved by E's defence): If only you weren’t engaged to that officer out in India - my good Queen Bess - for none other than thy words can console

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

B(darkens): Tomatoes, tomatos (looks out window) - 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​​

 

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 Turkish bath-house 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

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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: Loughborough?

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

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

EP(leaping up): Back to your washtubs with your premature desires! (to JP) - lord spare us these presumptuous maidens - all reckon themselves Helen of Troy!

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? (laughs, a bit manically, in truth)

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Choking sounds from beneath the sofa

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E & JP: BYRON!! (rush to lift up sopha ruffle - 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 fond of it - and my ribbons - (grabs locket) this hair is LIGHT BROWN!!

B: oh, unholy fires​

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SCENE 3

​​​The Reverend 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 Becher - many apologies, 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

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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 (smiles indulgently) - for I have faith that, upon reaching your majority, you will reject such brazen candour as a matrimonial hazard and a literary curse!

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END

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