Fragment An Of Epistle to

Tom Moore

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Cast

Lord Byron

Tom Moore

JC Hobhouse

Nancy Courtney

a waiter

a wine-bearing donkey

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Scene 1

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​1814 - The Dog & Duck public house, late into Christmas Eve

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​B(is puffed): Am I really your “man of all measures”, Tom? - devil of a 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, neatly arrayed in a tweedy tunic - if I may puff by return

M: Surely you may - so! - ye like my fine broth of a 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 a whole man!” (whistles, admires his frogging) - such a charming raiment

B: You should visit my tailor, Edwards, in the row - he does not require payment

M(to waiter): Oysters and a plate of buttered and peppered turnips, if you would, waiter - also, if you have a wine list of sorts, somewhere, at all - not to bother you - if you get the chance, there’s a good man (waiter bows to ground)

B(raises eyebrows): We require no advice from the cellar monkeys, my dear Moore! (to waiter) - we shall take our liquids alphabetically - both grain and grape - chop chop, off you trot

W: Oof! - I’ll need a small load-bearing animal to bring that much drink up from the cellar, my lord - (is indignant) I am a trained sommelier! - not a nobleman’s gofer

B: Nancy keeps a donkey about the place to provide a bass line during sing-songs - look to it, thou work-shy loafer! (raises glass to M) - now, if the drink breaks us down and we sink in the flood, we shall be 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 ‘ere I pass another night in the sanitarium

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

M(chokes on an oyster): Mary and the more improbable Saints!! Quickly, my lord, sing ‘Glory to God’ in a spick and span stanza!!

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M rushes outside to recover his senses

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Scene 2

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​M returns, still pale

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B: Pfft - my dear Moore - why such stupefaction? - be damned if our periodicals and newspapers haven’t told you of the fusses, the fêtes, and the gapings in my love life?

M: Gapings there may be - but this! - marriage to an unincorporated religion?! (wrings hands) - Byron, I feel it in my waters, it will not fare well - ’tis not a sound decision to take such a wife

B: My pockets are stretched to vacancy, Moore - my lake has been dredged for loot - to no avail - worse, my cellar has been ravaged, a circumstance quite beyond any jovial gentleman’s pale (bites nails) - and the unmarriagable women in my life urge it as my only salvation

M: So, then - ‘tis not love which actuates this heathenish ligation?

B: I have no desire to be in love! - no, I simply require someone to yawn with and see our little life out to its wintry conclusion, my friend - and to endow one with a stupendous monthly stipend

M: Hmm, love does limit one’s scope of fun - plus I’ve made more visits to my tailor in one year than is strictly necessary (is lost in thought)

B: Aye, there’s nothing like “t’other” (roars) to quote yourself, Tom (thinks) or was it Fletcher? - either way, there won’t be much of “t’other” once I’m wed

M: Byron (means to be serious) - I am one of your most buoyant supporters, but I fear the Divers of Bathos will find you drown’d in a heap ‘ere you leap into an icy marriage bed

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Waiter brings wine in on the small donkey

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B: In sooth, Tom - 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 - but I must become a husband and 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: This is all very well - but you are, as yet, a stripling of a mere twenty-six and should wed an octogenarian dowager at least - ye cannot ruin the future prospects of a milk and water heiress like - as it were - without meaning to offend - like a cupiditous beast! (pinches B’s cheek) - and you! - ah! - still so sadly deficient in whiskers

B: Your demeanour is rather too hearty, Tom - although - in truth - I have seen better on your sisters - nay - I must fulfil my destiny - ‘twas foretold - I shall suffer an English wife in order I may land a fine Italian filly freehold

M(they’re now approaching the letter ‘S’, which is becoming evident): The Czar was in town - did you meet him? - I own, he 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 - oh lovely Sarah! - ah! alas, of that luminous dame, I am quite unworthy

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

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​Scene 3

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

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H: Byron! - that I should find you here - in a Public House wallowing in straw and turnip wine! - in Walthamstowe! - the very eve before your wedding! (regards the empties strewn upon the unattended hearth) - Sir Ralph - your new father - has this minute sent a scouting party around the sea cliffs of Seaham - believes you to have been kidnapped á la Corsair (is near hysterics) - well, anyway, that’s what they’re saying at The Deadeyed Mans Inn, just next to St. Treaclemoon’s chapel - it’s been decorated Byron! - the bells and the rice have been polished! - your new mother has opened a book in consultation with Scrope - Byron, we must go!

B: A cowpox on you, Hobhouse!! Not only are we celebrating the birth of our Lord and St. Stephen, who was born somewhat later, but ‘tis Moore and I are making plans for our future, for we are eloping to - where were we going Tom?

M: The vegetable wholesalers in Kenmare, my sisters are just flipping their bonnets in glee at the prospect of your irradiating our front parlour - (squints) who’s that blocking the light - Oh! 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(is enraged as B is also making arrangements to sing): His lordship is not crossing the Irish sea in order that he may ennoble a grocer’s daughter, Mr. Moore (M raises fists) - Byron! We are due up North - two days ago! Your wedding present cost me a half-years allowance! (opens satchel) - Look! - your complete poems, writ in gold, perfumed with Eau de Myrrh - bound by Frank & Cence in the Mall! - Father will enscript me if he finds out and forbid any connection with you henceforth (weeps in frustration)

B: Why WHO ( a strange whistling sound is emitted) - who do be getting married, Hobby?

M: Are ye begetting a wedding? - that to who Hobby? - is the question - I mean, that’s right aim’t it, Hobby?

H: English, if you would Moore, you’re not wrapping root crops at Smithfield market

B: I’d ask that you not insult my best friend Tom here - he has rightly convinced me - that if I marry - it shall be to a crone with her own coffin - and a headstone picked up and paid for and planted in the family vault

M: And you could write her epitaph - wouldn’t that be a nice wedding present, my lord?

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The lads - alone - are amused

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H: Moore! Long have I suspected you of setting Byron’s mind against matrimony - now I see the proof! (wags finger ferociously) - you force him into a state of intoxication, whereafter he sets off and lunges suggestively at Miss Millstone’s mother - declaring an alteration in affection - and bedad!! - no wedding and no replenishing of Newstead’s cellar, no new roof tiles or gargoyle repairing - (rears) why you’re no better than a common footpad! - ye want nothing more than ruinous carousing at the Dog & Duck, or the Cocoa Tree Club..

B: I regret to inform you Hobby, that Tom is not, as yet, a Cocoan - but we shall do our best to smooth his application process

M: Ah now, Hobby, you’ve the picture upside down and sideyways - our Byron was drinking the apricot brandy - methodically through to the raspberry wine etc. - only for to cure his onerous digestive difficulties brought on by eating a turbot entire - mind, he shall have to stop over in the Dog & Duck for tonight - (is aghast) oh, Holy Fires! - Is he using that blue jacket as a digestive receptacle? - well, I swear on the skull of St. Thomas!

H: Arrghh! - Byron! - that is your wedding coat! - do you want to be sued for breach of promise?

M: Oops! (B has fallen from the settle and landed on top of the exhausted wine-donkey) - that’s right, my lord - a nice little rest on the straw there - you’ll be grand by the morning

H: Byron - get up! - 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!!

B: Not at all, my dearest Hobby, the night is but a pup.. (snores)

M: …and, in honour of this blessèd day, we’re due a free round from the fair Nancy Courtney (waves) - my own dear sister-in-law - now, Hobby (whispers) - would ye be looking for a wife? Fine handsome man like yourself? Our Nancy would have that peruke glued back on before you even knew ‘twas half off - as it is now (H is voiceless, and so is N) - join us, do, the more merry gentlemen the less we shall despair! - me and Byron were about to go for a swim on the stream of Old Times before that hooked-nosed man in an ill-fitting peruke interrupted our proceedings - where has he gone? (looks under table) - come, my dear Hobby, we’re on the swizzle, next ‘twil be tequila - hurrah, huzzah and heigh-ho!!

H: I am far from dear anything to you, Mr. Moore - and the less his Lordship sees of you and more of his immaculate new wife, the better we’ll all be!!

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The wine-bearing donkey and B fight for the best patch of straw

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M: Has it escaped your notice - our honourable member for the Cocoa Tree - that although I am but five foot high - ye are but five foot and two - and, I, Hobby, am no - as you do so enjoy pointing out - am no gentleman! (puts fists up, again) - I’ll have you or your honour (prances about in his sporting tweeds) - but one way or another, you shall not insult my whiskered sisters

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Nancy, fearful of a brawl during the Holy Season, emerges from behind the bar

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N: Have ye no shame, Tom! - and you a good Catholic! - I don’t know about your friend here (curtseys) - but brawling on our lord’s birthday! What would your mother say?!

H: Heh heh - you’ll either have to take one for the team, or prove to Nancy which lord you love the most, my dear Tommy

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M, outraged at H’s casual blasphemy, lets a paw fly - misses - H retaliates - Moore goes spinning onto the floor and lands atop B and the donkey

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N(to waiter): Lord above, the like has not been seen since the great Dog & Duck brawl during the Gordon Riots of 1780 - his Lordship’s friend, Mr. Davies, made his fortune by taking large bets twice nightly

W: Aye, and the mackerel snapping bead-mumblers got a fair walloping that night too, if I remember rightly

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M tries to stand but slips on the straw - Nancy races to his aid

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N: Oh, little Tom! - you’ve gotten a fair welt in the eye from that atheistic brute - my sister will not be happy - nor your tailor (to H) - look - look, you hooligan - what ye’ve done to his new tweeds! (N has gone off the fleeting notion of marriage to H) - How’s he meant to show his face at Mass with a bruise as mottled as a mouldy turnip?

M: Nancy, my little Nancy Courtney, tell your sister - my widow - ‘twas on account of - ouch! I see stars - little white stars - and a great big one brightly shining - is that Byron or the donkey whining?

N: Here, let me mop your brow, ye poor man (N kneels down, nurses M’s sufferings)

B(mumbles in sleep): Donkey! - thou malingering asinus - stop stealing my straw (snores)

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Scene 4

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Carol singers appear at the door - at the sight of Nancy and Tom, and Byron and the donkey, and the sparkling, fragrant collection of Byron’s Complete Works - they gasp and bless themselves

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M: Ah! - the little children - can you give us a bit of ‘The Goat Broke Loose’ - I’ll start - oh there once was a goose - er, ah, never mind! (points up) I can see stars - can you? (points upwards) - look at that great large fellow on high! - look how it illuminates our humble tavern!

Child: Lawks! - ‘tis a divine diorama! - let’s away to Father Spooney, he’ll be so very delighted that our Lord has come amongst us in the guise of a five-foot bruised and wasted Irishman!

M: Follow the stars, children! - oh, they’re fading a bit now - (whispers) should I tell them Nancy, or is it best to leave the little ones believe?

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The carolling ragamuffins head out to spread the good news to Father Spooney, ministering to the wickèd at the Goat & Groat

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H: In truth, this is not how I expected the evening to pan out - Byron, you must get up off that straw! - for god’s sake man - you’re about to take a bride! (throws water on B) Quick, before Father Spooney and his fellow left-footers start stripping the place for relics!

B: Och, my head was sent to torment me - and I've get to sample Dr. Pearson's psychedelics (glares angrily)  - why are you snuggled so and receiving such tender ministration and I am not!?

N: Mr. Hobhouse brutally battered my kinsman, my lord

B: Hobby! At Christmastime! - is this peace and goodwill to all men? Did you wear the muffle or whack him with a broadsword?!

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H has lost all patience with B - hoists reluctant groom onto his shoulder

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N(snarkily): Mind you don’t slip on that snow, Mr. Hobhouse, despite it being deep and crisp and even (sneers) - I will pray for the both of ye for the time of year that’s in it

H: Do - pray for my sins or some such nonsense, there’s a good girl (flips coin) - oh, and a Merry Christmas

N(bites coin): Likewise - oh - and you’re barred from the Dog & Duck or any other public house upon the Walthamstowian isthmus!

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The donkey leaps onto his hooves and head-buts H towards the door

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B: God rest ye, Tom Moore - let not my marriage ye despair! (clings on to door frame) - ‘tis but to save me from Satan’s power - although, it must be said, at rather a late hour

M: Ah, Byron! (wobbles and fails to catch B’s hand) - here’s a health and a happy life to you, my man of all spirituous measures! (M weeps - the donkey brays) Good lord, he’s left us Nancy, left us with nowt but questionable potations ranging from U to Z (shakes head, mourns his once immaculate tweeds)

N: Lament not, Tom - I suspect from that admirable marital yoke, he shall - ‘ere long - be free

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B’s carriage rattles up North to confront an unfortunately necessary blip in his destiny, the Dog & Duck becomes a place of Noeltide pilgrimage, ‘Nancy Courtney’s Blessèd Ale’ does a brisk business providing a personal blessing at tuppence a time

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