Hill and Cragg 1

Kambalu Interlude

"I thought before your tale began," 

The student murmured, "we should have some legend written by Judah Rav

In his Gemara of Baylon;

Or something from the Gulistan, --

The Tale of the Cazy of Hamadan,

Or of that King of Khorasan

Who saw in dreams the eyes of one 

That had a hundred years been dead

Still moving restless in his head,

Undimmed, and gleaming with the lust

Of power, though all the rest owas dust.

"But lo! your glittering caravan

On the road that leadeth to Ispahan

Hath led us farther to the East

Into the regions of Cathay.

Spite of your Kalif and his gold,

Pleasant has been the tale you told,

And full of color; that at least

No one will question nor gainsay.

And yet on such a dismal day 

We need a merrier tale to clear

The dark and heavy atmosphere.

So listen, Lordlings, while I tell, 

Without a preface, what befell

A simple cobbler, in the year--

No matter; it was long ago;

And that is all we need to know."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

New Album 2

Lady Wentworth 

Interlude

Well pleased the audience heard the tale.

The Theologian said: "Indeed, 

To praise you there is little need;

One almost hears the farmer's flail

Thresh out your wheat, nor does there fail

A certain freshness, as you said,

And sweetness as of home-made bread.

But not less sweet and not less fresh 

Are many legends that I know,

Writ by the monks of long-ago,

Who loved to mortify the flesh,

So that the soul might purer grow,

And rise to a diviner state;

And one of these -- perhaps of all

Most beautiful -- I now recall,

And with permission will narrate;

Hoping thereby to make amends

For that grim tradgedy of mine,

As strong and black as Spanish wine,

I told last night, and wish almost

It had remained untold, my friends;

For Torquemada's awful ghost

Came to me in the dreams I dreamed,

And in the darkness glared and gleamed

Like a great light-house on the coast.

The Student laughing said: "Far more 

Like to some dismal fire of bale 

Flaring portentous on a hill;

Or torches lighted on a shore

By wreckers in a midnight gale.

No matter; be it as you will,

Only go forward with your tale."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

New Album 1

Cyrano De Bergerac

The Second Act

The Bakery of the Poets

Carbon We Know! All our company are here--

Cyrano (recoils) No--

Carbon Come! They are waiting for you. Cyrano.

Cyrano No!

Carbon (tries to lead him out.) Only across the street-- Come!

Cyrano Please--

Carbon (Goes to the door and shouts in a voice of thunder.) Our champion Refuses! Her is not feeling well to-day! A VOICE OUTSIDE

Ah! Sandious! (Noise outside of swords and trampling feet approaching.)

Carbon Here they come now!

The Cadets (entering the shop) Mille doious!-- Mordious!--Capdedious!--Pocapdedious! 

Ragueneau (In astonishment) Gentlemen-- You are all Gascons?

The Cadets All!

First Cadet (to Cyrano) Bravo!

Cyrano Baron!

Another Cadet (Takes both his hands.) Vivat!

Cyrano Baron! 

Third Cadet Come to my arms!

Cyrano Baron!

Others To mine!-- To mine!--

Cyrano Baron... Baron... Have mercy-- 

Ragueneau Are they?...

First Cadet Our coronets would star the midnight sky!

Le Bret (Rubbing his hands) Certainly I told them!

Citizen (Enters, followed by a group.) Listen! Shut the door!--Here come All Paris! (The street outside fills with a shouting crowd. Chairs and carriages stop at the door.)

Le Bret (Aside to Cyrano, smiling) And Roxane?

Cyrano (Quickly) Hush! 

The crowd outside Cyrano! (A mob bursts into the shop. Shouts, acclamations, general disturbance.)

Ragueneau (Standing on a table.) My shop invaded-- They'll break everything-- Glorious!

Several Men (Crowding about Cyrano) My friend!... My friend!...

Cryano Why, yesterday I did not have so many friends!

Le Bret Success At last!

A Marquis (Runs to Cyrano, with outstretched hands) My dear--really!--

Cyrano (coldly) So? And how long Have I been dear to you?

Another Marquis One moment--pray! I have two ladies in my carriage here; Let me present you--

Cyrano Certainly! And first, Who will present you, sir,--to me? 

Le Bret (Astounded) Why, what the devil?-- 

Cyrano Hush!

A Man of Letter (With a portfolio) May I have the details?...

Cyrano You many not.

Le Bret (Pucking Cyrano's sleeve) Theophraste Renaudot!--Editor of the Gazette--your reputation!...

Cyrano No!

A Poet (Advances) Monsieur--

Cyrano Well?

The Poet Your full name? I will compose  A pentacrostic--

Another Monsieur--

Cyrano That will do! (Movement. The crowd arranges itself. De Guiche appears, escorted by Cuigy, Brissaille, and the other officers who were with Cyrano at the close of the First Act.) 

Cuigy (Goes to Cyrano.) Monsieur de Guiche!-- (Murmur. Everyone moves.) A message from the Marshall De Gassion--

De Guiche (Saluting Cyrano) Who wishes to express through me his admiration. He has heard of your affair--

The crowd Bravo!

Cyrano (Bowing) The Marshall speaks as an authority. 

De Guiche He said just now the story would have been incredible were it not for the witness--

Cuigy Of our eyes!

Le Bret (Aside to Cyrano) What is it? 

Cyrano Hush!

Le Bret Something is wrong with you; Are you in pain?

Cyrano (Recovering himself) In pain? Before this crowd? (HIs moustache bristles. He throws out his chest.) I? In pain? You shall see!

De Guiche (To whom Cuigy has been whispering.) Your name is known already as a soldier. You are one of those wild Gascons, are you not? 

Cyrano The Guards, Yes. A Cadet. 

A Cadet (In a voice of thunder) One of ourselves! 

De Guiche Ah! so-- Then all these gentlemen with the haughty air, these are the famous-- 

Carbon Cyrano!

Cyrano Captain?

Carbon Our troop being all present, be so kind as to present them to the Comte de Guiche!

Cyrano (With a gesture presenting the Cadets to De Guiche, declaims:) 

The Cadets of Gascoyne--the defenders of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux: Free fighters, free lovers, free spenders-- The Cadets of Gascoyne--the defenders of old homes, old names, and old splendors-- a proud and a pestilent crew! The Cadets of Gascoyne, the defenders of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. 

Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders-- the wolf bares his fangs a s they do--Make way there, you fat money-lenders! (Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders) Old boots that have been to the menders, Old cloaks that are worn through and through--Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders-- the wolf bares his fangs as they do! Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders; Red blood is their favorite brew; Hot haters and loyal befrienders, Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders; Red blood is ther favorite brew! Behold the, our Gascon defenders Who win every woman they woo! There's never a dame but surrenders--Behold the, our Gascon defenders! Youn wives who are clever pretenders-- Old husbands who house the cuckoo--Behold them--our Gascon defenders who win every woman they woo!

De Guiche (Languidly, sitting in a chair) Poets are fashionable nowadays to have about one. Would you care to join my following? 

Cyrano No sire. I don not follw. 

De Guiche Your duel yesterday amused my uncle the Cardinal. I might help you there.

Le Bret Grand Dieu! 

De Guiche I suppose you have written a tragedy-- they all have.

Le Bret (Aside to Cyrano) Now at last you'll have it played-- Your Agrippine!

De Guiche Why not? Take it to him. 

Cyrano (Tempted) Really?--

De Guiche He himself a dramatist; Let him rewrite a few lines here and there, and he'll approve the rest. 

Cyrano (His face falls again.) Impossible. My blood curdles to think of altering one comma. 

De Guiche Ah, but when he likes a thing he pays well.

Cyrano Yes--but not so well as I-- when I have made a line that sings itself so that I love the sound of it--I pay myself a hundred times.

De Guiche You are proud, my friend.

Cyrano You have observed that?

A Cadet (Enters with a drawn sword, along the whole blade of which is transfixed a collection of disreputable hats, their plumes draggled, their crowns cut and torn.) Cyrano! See here--look what we found this morning in the street--the plumes dropped in their flight by those fine birds who showed the white feather! 

Carbon Spoils of the hunt-- Well mounted!

The crowd Ha-ha-ha!

Cuigy  Whoever hired those rascals, he must be an angry man to-day!

Brissaile Who was it? Do you know?

De Guiche Myself!--(the laughter ceases) I hired them to do the sort of work we do not soil our hands with--punishing a drunken poet... (uncomfortable silence)

The Cadet (to Cyrano) What shall we do with them? They ought ot be preserved before they spoil--

Cyrano (Takes the sword, and in the gesture of saluting De Guiche with it, makes all the hats slide off at his feet.) Sir, will you not return these to your friends? 

De Guiche My chair--my porters here--immediately! --As for, sir! --

A Voice (In the street) The chair of Monseigneur Le Comte de Guiche!--

De Guiche (Who has recovered his self-control; smiling) Have you read Don Quixote?

Cyrano I have--and found myself the hero.

A Porter (Appears at the door.) Chair ready!

De Guiche Be so good as to read once more the chapter of the windmills

Cyrano (Gravely) Chapter thirteen.

De Guiche Windmills, remember, if you fight with them-- 

Cyrano Myn enemies change, then, with every wind? 

De Guiche --May swing round their huge arms and cast you down into the mire. 

Cyrano Orup--among the stars! (De Guiche goes out. We see him get into the chair. The officers follow murmuring among themselves. Le Bret goes up with them. The crowd goes out.)

Cyrano (Saluting with burlesque politeness, those who go out without daring to take leave of him.) Gentlemen... Gentlemen...

Le Bret (As the door closes, comes down, shaking his clenched hands to heaven.) You have done it now--You have made your fortune! 

Cyrano There you go again, Growling!--

Le Bret Atleast this lates pose of yours-- ruining every chance that comes your way--becomes exaggerated--

Cyrano Very well, Then I exaggerate! 

Le Bret (Triumphantly) Oh, you do!

Cyrano Yes; on principal. There are things in this world a man does will to carry to extremes. 

Le Bret Stop trying to the Three Musketeers in one! Fortune and glory--

Cyrano What would you have me do? Seek for the patronage of some great man, and like a creeping vine on a tall tree crawl upward, where I cannot stand alone? No thank you! Dedicate, as others do, poems to pawnbrokers? Be a buffoon in the vile hope of teasing out a smile on some cold face? No thank you! Eat a toad for breakfast morning? Make my knees callous, and cultivate a supple spine,-- Wear out my belly grovelling in the dust? No thank you! Scratch the back of any swine that roots up gold for me? Tickle the horns of Mammon with my left hand, while my right too proud to know his partner's business, takes in the fee? No thank you! Use the fire God gave me to burn incense all day long under the nose of wood and stone? No thank you! Shall I go leaping into ladies' laps and licking fingers? --or--to change the form--navigating with madrigals for oars, my sails full of the sighs of dowagers? No thank you! Publish verses at my own expense? No thank you! Be the pratron saint of a small group of literary souls who dine together every Tuesday? No I thank you! Shall I labor night and day to build a reputation on one song, and never write anotehr? Shall I find true genius only among Geniuses, Palpitate over little paragraphs, and struggle to insinuate my name into the columns of the Mercury? No thank you! Calculate, scheme, be afraind, love more to make a visit than a poem, seek introductions, favors, influences?-- No thank you! No, I thank you! And again I thank you!--But...to sing, to laugh, to dream, to walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood--to cock my hat where I choose--At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight--or write. To travel androad under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne--never to make a line I have not heard in my own hear; yet, with all modesty to say: "My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own." So, when I win some triumph, by some chance, render no share ot Caesar--in a word, I am too proud to be a parasite, and if my nature wants the germ that grows towering to heaven like the mountian pine, or like the oak, sheltering multitudes--I stand, not high it may be--but alone!

Le Bret Alone, yes!--But why stand against eh world? What devil has possessed you now to go everywhere making yourself enemies?

Cyrano Watching you other people making friend everywhere--as a dog makes friends! I mark the manner of these canine courtesies and think: "My friends are of a cleaner breed; here comes--thank God!--another enemy!"

Le Bret But this is madness!

Cyrano Method, let us say. It is my pleasure to displease. I love Hatred. Imagine how it feels to face the volley of a thousand angry eyes--the bile of envy and the froth of fear spattering little drops about me-- You-- good nature all around you, soft and warm-- you are like those Italians, in great cowls comfortable and loose-- Your chin sinks down into the folds, your shoulders droop. But I--the Spanish ruff I wear around my throat is like a ring of enemies; hard, proud, each point another pride, another thorn--So that I hold myself erect perforce. Wearing the hatred of the common herd haughtily, the harsh collar of Old Spain, at once a fetter and--a halo!

Le Bret Yes... (After a silence, draws Cyrano's arm through his own.) Tell this to all the world-- And then to me say very softly that...she loves you not.

Edmond Rostad

Equinox

Shakespeare's Sonnets

21

So is it not with me as with that Muse

Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,

Who heaven itself for ornament doth use

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,

Making a couplement of proud compare,

With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,

With April's first-born flowers, and all things rate

That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.

O let me, true in love, but truly write,

And then believe me, my love is as fair

As any mother's child, though not so bright

As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:

    Let them say more that like of hear-say well;

  I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

22

My glass shall ot persuade me I am old,

So long as youth and thou are of one date;

But when in thee time's furrows I behold,

Then look I death my days should expiate.

For all that beauty that doth cover thee

Is but the seemly rainment of my heart,

Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:

How can I then be elder than thou art?

O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary

As I, not for myself, but for thee will;

Bearing they heart, which I will keep on chary

As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 

Presume not on thy nheart when mine is slain;

Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

Four Corners

A Comedy of Errors

Scene Two

(the mart)

Mer. Therfore, give out you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusian merchant is apprehended for arrival here; And not being able to buy out his life, According to the statue of the town Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep. 

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, And then return and sleep within mine inn, For with long travel I am stiff and wery. Get thee away. 

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having so good a mean. Exit Dromio.

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholy, Lightens my humour with his merry jests.  What, will you walk with me about the town, And then go to my inn and dine with me? 

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit; I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock, Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, And afterward consort you till bed-time: My presnet business calls me from you now.

Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself, And wander up and down to view the city.

Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. (exit)

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop; Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of the, unhappy, lose myself.

Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Here comes the almanac of my true date. What now? How chance thou art return'd so soon?

Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late: The capon burns, the pig falls form the spit, The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; My mistress made it one upon my cheek; She is so hot because the meat is cold; The meat is cold because you come not home; You come not home because you have no stomach; You have no stomach, having broke your fast; Be we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray, Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray: Where have you left the money that I gave you? 

Dro. E. O, sixpence, that I had o'Wednesday last To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper? The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now. Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? 

Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed, For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock And strike you home without a messenger. 

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season; Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 

Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. 

Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness, And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to you house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner: My mistress and her sister stays for you.

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd. Wher eis the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, But not a thousand marks between you both. If I should pay your worship those again, Perchance you will not hear them patiently.

Ant. S. Thy mistress's marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou?

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; She that doth fast till you come home to dinner, And prays that will hie you home to dinner.

Ant. S. What! wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. (strikes him.) 

Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold you hands! Nay an you will not, sir, I'll take m heels. (Exit Dromio Ep.)

Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. They say this town is full of cozenage; As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, Soul-killing witches that deform the body, Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such-like liberties of sin: If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave: I greatly fear my money is not safe. Exit. 

Card Trick

The Chronicle
A Ballad

Margarita first possest,
If I remember well, my brest,
Margarita first of all;
But when a while the wanton maid
With my restless heart had plaid,
Martha took the flying ball.

Martha soon did it resign
To the beauteous Catharine.
Beauteous Catharine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Elisa's conqu'ering face.

Elisa till this hour might reign
Had she not evil counsels ta'ne.
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favorites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.

Mary then and gentle Ann
Both to reign at once began.
Alternately they sway'd,
And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Ann the crown did wear,
And sometimes both I' obey'd.

Another Mary then arose
And did rigorous laws impose.
A mighty tyrant she!
Long, alas, should I have been
Under that iron-scepter'd queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,
'Twas then a golden time with me.
But soon those pleasures fled,
For the gracious princess dy'd
In her youth and beauties pride,
And Judith reingned in her sted.

One month, three days, and half an hour
Judith held the soveraign power.
Wondrous beautiful her face,
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,
And so Susanna took her place.

But when Isabell came
Arm'd with a resistless flame
And th'artillery of her eye;
Whilst she proudly marcht about
Greater conquests to find out
She beat out Susan by the by.

But in her place I then obey'd
Black-ey'd Bessie, her viceroy-maid,
To whom ensu'd a vacancy.
Thousand worse passions than possest
The interregnum of my brest.
Bless me from such an anarchy!

Gentle Henriette than
And a third Mary next began,
Then Jone, and Jane, and Audria.
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Katharine,
And then a long et caetera.

But should I now to you relate,
The strength and rishes of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbans, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things
Theat make up all their magazins:

If I should tell the politick arts
To take and keep men's hearts,
The letter, embassies, and spies,
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
Numberless, nameless mysteries!

And all the little lime-twigs laid
By Matchavil the waiting-maid;
I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I like them should tell
All chage of weathers that befell)
Then Holinshead or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me.
An higher and nobler strain
My present emperess does claim,
Heleonora, first o'th' name;
Whom God grant long to reign!

Abraham Cowley.

Mill Wheel

My Dyet

Now by my love, the greatest oath that is,

None loves you half so well as I:

I do not ask your love for this,

But for heave'ns sake believe me or I dye.

No servant e're but did deserve

His master should believe that he does serve;

And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.

'Tis no luxurious diet this, and sure

I shall not by't too lusty prove;

Yet shall it willing endure,

If't can but keep together life and love.

Being your priso'ner and your slave,

I do not feasts and banquets look to have,

A little bread and water's all I crave. 

O'n a sigh of pity I a year can live,

One tear will keep me twenty at least,

Fifty a gentle look will give;

An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast;

If you an inclination have for me;

And all beyond is vast eternity.

Resolved To be Beloved

'Tis true I'have lov'd already three or four,

And shall three or four hundred more;

I'll love each fair one that I see,

'Till I find one at last that shall love me.

That shall  y Canaan be, the fatal soil,

That ends my wandrings and my toil.

Till settle there and happy grow;

The country does with milk and honey flow.

The needle trembles so and turns about,

Till it the northern point find out;

But constant then and fit does prove,

Fixt, that his dearest pole as soon may move.

Then may my vessel torn and shipwrackt be,

If it put forth again to sea;

It never more abroad shall rome,

Though't could next voyage bring the Indies home.

But I must sweat in love and labour yet,

Till I a competency get.

They're slothful fools who leave a trade,

Till they a moderate fortune by't have made.

Variety I ask not; give me one

To live perpetually upon.

The person love to us does fit,

Like manna has the tast of all in it.

Abraham Cowley