'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts, Spokeshave [english books to improve english .txt] 📗
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Ah, here's a man who boasts a mighty mind
That doth compare unto his giant form;
Long Live Count Luie! When the tide shall turn
Our grateful hearts will hasten his reward.
Count Luie: (assuming a pose of great dignity):
Thanks, noble friends, my heart with gratitude
Doth well, like gutter after April show'r.
(Aside)
It's like taking candy from the baby.
All join in singing:
"THE POLITICO'S ODE"
(To the tune that the Old Cow died on)
Count Luie hums the air an octave lower with a self-satisfied
smile, thinking he is singing bass:
I.
We Filipinos are a noble race,
With aspirations soaring to the sky;
The love of country glows on every face,
And philanthropic love from every eye.
The life God gave, we know how to enjoy;
If left alone, 'twere bliss without alloy,
But these Americanos come along
And try to make us think that right is wrong:
II.
They say we ought to toil from morn till night,
And seem to think fiestas are all wrong;
They kick because we let our roosters fight.
And make Work! Work!! the burden of their song.
But why should we be toiling,
What need our hands of soiling,
While plenteous fruits are growing;
With bounteous Nature flowing?
III.
Taft says we are artistic, which is true;
We see no need of everlasting toil,
Our minds have higher things always in view
Than delving in the black and dirty soil.
To be assemblymen is our desire,
Or, failing that, we want some office high'r.
That's why we want th' Americano band
Hustled, forthwith, from out our suff'ring land:
IV.
We want America to guard our state,
Because we couldn't do it all alone;
We want the offices at any rate
We'll eat the meat and let them pick the bone
While they are us defending;
With chicken fights unending
We'll pass our days in pleasure;
We'll drink from joy's full measure.
A Democratic Wake.
Dramatis Personae
Count Luie: . . . . . A Democratic Wheel-horse (Toast Master).
Sir Obreon: . . . . . A Counsellor.
Sir La Mutt: . . . . A Literatus.
Filipino Ilustrados and Politicos.
Several died-in-the-wool Democrats.
Scene: Hotel de Francosa.
Count Luie:
Noble compatriots, I greet thee well.
When war's ensanguined plain in tears of blood
Weeps for the fallen in a worthy cause,
'Twere well for us bereaved to sing their praise
And thus commemorate their sacrifice.
In all great battles, triumph oft doth hinge
On questions small, but oft of great import;
No matter if the sacrifice be great,
So long as victory doth greet our clan.
We trembled at the clamours of the mob
And feared results, from its prophetic tone;
But now we laugh to scorn their idle boasts,
For we from out the fleshpots still can feed.
And now in concert we would fain rejoice,
While mourning for the fallen in the fray.
Hence, if some loyal soul can requ'em voice,
'Twere fit and proper in this fun'ral hour.
One consolation, disappointment soothes:
With fewer numbers in our shattered ranks,
Appointments to positions are the same,
And so each patriot holds a flusher hand.
(Enthusiastic applause.)
A Democrat:
But, sire, it were a sacrifice most vain.
Had renegades from out our glorious clan
Not pictured formerly in public mind
That rule Republican indeed were wise.
And so dissatisfaction, like to yeast,
Deep in the thoughtless mob did swell to burst
Because our party purposed to at once
Enfranchise this unhappy down-trod race.
Sir Obreon:
But should we here our dirty linen air,
And so a weapon place in varlet hand?
Methinks 'twere wise to bury in the past
Those petty broils and bravely forward march.
Count Luie:
Ah! it were easy for a looker-on
To counsel peace between a man and wife,
But were he in the broil himself involved,
Philosophy were physic all too weak
To cure the wounds made by a rasping tongue,
Which time doth canker as the cancer grows
Until at last the surgeon with his knife
Alone can the distemper dire outroot.
Sir La Mutt:
Count Louie, thou hast voiced my very thought!
Traitors who fellowship with filthy graft
And find one single virtue in the creed
Of these Republicans who long have ruled
These Islands with despotic, cruel hand,
Until their tyranny doth smell to Heav'n,
Indeed should find no place to lay their heads
Within the bounds of Democratic fold.
Sir Obreon:
Ah, lack-a-day! If thus we fail to rise
Above the narrow prejudice whose birth
Took place, alas, beneath warm southern skies,
Then we must be content to walk the plank
When two years hence the people seal our doom.
Success, indeed, should be our only aim;
Hence bury childish griefs deep in the grave.
A Democrat:
Enough, my friends, enough! But we did come
To mingle joy and grief o'er the results
That follow combat at the public polls:
Grief for the vanquished, joy for party spoils.
Sir La Mutt:
But Sire, why should we mourn for those who fell?
Those turncoats of the money-loving North
Deserve the fate that traitor e'er should know.
We of the South did loyally uphold
Our honor in the combat, for but one
Did fall before the golden calf, and he
Deep in Louisiana's shades did dwell,
Where sugar sweet did blind the public eye.
Sir Obreon:
And can it be that thou dost not discern
That else we from the North do draw support,
Our party will, as in the dreary past,
From out the pale in vain with hungry eyes
Behold our enemies safely entrenched
Lapping with greedy tongue successe's broth
From out the flesh-pots, which we, fool-like, placed
Before them by our squabling party feuds.
Count Luie:
Sir Obreon, methinks thy mental grasp
Of things politic is indeed but dim.
The "Constitution" is a weapon grand.
The Democratic party when in war,
To closer weld the bonds which held the slave,
E'en then did show earnest solicitude
Lest the cold-blooded North should not observe
That sacred instrument, but it should break
By sending men of war from out their states
To subjugate us of the knightly South.
Our party hath indeed a record grand.
Its flexibility to all demands
Doth admiration claim from all the world.
Today it loud proclaims "sixteen to one;"
Tomorrow to the golden calf it kneels.
Today those stars we worship in our flag
As emblematic of each sovereign state;
Tomorrow we demand the "stars and bars"
Supplant them as Imperialistic sign.
A Democrat:
But would not that involve the speedy death
Of that grand song which we have learned to love,
The song which doth demand that those bright stars
Shall wave in triumph through the ages long?
Count Luie:
Oh we could substitute for it our hymn
Which fired paternal hearts in sixty-one;
The "Bonny Blue Flag" doth have a smoother ring,
Or "Dixy" might supplant the time-worn song!
Sir La Mutt:
Ah "Dixie" were indeed a noble air
And caryeth upon its varied strains
Our mun'ries back to those embattled days
When our forebears did war a vandal host.
A Democrat (with wool not deeply dyed)
I fear the people's hearts in northers climes
Are wedded to the flag as it did wave
When they were battling for the nation's life
And ne'er such innovation would approve.
Sir La Mutt:
When we like game-cocks strut and fiercely crow,
These men for sake of peace e'er knuckle down
Fear not, for we are in the saddle now,
And so the charger yieldeth to the spur.
Count Louie: (continues earnestly)
And when the debt gigantic which was made
To war our fathers till they bit the dust,
Matured, our party instinct did invent
A method to repudiate the claim
By paying greenback printed nice and clean,
But which with gold would never be redeemed.
Alas! those Yankee soldiers called the bluff
And once again encompassed our defeat.
While principles unchanging we declare,
Yet what, indeed, is it that changeth not?
Why, every Democrat should early know
That to obtain the offices is but
The one unchanging principle at stake,
And every effort that we these attain.
Should spur us on; like as "Toreador"
Doth flaunt his robe to blind unreas'ning eyes,
So we the "Constitution" e'er should wave,
Attention to distract from tender points
Of history which forward not out cause.
Sir La Mutt:
Sir Count, what should we hide from public gaze?
I and the President came from a stock
Which helped to build a mighty common wealth.
'Tis true, in time of stress our father stood
In serried ranks to tear the structure down
And on its ruins build a fairer state
With negro slavery its cornerstone.
Alas! the northern "mudsills" did prevail,
And now the white supremacy is held
By shrewdly circumventing vicious laws,
We Southerners within this tropic clime
Do sympathize with these illustr'ous men
Who here to night their presence happ'ly lend
To join us in our tears and in our joys
(Turning to the Filipinos.)
We are your friends; Republicans, your foes,
For they indeed would raise the tao up
And fill his head with notions most unwise,
Just as they seek to place on equal terms
Our "servants" in the sunny southland clime.
There lurks one serpent in our city leal
Of whom beware! for he is full of guile.
But once when he Count Luie did attack
I counter-thrust did give with my deft pen;
And though I flayed him in my treachant style,
He, being slow of wit, did know it not;
And as "Old Fogy" he doth often spout
His forthy nonsense in the daily press.
But now I speak in no uncertain terms
Of our great President; for I and he
Are intimates as only those can be
We meet on terms of mental equity.
Hence trust in me! For I will quick advise
Him as to matters in these lovely Isles.
Sweet friends, there is a bond which holds us fast:
You aimed your guns to riddle that old flag
(Points to the stars and stripes dramatically, drawing up
his commanding figure.)
And while we Democrats it ne'er assailed
(Rises on his toes and with a baseball voice.)
Yet know ye, that our fathers did the same.
(Great applause by some, others hang their heads.)
Count Louie:
With gratitude I do at once recall
When good La Mutt did to my aid repair.
And he so scared mine adversary then
That I in pity did not e'en retort.
For there are times when with a cold disdain
One soars aloft and sees a pigmy not.
Twere vain to argue with a half-fledged mind,
Thus casting pearls before ignoble swine.
A Democrat:
But victory still sitteth on our perch,
And yet we ratify in pensive tones.
Let joy now reign, let vain regrets depart,
And for small favors thank the God of Hosts.
A Representative:
A good majority sits in the house,
Enough to give us independence still,
Then what eventuates without our land
We care not so we grasp the reigns of state.
Count Louie:
After refreshments (smacks his lips) we will then adjourn,
And if some Southern gentleman desires,
We will repair unto a private room
And in a game of poker spend the night,
Thus celebrating in a proper way
A victory indeed of doubtful cast.
But to our joy affix a deep regret,
For that proud list of eighty warring knights
Who fell with faces always to the front
Yet ready stand to wage anew the fight
Whene'er their ears close to their mother earth
Shall hear the call to office once again.
(Reflectively.)
For once a politician wins the race,
He like an warhorse smells the battle far
And to his dying day doth live in hope
That grateful country may make its demand.
(Close by singing an ode to the
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