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Fragment An Of Epistle to

Tom Moore

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Cast

Lord Byron

Tom Moore

JC Hobhouse

a waiter

a wine-bearing donkey

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SCENE 1

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The Dog & Duck public house, 1814

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B: I am really your “man of all measures” Tom? damned fine compliment that

M: ‘Twas more, as we say in Kerry, ‘your man’ - like, d’you know, ‘your man’ - d’you know? (takes snuff - admires new jacket)

B: Ah! your sublime Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic - at any rate, Tom, you are a thing of impulse and a child of song - if I may puff by return of compliment

M: Surely you may - c'mere, d’ye like my fine broth of a new jacket - my tailor said - could not but be delighted - said  “Sure there’s not much of you there Mr. Moore - we shall have to make this cloth work hard to make the man!" - (whistles) - charming

B: You should go to my tailor - he does not require payment

M(to waiter): Oysters! and Collar of Brawn - have you a wine list of sorts, somewhere, at all?

B(raises eyebrows): We require no advice from the cellar monkeys, my dear Moore, (to waiter) - we’ll take your liquids alphabetically my good man (waiter bows to ground)

B(raises glass to M): “If our weight breaks them down, and we sink in the flood, we are smother’d, at least, in respectable mud”

M(clinks glass): Mud in your eye my friend - but I have a wife and five children at home, so I must take it a bit handy

B: Ha! your blad­der is made of rhyme (leans in) I need you, Moore - for I have found myself engaged to a Unitarian

M(chokes on an oyster): Mary and all the more questionable Saints!! Sing ‘Glory to God’ in a spick and span stanza!!

 

M rushes outside to recover his senses

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SCENE 2

​M returns

B: My dear Moore - damned if the papers haven’t told you of the fusses, the fetes, and the gapings in my love life?

M: I feel it in my waters - it will not fare well

B: I am stretched Moore - there are holes in the roof - worse yet, my cellar has been ravaged (grinds teeth)

M: But you are not in love?

B: My friend - I don’t want to be in love - I simply require someone to yawn with

M: mmm, it does limit one’s scope of fun - plus I’ve made more visits to my tailor in one year than is strictly necessary

B: Sure, there’s nothing like t'other - to quote yourself  Tom (thinks) or was it Fletcher?

M: Byron, I am one of your most buoyant supporters, but I fear the Divers of Bathos will find you drown’d in a heap

 

Waiter brings wine in on a small donkey

 

B: In sooth - if I end as a  ‘Felo de se', who, half drunk with my malmsey, walks out of my depth and gets lost in a calm sea - so much the worse - I must become a husband a provide an Heir to this (points) hair!

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The friends have arrived at the letter ‘G'  in the alcoholic alphabet - which - within half an hour - is impressive work

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​M: But sure - you are sadly deficient in whiskers

B: Your demeanour is rather too hearty, Tom

M: You know, we are used to quite different graces

B: Tom, begor (chuckles) you have the prettiest wife I’ve yet seen - in terms of faces

M: The Czar - did you meet him - I own, is much brighter and brisker than our flat-faced Majesty - and, wouldn’t you know it - my lord - in mere breeches whisk’d round in a waltz with the Jersey

B(sighs pitifully): Jersey! I poem’ed her - her hair is very like mine - lovely Sarah! - ah!

 

The lads look up from their cups with understandable hesitancy – Hobhouse is here

 

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 SCENE 3

 

H does not sit, calls the donkey and places a box on the table

 

B: A cowpox on you Hobhouse!! - Moore and I are making plans for our future

M: Hallo Hobby! How’s the embryo parliament-man? Let's have a sing-song - I'll start - (takes a breath deep from the diaphragm)

H(with rage undefined as B is also making arrangements to sing): We are due up North - two days ago! Your wedding present cost me a half-years allowance! Father will enscript me if he finds out!

B: pfttt

M: Not at all my dearest Hobby - we were just going for a swim on the stream of Old Times - here have an ale - Huzzah!! Let’s all do some hexameters

 

Hobhouse throws daggers at Moore, proceeds to pile remaining booze on the donkey

 

H: I am far from dear anything to you Mr. Moore - Byron - you are to be married, sir, married - to a fine young lady with an acceptable upper facial quadrant and but two removes from a tidy fortune - boots on Sir!!

 

Moore turns smiling, somewhat worse for wear and tear, to Byron

 

B: Apologies, Tommy - I must fulfil my destiny, ‘twas foretold  - I  shall suffer an English wife in order score a fine Italian one 

 

B boots up, dons blue coat

 

B: Here’s to you Tom Moore - where’s the wine? 

H: Get into the coach Byron - you've no time!!

 

B and M say goodbye without words - or wine

 

H: There’s GOES to you Tom Moore! (snickers delightedly and leads an unstable B out into the closing day)

 

END

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