To Thomas Moore

Written The Evening Before His Visit To

Mr. Leigh Hunt In Horsemonger Lane Gaol

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Cast

Lord Byron

Thomas Moore

Leigh Hunt

Henry Brougham

Fletcher

Charles Lamb

Hunt Kraal

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SCENE 1

 

1813, Hunt has landed in chokey for slandering the POW 

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Byron and Moore are relaxing at Bennet Street - Byron's London HQ -  reading the notorious article

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B: “This Adonis of loveliness - a corpulent man of fifty" - lands a man in jail for two years?! Sunburn me!

M:  The Examiner - ha! - a  “Nest of Villains" - that unstable quack Wm. Blake was right, (nods approvingly) 'tis fine strategising from those Hunt brothers - the Morning Post and the Courier will be forced into even more pukesome paean-izing of the “Glory of the people"- the “Exciter of Desire" - bravo Messieurs of the Post!! (both laugh heartily) - although incarceration is preferable to base flattery, it is a bold step

B: “Breather of eloquence - who cannot say a few decent extempore words if we are to judge, at least, from what he said to his regiment on its embarkation for Portugal"- I say, I can't help but admire the verve and venom of Hunt - it takes a sturdy pudding to challenge the Regent's capricious hate speech laws 

M: He's a scrapper - and a good hater - certainly no “conqueror of hearts" - although, extending his disgust to the very top crusts of society is foolish whilst the poor man is in need of scraps - very foolish, too, to befriend that law-bothering carcass of envy Henry Brougham

B(shudders): Brougham!! 'ere the name is a toe-curler yet! (inhales fine Turkish tobacco) - as to Hunt, mmm - he is very officious in using my title - no! - I feel sure he harbours no grudge for his lack of ready money - besides, detention to a man always in want can but save on sea-coal and excessive Kraal propagation in Hampstead 

M: Yes, well my dear Byron - I must pack a basket of billiard balls, shuttlecocks and dynamite for Hunt

B(pats M on the back): Admirable Tom - admirable indeed to abandon the sylvan sequestration of Mayfield Cottage - and your beautiful Bess - for Hunt and the Surrey jail!

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B and M shake hands and part - B sulks with intent around the sopha

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B: mmm - 'twould seem the Surrey jail is the place to be at the moment - Holland House is empty - you could whistle up the wind in Carlton House - perchance I should pay the cockney stoic a visit

F: Jail - my Lord - what vestments to wear? - mourning - crepe and black gloves?

B: Hang it, Fletcher! - (broods) - why is Tommy going? why isn't he taking me? How I do love that five-foot man! (wistfully) - his Quarto two-pounds, his Two­penny Post Bag - why! he is as much a member of my menagerie as Jenny (Jenny the parrot flies into a rage) - for God's sake Jenny! I must have my own Life! - Fletcher!!!

F: Yes my Lord

B: Prepare a sombre outfit for the morn - I am going to jail

F: With or without crepe my lord

B: Without - Fletcher - look to it!! (muses) - I will take fine Moroccos of my latest best-sellers, soap? - sweetmeats - fine woollen blankets - the suffering of the poor man! - Fletcher!!!

F: Yes my Lord

B: Fill one of my travelling trunks with an assortment of goods as one in jail might require for a civilised level of comfort

F: Yes my Lord

B: But not my white Brandy - or pale Champagne

B: Of course - my Lord

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B returns to look for more generalised insults in Hunt's article

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SCENE 2

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Hunt's suite in the Surrey jail is jiving with visitors

 

H: Lord Byron! My best friend - what excellent timing (with something of malice) - How often I have turned my head round to the door, hoping that the knock might be yours (shakes hand) - Fletcher not with you? You'll have to pour your own, my Lord - heh

B(disgusted by the lack of formality, but carries on sympathetically): Hunt - Mr. Lamb - how very good to see you both looking so well - I say, is that a badminton court? and a billiards table? Do I smell fresh geraniums?

H: All of the above my dear Byron - all of the above! - I am as pandered to as if I were an about-to-be-decapitated French queen

B: By the Pharoh's feet! I feel a fool - being unfamiliar with the penal code - for I have sent you a large trunk of gentlemen's necessities - Is that an original Shakespeare folio?

CL: Oh - that - yes - I made the same mistake as yourself  Lord Bryon - if you'll permit me (B is again astounded by the lack of formality in the prison system) - I, too, was taken aback by the décor - for it is something not found outside a fairy tale

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Moore is announced by the screw

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H: Moore - my best friend! I have heard of your new residence - please do not be so outrageous as to talk of groves and moral prospects whilst I am deprived of same

M(nods deeply): Hunt - Lamb - (delighted) why Byron! we shall all stand behind our plucky friend - shall we not?

B: Deuced if we won't! I have a thorough esteem for the independence of spirit - (to Hunt) and I wish our friendship may be permanent (H eyes B's watch chain - and acquiesces) I must say this is a fine set-up - (walking around the many rooms - spies tennis court) - of course, I but narrowly scrimped prison after my squib on the Princess' tears

H(rocks on heels): An old English baron is free of legal consequences - therefore of His Majesty's hospitality - no! - the luxury of martyrdom is for the common-folk only - my Lord

M: Flattery in any shape is unworthy of a man or gentleman - political flattery is almost a request to be made slaves

CL: The spake of a fighting Irishman! - be careful Moore - and pray Phobus at length your political ma­lice may not get you lodgings within the same palace!

H: Let's have music and dancing! (rings for his maid) - Nancy, a song! (Nancy commences a lively air and pirouettes around the assembled gentlemen) Byron - you will stay, won't you?

B: I would be delighted - but by all the gods - Hindoo, Scandinavian, and Hellenic - Hunt, you are hardly head over ears in disgrace (Nancy lands in B's lap) 

H: You will all stay for supper my friends - we're having Ortolans with white truffles

All: With pleasure

 

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SCENE 3

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The party wakes up slowly the next morning - Nancy has fled with Charles Lamb

 

B(fresh from bath): By the Hair of Herod - what is that godawful noise??!!

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A pack of wild children come screaming into Hunt's cell - and proceed to prod and poke his hungover guests

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M: What in all the saints?!

H: Now children - don't jump on our guests in such a manner! Here are some left-over Ortolans - out to the tennis court and throw balls at the screws

Children: Yes papa!

H: Thousand apologies - now, your Lord-ship and Mr. Moore - our betters in the spheres of literature and investiture - I have pre-arranged a treat for you (curls toes)

B(groans): Fletcher?! a raw egg and pepper 

H: Ha! - there is no Fletcher here now my Lord - no, for a friend of mine - who is also irked to the very nethers by the upper classes - is to pay us a visit (looks at Ormolu clock) In about 10 minutes, Mr. Brougham will be taking coffee with us 

B: Brougham! That despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps - a violator of his word - that aspiring coxcomb?! 

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Brougham enters

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HB: I shall grow egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship’s good opinion

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H - a hack in his element - revels in the tension and rocks on his heels  - again

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H: 'Twould seem to have escaped your notice, Byron, that I - with my all my domestic  adhesions - I should be in prison for putting our atrocious Regent to the sword - whilst you - my Lord - who would not lose your liberty - perhaps at most your title - powders a peruke daily in the hope of  receiving a shuddering Royal glance

B(pale with rage): Holy fires, I'll Manton you yet Hunt! (H sneers and pockets B's watch chain)  - although, be damned if you won't leave what's left of your wits in this dungeon 

H: How very feudal indeed, Byron (swinging his watch-chain) - violence by means of equipment which a man of middling to zero income - with ten children and one and a half wives to support - couldn't possibly obtain

M: His Lordship and I will ignore this ignoble reversal of power dynamics - and will take our leave, gentlemen   

HB(scoffing): Anacreon! Tom Little! Tom Moore, or Tom Brown! - how you excel at tickling the Ton - I suppose that to-night you’re engaged with some codgers - and for Sotheby’s Blues have deserted Sam Rogers - but must you always play the Scurra?

B: I'm sure your wife will agree - Brougham - an Infidus Scurra is a much, much worse thing to be​

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HB faints - M and B depart to find the faithful yeoman Fletcher waiting outside with a tray of eggs and pepper

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END