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Thespis: Act II
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
GODS
Jupiter, Aged Diety
Apollo, Aged Diety
Mars, Aged Diety
Diana, Aged Diety
Mercury
THESPIANS
Thespis
Sillimon
TimidonTipseion
Preposteros
Stupidas
Sparkeio n
Nicemis
Pretteia
Daphne
Cymon
ACT II - The same Scene, with the Ruins Restored
SCENE-the same scene as in Act I with the exception that in place
of the ruins that filled the foreground of the stage, the
interior of a magnificent temple is seen showing the background
of the scene of Act I, through the columns of the portico at the
back. High throne. L.U.E. Low seats below it. All the substitute
gods and goddesses [that is to say, Thespians] are discovered
grouped in picturesque attitudes about the stage, eating and
drinking, and smoking and singing the following verses.
CHO. Of all symposia
The best by half
Upon Olympus, here await us.
We eat ambrosia.
And nectar quaff,
It cheers but don’t inebriate us.
We know the fallacies,
Of human food
So please to pass Olympian rosy,
We built up palaces,
Where ruins stood,
And find them much more snug and cosy.
SILL. To work and think, my dear,
Up here would be,
The height of conscientious folly.
So eat and drink, my dear,
I like to see,
Young people gay—young people jolly.
Olympian food my love,
I’ll lay long odds,
Will please your lips—those rosy portals,
What is the good, my love
Of being gods,
If we must work like common mortals?
CHO. Of all symposia... etc.
[Exeunt all but Nicemis, who is dressed as Diana and Pretteia,
who is dressed as Venus. They take Sillimon’s arm and bring him
down]
SILL. Bless their little hearts, I can refuse them nothing. As
the Olympian stage-manager I ought to be strict with them and
make them do their duty, but i can’t. Bless their little hearts,
when I see the pretty little craft come sailing up to me with a
wheedling smile on their pretty little figure-heads, I can’t turn
my back on 'em. I’m all bow, though I’m sure I try to be stern.
PRET. You certainly are a dear old thing.
SILL. She says I’m a dear old thing. Deputy Venus says I’m a
dear old thing.
NICE. It’s her affectionate habit to describe everybody in those
terms. I am more particular, but still even I am bound to admit
that you are certainly a very dear old thing.
SILL. Deputy Venus says I’m a dear old thing, and Deputy Diana
who is much more particular, endorses it. Who could be severe
with such deputy divinities.
PRET. Do you know, I’m going to ask you a favour.
SILL. Venus is going to ask me a favour.
PRET. You see, I am Venus.
SILL. No one who saw your face would doubt it.
NICE. [aside] No one who knew her character would.
PRET. Well Venus, you know, is married to Mars.
SILL. To Vulcan, my dear, to Vulcan. The exact connubial relation
of the different gods and goddesses is a point on which we must
be extremely particular.
PRET. I beg your pardon—Venus is married to Mars.
NICE. If she isn’t married to Mars, she ought to be.
SILL. Then that decides it—call it married to Mars.
PRET. Married to Vulcan or married to Mars, what does it signify?
SILL. My dear, it’s a matter on which I have no personal feeling
whatever.
PRET. So that she is married to someone.
SILL. Exactly. So that she is married to someone. Call it married
to Mars.
PRET. Now here’s my difficulty. Presumptios takes the place of
Mars, and Presumptios is my father.
SILL. Then why object to Vulcan?
PRET. Because Vulcan is my grandfather.
SILL. But, my dear, what an objection. You are playing a part
till the real gods return. That’s all. Whether you are supposed
to be married to your father—or your grandfather, what does it
matter? This passion for realism is the curse of the stage.
PRET. That’s all very well, but I can’t throw myself into a part
that has already lasted a twelvemonth, when I have to make love
to my father. It interferes with my conception of the
characters. It spoils the part.
SILL. Well, well. I’ll see what can be done. [Exit Pretteia,
L.U.E.) That’s always the way with beginners, they’ve no
imaginative power. A true artist ought to be superior to such
considerations. [Nicemis comes down R.] Well, Nicemis, I should
say, Diana, what’s wrong with you? Don’t you like your part?
NICE. Oh, immensely. It’s great fun.
SILL. Don’t you find it lonely out by yourself all night?
NICE. Oh, but I’m not alone all night.
SILL. But, I don’t want to ask any injudicious questions, but who
accompanies you?
NICE. Who? Why Sparkeion, of course.
SILL. Sparkeion? Well, but Sparkeion is Phoebus Apollo [enter
Sparkeion] He’s the sun, you know.
NICE. Of course he is. I should catch my death of cold, in the
night air, if he didn’t accompany me.
SPAR. My dear Sillimon, it would never do for a young lady to be
out alone all night. It wouldn’t be respectable.
SILL. There’s a good deal of truth in that. But still—the sun—
at night—I don’t like the idea. The original Diana always went
out alone.
NICE. I hope the original Diana is no rule for me. After all,
what does it matter?
SILL. To be sure—what does it matter?
SPAR. The sun at night, or in the daytime.
SILL. So that he shines. That’s all that’s necessary. [Exit
Nicemis, R.U.E.] But poor Daphne, what will she say to this.
SPAR. Oh, Daphne can console herself; young ladies soon get over
this sort of thing. Did you never hear of the young lady who was
engaged to Cousin Robin?
SILL. Never.
SPAR. Then I’ll sing it to you.
Little maid of Arcadee
Sat on Cousin Robin’s knee,
Thought in form and face and limb,
Nobody could rival him.
He was brave and she was fair,
Truth they made a pretty paid.
Happy little maiden she—
Happy maid of Arcadee.
Moments fled as moments will
Happily enough, until
After, say, a month or two,
Robin did as Robins do.
Weary of his lover’s play,
Jilted her and went away,
Wretched little maiden, she—
Wretched maid of Arcadee.
To her little home she crept,
There she sat her down and wept,
Maiden wept as maidens will—
Grew so thin and pale—until
Cousin Richard came to woo.
Then again the roses grew.
Happy little maiden she—
Happy maid of Arcadee. [Exit Sparkeion]
SILL. Well Mercury, my boy, you’ve had a year’s experience of us
here. How do we do it? I think we’re rather an improvement on the
original gods—don’t you?
MER. Well, you see, there’s a good deal to be said on both sides
of the question; you are certainly younger than the original
gods, and, therefore, more active. On the other hand, they are
certainly older than you, and have, therefore, more experience.
On the whole I prefer you, because your mistakes amuse me.
Olympus is now in a terrible muddle,
The deputy deities all are at fault
They splutter and splash like a pig in a puddle
And dickens a one of 'em’s earning his salt.
For Thespis as Jove is a terrible blunder,
Too nervous and timid—too easy and weak—
Whenever he’s called on to lighten or thunder,
The thought of it keeps him awake for a week.
Then mighty Mars hasn’t the pluck of a parrot.
When left in the dark he will quiver and quail;
And Vulcan has arms that would snap like a carrot,
Before he could drive in a tenpenny nail.
Then Venus’s freckles are very repelling,
And Venus should not have a quint in her eyes;
The learned Minerva is weak in her spelling,
And scatters her h’s all over the skies.
Then Pluto in kindhearted tenderness erring,
Can’t make up his mind to let anyone die—
The Times has a paragraph ever recurring,
“Remarkable incidence of longevity.”
On some it has some as a serious onus,
to others it’s quite an advantage—in short,
While ev’re life office declares a big bonus,
The poor undertakers are all in the court.
Then Cupid, the rascal, forgetting his trade is
To make men and women impartially smart,
Will only shoot at pretty young ladies,
And never takes aim at a bachelor’s heart.
The results of this freak—or whatever you term it—
Should cover the wicked young scamp with disgrace,
While ev’ry young man is as shy as a hermit,
Young ladies are popping all over the place.
This wouldn’t much matter—for bashful and shymen,
When skillfully handled are certain to fall,
But, alas, that determined young bachelor Hymen
Refuses to wed anybody at all.
He swears that Love’s flame is the vilest of arsons,
And looks upon marriage as quite a mistake;
Now what in the world’s to become of the parsons,
And what of the artist who sugars the cake?
In short, you will see from the facts that I’m showing,
The state of the case is exceedingly sad;
If Thespis’s people go on as they’re going,
Olympus will certainly go to the bad.
From Jupiter downward there isn’t a dab in it,
All of 'em quibble and shuffle and shirk,
A premier in Downing Street forming a cabinet,
Couldn’t find people less fit for their work.
[enter Thespis L.U.E.]
THES. Sillimon, you can retire.
SILL. Sir, I—
THES. Don’t pretend you can’t when I say you can. I’ve seen you
do it—go. [exit Sillimon bowing extravagantly. Thespis imitates
him]Well, Mercury, I’ve been in power one year today.
MER. One year today. How do you like ruling the world?
THES. Like it. Why it’s as straightforward as possible. Why
there hasn’t been a hitch of any kind since we came up here. Lor’
the airs you gods and goddesses give yourselves are perfectly
sickening. Why it’s mere child’s play.
MER. Very simple isn’t it?
THES. Simple? Why I could do it on my head.
MER. Ah—I darsay you will do it on your head very soon.
THES. What do you mean by that, Mercury?
MER. I mean that when you’ve turned the world quite topsy-turvy
you won’t know whether you’re standing on your head or your
heels.
THES. Well, but Mercury, it’s all right at present.
MER. Oh yes—as far as we know.
THES. Well, but, you know, we know as much as anybody knows; you
know I believe the world’s still going on.
MER. Yes—as far as we can judge—much as usual.
THES. Well, the, give the Father of the Drama his due Mercury.
Don’t be envious of the Father of the Drama.
MER. But you see you leave so much to accident.
THES. Well, Mercury, if I do, it’s my principle. I am an easy
man, and I like to make things as pleasant as possible. What did
I do the day we took office? Why I called the company together
and I said to them: “Here we are, you know, gods and goddesses,
no mistake about it, the real thing. Well, we have certain duties
to discharge, let’s discharge them intelligently. Don’t let us be
hampered by routine and red tape and precedent, let’s set the
original gods an example, and put a liberal interpretation on our
duties. If it occurs to any one to try an experiment in his own
department, let him try it, if he fails there’s no harm done, if
he succeeds it is a distinct gain to society. Don’t hurry your
work, do it slowly and well.” And here we are after a twelvemonth
and not a single complaint or a single petition has reached me.
MER. No, not yet.
THES. What do you mean by “no, not yet?”
MER. Well, you see, you don’t understand things. All the
petitions that are addressed by men to Jupiter pass through my
hands, and its my duty to collect them and present them once a
year.
THES. Oh, only once a year?
MER. Only once a year—
THES. And the year is up?
MER. Today.
THES. Oh, then I suppose there are some complaints?
MER. Yes, there are some.
THES. [Disturbed] Oh, perhaps there are a good many?
MER. There are a good many.
THES. Oh, perhaps there are a thundering lot?
MER. There are a thundering lot.
THES. [very much disturbed] Oh.
MER. You see you’ve been taking it so very easy—and so have most
of your company.
THES. Oh, who has been taking it easy?
MER. Well, all except those who have been trying experiments.
THES. Well but I suppose the experiment are ingenious?
MER. Yes; they are ingenious, but on the whole ill-judged. But
it’s time go and summon your court.
THES. What for.
MER. To hear the complaints. In five minutes they will be here.
[Exit]
THES. [very uneasy] I don’t know how it is, but there is
something in that young man’s manner that suggests that the
father of the gods has been taking it too easy. Perhaps it would
have been better if I hadn’t given my company so much scope. I
wonder what they’ve been doing. I think I will curtail their
discretion, though none of them appear to have much of the
article. It seems a pity to deprive 'em of what little they
have.
[Enter Daphne, weeping]
THES. Now then, Daphne, what’s the matter with you?
DAPH. Well, you know how disgracefully Sparkeion—
THES. [correcting her] Apollo—
DAPH. Apollo, then—has treated me. He promised to marry me years
ago and now he’s married to Nicemis.
THES. Now look here. I can’t go into that. You’re in Olympus now
and must behave accordingly. Drop your Daphne—assume your
Calliope.
DAPH. Quite so. That’s it. [mysteriously]
THES. Oh—that is it? [puzzled]
DAPH. That is it. Thespis. I am Calliope, the muse of fame.
Very good. This morning I was in the Olympian library and I took
down the only book there. Here it is.
THES. [taking it] Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary. The Olympian
Peerage.
DAPH. Open it at Apollo.
THES. [opens it] It is done.
DAPH. Read.
THES. “Apollo was several times married, among others to Issa,
Bolina, Coronis, Chymene, Cyrene, Chione, Acacallis, and
Calliope.”
DAPH. And Calliope.
THES. [musing] Ha. I didn’t know he was married to them.
DAPH. [severely] Sir. This is the family edition.
THES. Quite so.
DAPH. You couldn’t expect a lady to read any other?
THES. On no consideration. But in the original version—
DAPH. I go by the family edition.
THES. Then by the family edition, Apollo is your husband.
[Enter Nicemis and Sparkeion]
NICE. Apollo your husband? He is my husband.
DAPH. I beg your pardon. He is my husband.
NICE. Apollo is Sparkeion, and he’s married to me.
DAPH. Sparkeion is Apollo, and he’s married to me.
NICE. He is my husband.
DAPH. He’s your brother.
THES. Look here, Apollo, whose husband are you? Don’t let’s have
any row about it; whose husband are you?
SPAR. Upon my honor I don’t know. I’m in a very delicate
position, but I’ll fall in with any arrangement Thespis may
propose.
DAPH. I’ve just found out that he’s my husband and yet he goes
out every evening with that “thing.”
THES. Perhaps he’s trying an experiment.
DAPH. I don’t like my husband to make such experiments. The
question is, who are we all and what is our relation to each
other.
SPAR. You’re Diana. I’m Apollo
And Calliope is she.
DAPH. He’s your brother.
NICE. You’re another. He has fairly married me.
DAPH. By the rules of this fair spot
I’m his wife and you are not.
SPAR & DAPH. By the rules of this fair spot
I’m/she’s his wife and you are not.
NICE. By this golden wedding ring,
I’m his wife, and you’re a “thing.”
DAPH, NICE, SPAR. By this golden wedding ring,
I’m/She’s his wife and you’re a “thing.”
ALL. Please will someone kindly tell us.
Who are our respective kin?
All of us/them are very jealous
Neither of us/them will give in.
NICE. He’s my husband, I declare,
I espoused him properlee.
SPAR. That is true, for I was there,
And I saw her marry me.
DAPH. He’s your brother—I’m his wife.
If we go by Lempriere.
SPAR. So she is, upon my life.
Really, that seems very fair.
NICE. You’re my husband and no other.
SPAR. That is true enough I swear.
DAPH. I’m his wife, and you’re his brother.
SPAR. If we go by Lempriere.
NICE. It will surely be unfair,
To decide by Lempriere. [crying]
DAPH. It will surely be quite fair,
To decide by Lempriere.
SPAR & THES How you settle it I don’t care,
Leave it all to Lempriere.
[Spoken] The Verdict
As Sparkeion is Apollo,
Up in this Olympian clime,
Why, Nicemis, it will follow,
He’s her husband, for the time. [indicating Daphne]
When Sparkeion turns to mortal
Join once more the sons of men.
He may take you to his portal [indicating Nicemis]
He will be your husband then.
That oh that is my decision,
'Cording to my mental vision,
Put an end to all collision,
My decision, my decision.
ALL. That oh that is his decision. etc.
[Exeunt Thes, Nice., Spar and Daphne, Spar. with Daphne, Nicemis
weeping with Thespis. mysterious music. Enter Jupiter, Apollo
and Mars from below, at the back of stage. All wear cloaks, as
disguise and all are masked]
JUP., AP., MARS. Oh rage and fury, Oh shame and sorrow.
We’ll be resuming our ranks tomorrow.
Since from Olympus we have departed,
We’ve been distracted and brokenhearted,
Oh wicked Thespis. Oh villain scurvy.
Through him Olympus is topsy turvy.
Compelled to silence to grin and bear it.
He’s caused our sorrow, and he shall share it.
Where is the monster. Avenge his blunders.
He has awakened Olympian thunders.
[Enter Mercury]
JUP. Oh monster.
AP. Oh monster.
MARS. Oh monster.
MER. [in great terror] Please sir, what have I done, sir?
JUP. What did we leave you behind for?
MER. Please sir, that’s the question I asked for when you went
away.
JUP. Was it not that Thespis might consult you whenever he was in
a difficulty?
MER. Well, here I’ve been ready to be consulted, chockful of
reliable information—running over with celestial maxims—advice
gratis ten to four—after twelve ring the night bell in cases of
emergency.
JUP. And hasn’t he consulted you?
MER. Not he—he disagrees with me about everything.
JUP. He must have misunderstood me. I told him to consult you
whenever he was in a fix.
MER. He must have though you said in-sult. Why whenever I opened
my mouth he jumps down my throat. It isn’t pleasant to have a
fellow constantly jumping down your throat—especially when he
always disagrees with you. It’s just the sort of thing I can’t
digest.
JUP. [in a rage] Send him here. I’ll talk to him.
[enter Thespis. He is much terrified]
JUP. Oh monster.
AP. Oh monster.
MARS. Oh monster.
[Thespis sings in great terror, which he endeavours to conceal]
JUP. Well sir, the year is up today.
AP. And a nice mess you’ve made of it.
MARS. You’ve deranged the whole scheme of society.
THES. [aside] There’s going to be a row. [aloud and very
familiarly]My dear boy, I do assure you—
JUP. Be respectful.
AP. Be respectful.
MARS. Be respectful.
THES. I don’t know what you allude to. With the exception of
getting our scene painter to “run up” this temple, because we
found the ruins draughty, we haven’t touched a thing.
JUP. Oh story teller.
AP. Oh story teller.
MARS. Oh story teller.
[Enter thespians]
THES. My dear fellows, you’re distressing yourselves
unnecessarily. The court of Olympus is about to assemble to
listen to the complaints of the year, if any. But there are
none, or next to none. Let the Olympians assemble. [Thespis
takes chair. JUP., AP., and MARS sit below him.
Ladies and gentlemen, it seems that it is usual for the gods to
assemble once a year to listen to mortal petitions. It doesn’t
seem to me to be a good plan, as work is liable to accumulate;
but as I am particularly anxious not to interfere with Olympian
precedent, but to allow everything to go on as it has always been
accustomed to go—why, we’ll say no more about it. [aside] But
how shall I account for your presence?
JUP. Say we are the gentlemen of the press.
THES. That all our proceedings may be perfectly open and above–
board I have communicated with the most influential members of
the Athenian press, and I beg to introduce to your notice three
of its most distinguished members. They bear marks emblematic of
the anonymous character of modern journalism. [Business of
introduction. Thespis is very uneasy] Now then, if you’re all
ready we will begin.
MER. [brings tremendous bundle of petitions] Here is the agenda.
THES. What’s that? The petitions?
MER. Some of them. [opens one and reads] Ah, I thought there’d be
a row about it.
THES. Why, what’s wrong now?
MER. Why, it’s been a foggy Friday in November for the last six
months and the Athenians are tired of it.
THES. There’s no pleasing some people. This craving for perpetual
change is the curse of the country. Friday’s a very nice day.
MER. So it is, but a Friday six months long.—it gets monotonous.
JUP, AP, MARS. [rising] It’s perfectly ridiculous.
THES. [calling them] Cymon.
CYM. [as time with the usual attributes] Sir.
THES. [Introducing him to the three gods] Allow me—Father Time—
rather young at present but even time must have a beginning. In
course of time, time will grow older. Now then, Father Time,
what’s this about a wet Friday in November for the last six
months.
CYM. Well, the fact is, I’ve been trying an experiment. Seven
days in the week is an awkward number. It can’t be halved. Two;'s
into seven won’t go.
THES. [tries it on his fingers] Quite so—quite so.
CYM. So I abolished Saturday.
JUP, AP, MARS. Oh but. [Rising]
THES. Do be quiet. He’s a very intelligent young man and knows
what he is about. So you abolished Saturday. And how did you find
it answer?
CYM. Admirably.
THES. You hear? He found it answer admirably.
CYM. Yes, only Sunday refused to take its place.
THES. Sunday refused to take its place?
CYM. Sunday comes after Saturday—Sunday won’t go on duty after
Friday. Sunday’s principles are very strict. That’s where my
experiment sticks.
THES. Well, but why November? Come, why November?
CYM. December can’t begin until November has finished. November
can’t finish because he’s abolished Saturday. There again my
experiment sticks.
THES. Well, but why wet? Come now, why wet?
CYM. Ah, that is your fault. You turned on the rain six months
ago and you forgot to turn it off again.
JUP., AP., MARS. [rising] On this is monstrous.
ALL. Order. Order.
THES. Gentlemen, pray be seated. [to the others] The liberty of
the press, one can’t help it. [to the three gods] It is easily
settled. Athens has had a wet Friday in November for the last six
months. Let them have a blazing Tuesday in July for the next
twelve.
JUP., AP., MARS. But—
ALL. Order. Order.
THES. Now then, the next article.
MER. Here’s a petition from the Peace Society. They complain
because there are no more battles.
MARS. [springing up] What.
THES. Quiet there. Good dog—soho; Timidon.
TIM. [as Mars] Here.
THES. What’s this about there being no battles?
TIM. I’ve abolished battles; it’s an experiment.
MARS. [spring up] Oh come, I say—
THES. Quiet then. [to Tim] Abolished battles?
TIM. Yes, you told us on taking office to remember two things. To
try experiments and to take it easy. I found I couldn’t take it
easy while there are any battles to attend to, so I tried the
experiment and abolished battles. And then I took it easy. The
Peace Society ought to be very much obliged to me.
THES. Obliged to you. Why, confound it. Since battles have been
abolished, war is universal.
TIM. War is universal?
THES. To b sure it is. Now that nations can’t fight, no two of
‘em are on speaking terms. The dread of fighting was the only
thing that kept them civil to each other. Let battles be
restored and peace reign supreme.
MER. Here’s a petition from the associated wine merchants of
Mytilene? Are there no grapes this year?
THES. Well, what’s wrong with the associated wine merchants of
Mytilene? Are there no grapes this year?
THES. Plenty of grapes. More than usual.
THES. [to the gods] You observe, there is no deception. There are
more than usual.
MER. There are plenty of grapes, only they are full of ginger
beer.
THREE GODS. Oh, come I say [rising they are put down by Thespis.]
THES. Eh? what [much alarmed] Bacchus.
TIPS. [as Bacchus] Here.
THES. There seems to be something unusual with the grapes of
Mytilene. They only grow ginger beer.
TIPS. And a very good thing too.
THES. It’s very nice in its way but it is not what one looks for
from grapes.
TIPS. Beloved master, a week before we came up here, you insisted
on my taking the pledge. By so doing you rescued me from my
otherwise inevitable misery. I cannot express my thanks. Embrace
me. [attempts to embrace him.]
THES. Get out, don’t be a fool. Look here, you know you’re the
god of wine.
TIPS. I am.
THES. [very angry] Well, do you consider it consistent with your
duty as the god of wine to make the grapes yield nothing but
ginger beer?
TIPS. Do you consider it consistent with my duty as a total
abstainer to grow anything stronger than ginger beer?
THES. But your duty as the god of wine—
TIPS. In every respect in which my duty as the god of wine can be
discharged consistently with my duty as a total abstainer, I will
discharge it. But when the functions clash, everything must give
way to the pledge. My preserver. [Attempts to embrace him]
THES. Don’t be a confounded fool. This can be arranged. We can’t
give over the wine this year, but at least we can improve the
ginger beer. Let all the ginger beer be extracted from it
immediately.
THREE GODS. We can’t stand this,
We can’t stand this.
It’s much too strong.
We can’t stand this.
It would be wrong.
Extremely wrong.
If we stood this.
If we stand this
If we stand this
We can’t stand this.
DAPH, SPAR, NICE. Great Jove, this interference.
Is more than we can stand;
Of them make a clearance,
With your majestic hand.
JOVE. This cool audacity, it beats us hollow.
I’m Jupiter.
MARS. I’m Mars.
AP. I’m Apollo.
[Enter Diana and all the other gods and goddesses.
ALL. [kneeling with their foreheads on the ground]
Jupiter, Mars, and Apollo
Have quitted the dwellings of men;
The other gods quickly will follow.
And what will become of us then.
Oh pardon us, Jove and Apollo,
Pardon us, Jupiter, Mars:
Oh see us in misery wallow.
Cursing our terrible stars.
[enter other gods.]
ALL THESPIANS: Let us remain, we beg of you pleadingly.
THREE GODS: Let them remain, they beg of us pleadingly.
THES. Life on Olympus suits us exceedingly.
GODS. Life on Olympus suits them exceedingly.
THES. Let us remain, we pray in humility.
GODS. Let 'em remain, they pray in humility.
THES. If we have shown some little ability.
GODS. If they have shown some little ability.
Let us remain, etc...
JUP. Enough, your reign is ended.
Upon this sacred hill.
Let him be apprehended
And learn out awful will.
Away to earth, contemptible comedians,
And hear our curse, before we set you free’
You shall be all be eminent tragedians,
Whom no one ever goes to see.
ALL. We go to earth, contemptible tragedians,
We hear his curse, before he sets us free,
We shall all be eminent tragedians,
Whom no one ever, ever goes to see.
SILL, SPAR, THES. Whom no one
Ever goes to see.
[The thespians are driven away by the gods, who group themselves
in attitudes of triumph.]
THES. Now, here you see the arrant folly
Of doing your best to make things jolly.
I’ve ruled the world like a chap in his senses,
Observe the terrible consequences.
Great Jupiter, whom nothing pleases,
Splutters and swears, and kicks up breezes,
And sends us home in a mood avengin’
In double quick time, like a railroad engine.
And this he does without compunction,
Because I have discharged with unction
A highly complicated function
Complying with his own injunction,
Fol, lol, lay
CHO. All this he does....etc.
[The gods drive the thespians away. The thespians prepare to
descend the mountain as the curtain falls.]
CURTAIN
