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Cast

Lord Byron

SB Davies

Fletcher

Mrs. Mule

William Bankes

JC Hobhouse

Echo​

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Scene 1

 

1812, epistles are flying into the latest Lion's den - Byron's St. James' HQ

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SBD(picking up a folio of fan mail): Well now, Byron - very tempting what? - mmm - do you want any of these? (snorts) heh - very devout or very reforming or very troubled - zounds! - this one - of a Tuesday evening - very available 

B: I've no time for any of them Scrope - I've only been famous a month, yet I am already entangled in an inescapable web of intrigue and future torments

SBD: I shall lay a wager - the first epistle I pluck - you shall act upon - the prize - my little Dormeuse carriage

B: I require a larger vehicle (sits, frowns, kicks fire) - be damned - am I to be every fair maid's schmuck!! One would imagine being the most desired man in the capital would alleviate such trouble - in truth, it would appear to have multiplied times a million (checks faulty mathematics) - well, at least double

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Fletcher announces William Bankes - friend, aesthete, and Royal Park fancier

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WB: Good day all (observes B's sulk) - good Lord, what's burning the toast of London?

SBD: The attention of Romantic reformers is quite overwhelming Grub Street's favourite son (pockets several letters) 

WB: Pfft! - enjoy it while you can, my dear Byron - our people are fickle and prefer their heroes to throw more Naval or Hussar-type shapes

B: Sunburn me first, Bankes! - if they'd win a deuced war, I should be relieved of this (points to a folio of letters) and this (pile of unsolicited MS's) and this! (points to trunk stuffed with odd stockings, bloomers and lengths of lustrous hair)

WB: What a fool you are, Byron - are we not all rattling toward the grave?- perchance rapidly, considering the hours we keep - don't hold these amorous opportunities so cheap! (picks up a letter) - zounds! - what have we here - a PARK!!

B: What!

WB: Let me read - yes, yes, love, hearts, etc. - ha!  - “Should curiosity prompt you, and should you not be afraid of gratifying it, by trusting yourself alone in the Green Park at seven o’clock this evening, you will see Echo”- it's a Royal one - I know the Watch - they are exceedingly discreet

SBD: You simply must go, Byron - after all, you can always hie it to the Levant - like our Bankes here - if you are discovered trowserless in a Covent Garden back-street

B: Mmm - could be a trap - several husbands and members of  The Fancy already want my hide - I'll think on't

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SBD and WB prepare to depart for Whites and another ruinous session of Hazard 

 

W.B: Carpe diem Byron - carpe!!

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The lads take their leave - B ruminates in his fine Turkish pelisse and slippers

 

B: Surely this would be a backward step - I can't have partaken in such avant-garde adventures in The East - and acquired such extraordinary fame - and become so lusted after - simply return to the rustic rumblings reminiscent of my Southwell sojourns - no! it shan't happen - I wonder what she looks like - Fletcher!!

F: Yes my Lord

B: How was this letter delivered?

F: Which? oh that one!- a small cloaked creature, if I remember, with a fairy hand and a vague scent of lawn grass

B: Fairy hand? Did she speak?

F: mmm - 'twas -“Excuse the twigs in my hair - my good man - you must deliver this to His Lordship”

 

B is cautious - and, predictably, curious

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Scene 2

 

Evening has fallen - B resolves to partake of the refreshing breeze with a stroll in the Park

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H: Why Byron! - what brings you here at this bewitching hour? Don't you know that after 6pm, these Parks are repositories of milliners?

B: Hobby! - of course I'd meet you here, my better self (is ashamed) - actually, Hobby (is disgusted) - why stroll you here?

H: Walking home to Hounslow - shortcut saves acres of shoe leather - Father is still in a rage at me - threatens conscription - must stroll through - leave Byron! leave before the Watch finds you! (H rushes on - unmolested and unapproached)

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B rests on a park bench - hears a rustle in a nearby shrubbery

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E: Turn not my beauteous Lord! - speak not!

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B attempts both

 

E: Take instruction - or we are both ruined

B: Who talks of loving in a voice so trembling, so muffled - and so sweet? Echo, is that you?- word of warning - my heart can never love again - such agonies flatten my curls and give me crows-feet

E: Who bids the heart with the wildest throbbings beat? - yet gives no balsam to assuage its pain - is it for thee blooming in youthful prime, the sweets of love for ever to forego?

B: Forego? - I wish I were able to forego loving, my sweet Echo, it all but falls into my lap where ere I go - yea even to Melbourne House

E: And wand’ring thus afro clime to clime, abjure all joy but the joy of woe?

B: Ah, true! - how very odd that a stranger - a voice from out the wilderness of a common shrub - should sympathise with my plight (is moved) - bless you, my Lady of the Green Park grotto

E: Exists there not on earth a kindred mind? Lives there no one, whose bosom would have joy’d to calm that soul too tenderly refin’d?

B: I am yet too callow to require an Echo - I must abjure responsibility and have fun for a bit, as yet

E: Is there no one who like thee too may hate - may loathe - the languor of a life of rest? Who now may pine in sad unvarying state?

B: Davies, do you know him? - a profane jester(chuckles) - bet me I'd be here tonight - didn't take it - do I have to honour it? Be damned if I do!

E: Wand’ring with thee, I would be truly blest - and if thy wounded heart I could not cure, thy mind, at least I might have pow’r to calm (rustling occurs) - why, I could pour into thy soul sweet friendship's balm

B: Oh! - yes - er, hesitate, my dear Echo! - I presume you're referring to my Childe - I, however, am a most jocular fellow - in truth, after a few at the Dog & Duck, quite the Punchinello - and wear not wolfskin breeches and snarl not at approaches from dangerously independent women and aspiring scribblers

E: Oh, Byron! thou hast known enough of pain!

B: Lord save me, I have! - but I'm on a good streak at the moment and shall rise to the challenge of life - such is the blood of the Byrons

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The Watch approaches

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W:  Hullo Hullo - you (to B) yes you - you have the mien of an aristocrat who owes money all over town - hop it!

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W looks into shrubbery

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W(to B): Hold on! - there's a somewhat plain mob cap here caught on the twigs - know you to whom it belongs?

B: Er, no - although I must congratulate you, Watch, on your grammar

W: I thank you - now be off!

B: I shall tell Bankes you said hello

W: Very good, my Lord

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B retreats, puzzled 

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Scene 3

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Morning in St. James - B's late morning grumpiness is interrupted by SBD

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SBD: Holy fires but you look unwell, Byron - Fletcher! - a dose of salts!!

B: Damn your eyes, Scrope - it's your confounded fault! So enticed was I at your prompting - and the notion of your handy little Dormeuse - I went, after 6pm, to Green Park

SBD(laughs): You rogue hunter of squirrels! Tell me all about your fumblings in the dark (pours a large one)

B: 'Twas but a voice from yonder - I saw, nor felt, no material being

SBD: What? oh, bad luck - still, only your veteran milliners frequent the Royal Parks

B: The Watch came upon us - and to Hades with it, you Devil!!! - if I had dressed down for the occasion, Judge Jeffreys would certes have detained me at his Majesty's leisure - and all for naught of pleasure!

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F brings in the post

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SBD: What treats this day, eh Byron? - give me the first perusal (grabs) - I do appreciate your poesy pimping for me (grins)

F: This (hands up note) was on the tray 'ere I got up my Lord - it's a bit grubby - but I swear 'twasn't there last eve

B: Zeus! but it is grubby - it can only be from my earth-bound friend Echo!

SBD(snatches and reads): “But like the tender bird that sweetly sings, Pierc’d by the thorn, more lovely is thy strain, Writing from agony’s deep piercing stings. Then oh! if thou hast suffer’d, learn to feel! And glory not in giving hopeless pain" (SBD & F laugh quite ruthlessly)

B: I must see!! ah! - these pretty dears are simply confused re. my creation - and me

SBD: In truth, my Lord, you willingly indulged in a questionable after-dark rendezvous - not something a well-adjusted gentleman would indulge in - at least, not so very brazenly

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Mrs. Mule enters, Davies starts

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B: Be not afraid Davies 'tis but my withered, ancient housekeeper Mrs. Mule - Mule! I noticed the grates were atrociously déshabillé this morning - see to it!

MM: Aye, my Lord

B: Mule? Where is your cap - you cannot parade around half-naked in front of my guests

MM(flustered): Er, 'tis lost - perchance the dog ate it

B: Mule - I give you great lee-way because you have been most faithful to me - but you shall not show up - late in the afternoon - with twigs in your hair

MM(piano): Soften thy heart, or harsher be thy strain

B: Very good, Mule - that will be all - Fletcher - ensure that Mule is correctly attired in future

F: Yes, my Lord

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The ancient, otherwise hardy, Mule dashes from the room - losing a boot and her apron along the way

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B: Sunburn me if I've seldom witnessed such behaviour from Mule - check the brandy levels Fletcher

F: Yes, my Lord

SBD: Your good old woman is one boot the less in the world - and her apron has dislodged a note 

B: Give it here - the vixen - tempting my equally ancient groom no doubt (begins to read)

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B collapses into his best reading chair

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SBD: What the holy is the matter! Byron! (picks up letter and reads)“ Be on that side of the Green Park that has the gate opening onto Piccadilly, where the Watch has a blind-spot - at 7pm - and leave the rest to Echo. Should apathy or indifference prevent your coming, adieu for ever!” (SBD looks to door) 

F: Brandy is at levels to be expected my Lord - my lord - why are you biting that saucer!!

SBD: Into Piccadilly Fletcher - hunt down Mule!

F: She fears t' gentlemen's quarter by day Mr. Davies - only ventures out after six in t' evening - but then! (huffs) - yea, at her age! - more oft than not - she pulls an all-nighter!

B(recovers promptly, takes charge): Enough! - I shall not persecute that most doggéd firelighter (grinds teeth) - despite her total want of common conduct. The hypnotic power of my poesy and under-look does seem to drive women - yea, even doughties like Mule - quite out of their minds - assure her, Fletcher, we know nothing of this attempted seduction of her Master 

F: Yes, my Lord

SBD: The crone is perplexedly in love Byron - she will be a torment to you!

B: No, my dear Scrope - for she will but torment other females, more determined and quite insane females, from invading my premises (pours the Brandy) - here's to the end of unwanted visitors and amorous epistles from reforming inquisitors! (clinks glasses)

F: My Lord - there is a lithe Gentleman's page - with large brown eyes shewing something of a manic aspect - waiting outside with the impatience of - yea - a little volcano

B: Very well - show him in - heigh ho! (shrugs) - how much worse could my day possibly go?

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END