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Epistle to Mr. Murray​​​

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Cast

Lord Byron

Fletcher

John Murray II

JC Hobhouse 

PB Shelley​​

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Scene 1

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Venice, 1818 - B is relaxing with a fish supper after an exhausting stretch of scribbling and masking

 

B: What am I supposed to drink with salt-fish, Hobhouse - eh - what?

H: Soy sauce, I’d imagine - now, to business Byron - Murray demands your ultimate Canto - is the damned thing ready?

B: Oh that? ‘tis, but I am most probably done with my Pilgrim (winces as he bites) - Fletcher! I can't eat this asphyxiated fish - bring me some spaghetti

F: Yes, my lord

H: Harold? - to be terminated?(frowns) - that is most unfortunate - however, we can but hope the future will provide horrors equal to '16 to re-ignite the Childe - and leave his name and morals irretrievably delapidated

B: Why you shabby fellow! I'll have you castrated!

H(whimpers): It's this palazzo! It has degraded my homely English sense of fair play (glares at portrait of a near-naked Prelate and his mistress) - I must leave these seductive Italian colour schemes, sumptuous beds, sophas, and housemaids - to say nothing of the piano nobile's squawking zoological stockades

B: Pfft! 'tis a vastly improved accommodation from Piccadilly and its bedded-in bailiffs (twists jaw violently)

H: Aye, it is so very different to dear Wimbledon - one imagines it must be draining your purse?

B: One can live easily up to one's tailoring and upholstery in this Adriatic soup-kitchen (grumbles) - although - my landlady is oft spying in her attic, which deucedly compromises my affairs - and my verse - as for ready money - I caress my little sequins every day

H: Heh - now to Murray! - he wants his damned Canto..

B: It’s safe in your portmanteau

H: ‘Twould seem there are only our goodbyes left to complete..

 

H becomes tearful - B hands him a key to his Casino wherein he keeps his Nine Muses

 

H: Blast it all to hell Byron! I have no time for your whore-hold - I have a few more water-works to be inspecting - addio to you, my dear friend - I suspect you shall not miss my rigorous henpecking

 

H and B shake hands and turn their backs, with emotion

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Scene 2

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Shelley is paying Byron a visit - is impressed by the Palazzo, despite being a communist

 

B: Shelley - how well you look!

S(panics): Oh dear - do I? (runs to mirror - is temporarily lost in thought) - well, my Lord - business first - I also am being harassed by Murray

B: That fiend! What does the renegade want?

S: He is anxious for your ‘Beppo’

B: Humph! tell him - when copied, I’ll send it

S: He complains he has only Sotheby’s Tour..

B: No great things - to be sure­ (both guffaw)

S: The pompous rapscallion - who don’t speak Italian, nor French, must have scribbled by guess work (both now roaring)

B: He can make any loss up with ‘Spence’ and his gossip - a work which must surely succeed (clink glasses - despite Shelley abstaining from hard liquor)

B: All this deuced nonsense - he must be behind on his party contributions (paces) - he has a stable of hacks - why would he flog his blood horse - which would be me - to death?!

S: I wouldn’t half mind being flogged to death - it being a failed poet's shibboleth (sinks in chair)

B: What now?

S: Oh! - to be tormented by global stardom and intermittent correspondence from a Gentleman publisher

B: In good time my dear Snake, for now, to succeed you must write to make people purchase and read (ponders, helpfully) - for a subject, what think you of  General Gordon - the 10th Hussar's tyrannical Gulliver? 

S: I detest military matters

B(shakes head): Oons! - this is what comes from belonging to a sheep-rearing dynasty, with 'owt but fly-bitten ewes to chase after! Anyway, this strident man girded his sword on to serve with a Muscovite master, and help him to polish a nation so owlish - that they thought shaving their beards a disaster!

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B sees S still in a funk

 

B: Shall we venture to the beach, my friend? - you’ll feel better there - brains whizzing etc. - you can see my eagle spirit soar, if 'twould please you

S: The beach? The lone sands, stretching far away? - why, most decent of you Byron - indeed, I cannot spend the entire day acting the Yahoo

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B and S depart

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Scene 3

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Breezy day on the Lido - all the horses in Venice belong to Byron and have fantastical saddles, bits etc. - Shelley has a surprisingly good seat considering his longing for death

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S: You must - after we have communicated without fear along this lonely coast - give me a message to take back to Murray

B: I have many more pounds of flesh for him to feast upon - unless I get the Tertian again - but for now I need corn plasters and Macassar oil - incomparable - did you ever try it? - you have great hair if you’d get it dressed - oh! and a couple of savage Bulldogs - and tell him to hurry!

S: He specifically warned me you’d make such outlandish, canker-y aristocratic demands

B: The only proper way to deal with the poor yet shrewd man, my good Snake! - no - you may inform him that I’ll conclude a compact without more delay - and repeat to him “please, sir, to mention your pay” - it should provide deuced quality entertainment to watch him respond

S: That your pen is still extant in Venice will be coinage to his ears and his sales chart

B: Now - temporal things done - would you like to witness the pageant of my bleeding heart?

S: Indeed - I’ll race you!

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The two poets pick up speed and disappear into the sea spray​

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​​​END