'A Comedy of Errors' in Seven Acts, Spokeshave [english books to improve english .txt] 📗
- Author: Spokeshave
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Scene: A room at No. . . . A. Mabini.
Dramatis PersonaeSir Windbag . . . A high official.
Count Luie . . . . . Another windbag.
Sir Windbag, (to Count Luie):
"Oh that mine enemy would write a book."
A wise man in the past hath shrewdly said,
Knowing full well that when one's thoughts are paged
They like foul spirits menace peace of mind.
Alas! 'tis so, when tongue shall like a bird
Take wing, soaring aloft, and as the wind
Fly aimless over mountain, hill and dale,
Until tired nature doth demand repose,
Why did I Roosevelt as a pattern take
And boast his doctrines as the wisdom's fount
From which I drank as a disciple might
Who worships blindly at his idol's shrine?
And now these varlets point with taunting grin
At what my demigod hath ordered here,
And oh, ye sages, what shall I reply?
For now his work I purpose to undo.
When I with eloquence did picture draw
Of tyranny which from above did flow,
And with convincing tongue did loud proclaim
That pow'r should ever from below take root;
I little dreamed that subtle minds would carp
And inconsistency against me charge
For earnest effort which eventuates
In placing pow'r within the crafty hands
Of those who long have under Spanish rule
Imbibed the time clad notion that the few
Who by the accident of happy birth,
May make a gold mine of the hapless poor.
They voice in cutting words that I who late
Have cast my lot in these downtrodden Isles
Should study well conditions e'er I speak
As cock-sure as a teacher to his class.
I, in triumphant tone, did voice the truth
That in our homeland stinking graft prevails,
But, ah! I overlook the damning fact
That ignorance among our foreign born
Hath been the hotbed whence this thistle grew,
And that our Governor did get his boost
Into the forum through that rotten host
Which proudly boasts a "Tammany" as its god.
And do the people of our Empire State
Evolve the doctrine which I loud proclaimed?
No! in the dire extremity they laid
Restraining hand upon the venal mob,
Sternly refusing "what they know they want"
But now strong opposition draws the veil,
And I behold, to me, the starting fact,
That human minds oft vain illusions hug
Which time alone hath pow'r that grasp to loose;
And only then through friction with the world
Will freedom from provincial slavery
And mental lassitude be e'er attained.
When I my glorious deeds with savage tribes
Did iterate before the gaping throng,
It seemed to me as to the schoolboy raw
That ne'er before had such superb exploits
E'er been achieved by knightly mortal man.
But now 'tis said my predecessor wrought
Like wounders in a less ostentious way
And mine are but a copy of his acts.
Within my brain indeed are many wheels
That heretofore have whirled me into place,
But they ne'er buzzed the fact that in these Isles
Abode Americans who dare to speak
In plain derision of officials high;
Forsooth, I dreamed they at the public trough
Did feed; but, lo! an army, small but brave,
Hath thrown its skirmishers into the field
And offered battle with a cold disdain
That maketh chills run down my weakening spine
And causeth question whether my defy
Was born from Wisdom's or from Folly's womb.
Quick in my logic's dome where thought doth dwell
Those wheels whirled out these brilliant, burning words:
"These varlets have no place within these Isles
And quick should speed them to their native land;"
But mem'ry doth recall the "pine-tree" wilds
Where fate decreed that I should have my birth,
Only to later bid me wander forth
And seek asylum in the "Empire State."
Indeed, it seems that in man dwells a force
That doth impel adventure from the spot
Where nature willed that he should ope an eye
In childish wonder at God's handiwork:
So here again I, like to hair spring gun
In careless hand, went off, alas, "half cocked,"
And now I fear to ope my babbling mouth
Lest I should put my clumsy foot therein.
Count Luie:
My honest frend, for so I speak thee fair,
Since thou hast from thy shoulders ever cast
That damning cloak, Republican in woof.
And armor of Democracy hast donned,
Fear not that words so deep an import bear.
The mob applauds today, but quick forgets.
I once, before we kenned our party's stand,
Did lightly tongue imperialistic thoughts.
The throng did loud applaud my eloquence,
Which made demand that Filipinos here
Should be debarred, when they procession form,
From proudly marching 'neath their flag of state.
And now my tender bowels do me gripe
As I reflect that this tyrannic act
Runs counter to the doctrines thou dost teach,
Because, you bet, "they know just what they want."
Sir Windbag:
But will the rabble not thy words recall,
And like to mud, flung from the grutter deep,
Will they not sore disfigure and besmirch
Thy reputation for consistency?
Count Luie:
Fear not; we who do ornament the bar
Can twist and turn as doth the shuttle-cock,
And in our mouths today words have a ring
Which changes with tomorrow's rising sun.
Sir Windbag:
I quick discern the import of thy speech,
And in the past have seen it verified.
If mem'ries of the people were not short,
Disaster to us patriots would befall.
When like a parson one can slip the tongue
And speed it like a race-horse on its course,
'Tis well; but let some ill-bred boor
Bold interruption make, in query's form,
The discourse of its symmetry is shorn,
While bond of sympathy 'twixt him who speaks
And those who list receives a brutral shock,
Which doth demand dexterity to soothe.
Thus, when I wisdom spouted at the club,
A man most pestulent did query put
Anent the spreading of our civic rule
O'er Moros, if it proved to be the case
That they demur and, "knowing what they want,"
Prefer to rule themselves in custom's groove.
I, loyal to the ethics of our craft
Tried to becloud the query, and declared
That Moros loved the Filipinos well.
But this persistent boor did pin me down
Until imprudently I answered, "No!"
And this unwisdom now doth trouble me.
Count Luie:
But, gentle Windbag, these were idle words
Which on the record have no place. 'Twere well
To quick erase them from the memory:
Words only spoken vanish into air.
Sir Windbag:
Thou dost console me, Luie, and I feel
A kindred spirit fills thy giant form;
But tell me, from among thy many friends
Are hearts that for me beat in sympathy?
Count Luie, (eying the ceiling):
Good Windbag, a searching introspection
Finds but few, excepting only those
Who office hold or look with longing eyes
For vacancies the future may disclose.
Sir Windbag:
But when "the Man of God" his voice doth raise
In ecstasy to praise my every word,
Will not his former flock follow the bell
Which in the past hath led to pastures green?
Count Luie:
Alas, I fear their memories will point
To former words, which voiced another song,
When he did nurse at theologic teat
And softly chant imperialistic creed.
Sir Windbag, (eagerly):
But may not my convincing words have caused
Conversion to the views of "Era New?"
Count Luie, (doubtfully):
'Twere wiser to ascribe his recent "flop"
To strong desire to hold a paying job!
Sir Windbag:
But this Sandixo seems a proper man,
Who boasts a heart welling with gratitude.
He eloquent approved my every word,
And lays his duty wholly at my feet.
His words do ring as from an honest mould,
Yet rumor whispers divers ugly tales.
Thou knowest how his record truly reads:
How far should confidence extend her hand?
Count Luie, (hesitatingly):
Friend Windbag, if to thee I ope my heart,
'Twere in strict confidence 'twixt man and man
For publication I would loud proclaim
"This man a patriot with noble aims."
If for opinion private thou dost ask,
I will a tale unfold much to the point.
One Quezox, holding now a place of pow'r,
With tongue of silver did to me extend
A promise to advance my ev'ry plan
For preferment to an exalted place.
Alas! he turned me down with sweet disdain.
Eating his words, whilst I did gulp down "crow."
Sir Windbag:
Ah Ha! I see! The game, not fairly played,
Doth lose its zest, and confidence once lost,
Like to a maiden's virtue, ne'er can be
Restored. 'Tis sad, yet though 'tis sad, 'tis true.
But, honored sir, the hint you give will keep.
Perhaps this man may look with greedy eye
Upon some high official post, which we
Must give because "he knows just what he wants."
Count Luie:
But softly, friend, if this thy doctrine be,
'Twere best to pack thy grip and ready stand
To get thee hence; for in these lovely Isles
There be not seats of honor to go round.
Sir Windbag:
Ha! Think you this politico aspires
To me supplant my important post?
Count Luie:
A royal flush; he doth, for in time past,
'Neath Aguinaldo, he that chair did fill!
Sir Windbag:
But tell me, is this not a pliant race
Which skilful hand may at its pleasure mould?
Count Luie:
'Tis said the serpent warming on the breast
With sting doth ever show its gratitude!
Sir Windbag:
Thou by enigma seemingly imply
That all our labors here are but in vain.
Methought within thy heart dwelt confidence
In the ability of this proud race
To guide their ship of state on troubled seas,
And trim its sails to meet each threat'ning storm.
But now thy cynicism breeds a fear
That thy past words do bear "Pickwickian sense."
Count Luie:
Sir Windbag, thou unto our party grand
Art but a convert new, and needs must learn
That platforms are the Bible which we read,
And to them we do blindly pin our faith.
If one has doubts, he, like a Christian true,
Must stifle them and reason throw aside,
'Tis thus we from the Sunny South do act,
When facts run counter to our party creed.
Sir Windbag:
Alas! I in my innocence did deem
The words you uttered in the last campaign
Did true portray the situation here,
But now I fear they were but party gush.
But, ah! "The pen is mightier than the sword."
These venomed quills must be from porcupine;
For deeper do they bore, as I reflect
That I invited all their smarting wounds.
I sought to give their idol Worcester but
His proper place by "damning with faint praise;"
And now they prod me as the muleteer
Doth goad his jackass when he thoughtless brays.
Count Luie:
But, sir, remember that the ass can kick,
And that when kicking, asses never bray,
So gird your armor on and lop each head
Who hath at your dilemma dared to scoff.
Sir Windbag:
But Riggs! he hath in beaten trail proclaimed
What the old regimen hath always mouthed.
While I the "Era New" did bold announce,
And now my head is crowned with pricking thorns.
Count Luie, (reflectively):
Thine adversaries, though at vantage now,
Should be subdued by strategy and guile.
I from sore strait triumphant did emerge
Through trenchant pen of a compatriot.
This noble scion of Democracy
Did wield a telling blow in my behalf
And thrust the adversary 'neath the rib,
Laying him low in controversial dust.
Sir Windbag, (eagerly):
His name? his name? that I may quick engage
This champion to bolster up my cause.
Count Luie, (whispers mysteriously):
He is but small in stature, but, ye goods,
His valor fits his name, which is, La Mutt.
Francos: . . . . . High Cockalorum.
Sir Higgs: . . . . First High Councillor.
Sir Henmart: . . . Second Councillor.
Sir Windbag: . . . Third Councillor.
Scene: Official Residence.
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