 WHY THE CHIMES RANG This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Why the Chimes Rang by Elizabeth Aptrop-McFadden adapted from the story of the same name by Raymond McDonald Alden. Characters Neurator, read by Larry Wilson Holger, a peasant boy, read by Nima Steen, his younger brother, read by Josh Kibbe Bertil, their uncle, read by Erin White Old woman, read by Jane Manning Angel, read by Elsie Selwyn Time dusk of a day long ago Seen the interior of a woodchopper's hut on the edge of a forest Why the Chimes Rang The scene is laid in a peasant's hut on the edge of a forest near a cathedral town It is a dark low raftered room that only by the glowing wooden fire in the great fireplace in the wall to the right And by a faint moonlight that steals in through the little window high in the left wall This window commands a view of the cathedral and of the road leading down into the town The only entrance into the hut is the front door near the window The furnishings are few Two substantial stools, one near the window, the other before the fire Logs piled up near the hearth and on the chimney shelf above a few dishes Three little bowls, three spoons, and a great iron porridge pot A wooden peg to the right of the chimney holds Steen's cap and cape One to the left, an old shawl Near the door, Holger's cap and cape hang from a third peg Despite its poverty, the room is full of beautiful coloring As it lies half hidden in deep shadow, save where the light of the fire falls on the brown of the wood And the warmer shades of the children's garments Illuminates their faces and gleams on their bright hair When the curtain is raised, Steen is sitting disconsolately on the stool near the fire He is a handsome sturdy little lad of nine or ten, dressed in rough but warm garments of a dark red Holger, a slender boy some four years older, bends over Steen patting him comfortably on the shoulder There is a petulance and revolt in the expression of the younger boy But Holger's face is full of a blended character and spirituality that makes him beautiful He is clad like his brother, uncomfortable but worn jerkin and hoes of a dark leaf green His manner to the little boy is full of affection, though occasionally he is superior after the manner of big brothers Throughout the play two moods alternate in Holger A certain grave, half mystical dreaminess, and bubbling through it the high spirits of his natural boyish self Take heart, Steen. Perhaps we can go next year Next year? Next year I'll be so old I won't want to go Oh, quite old folks go to the Christmas service? Come, let's watch the people going down to town No The road will be full, grand folk He crosses to the window Come watch, Steen No, Holger, looking out Why, the road's all empty again Everybody's gone Holger, trying to be brave They're lighting the cathedral I don't care Oh, Steen, come see Like the stars coming out I won't see Mother said way last summer that we could go tonight and now His voice breaks into a sob She meant it She didn't know that the grandmother would be ill And she and fathered have to go to her Be fair, Steen They might let us go alone Too little Steen, come here The tone, rather than the words, takes Steen quickly to Holger's side What? Holger pointing out the window Look, by the dead pine yonder An old woman facing us Kneeling in the snow, see? Praying She's looking at us She's raising her hand to us She's beckoning No, she's making the sign of the cross Both boys drop their heads devoutfully Who is she, Holger? I don't know Steen drying back from the window and crossing the room to the fire Holger, I'm afraid No, no, look She has turned away She's deeper in the shadow Why? She's gone Following Steen with all his bright courage bubbling high again And speaks in a bantering tone Just some old granny going down to town And thou are afraid Steen recovering also And thou afraid I was not Wow, I was just a little bit afraid that she might frighten thee Steps are heard outside the house Both boys start and look frightened again Hush, steps Coming here Steen backing from the door The old woman Holger crosses the room Looks cautiously out of the window Then cries joyously No, Uncle Bertle Open, Holger Steen and Holger make a dash for the door Fling it open and Bertle enters He is a jolly Ropa's peasant uncle of early middle life Clad in rough gray jerkin and hose With a dark gray cloak wrapped about him He so radiates cheer that the room seems warmer for his presence in it Nothing to be afraid of about him The children adore him Steen clinging to him happily Oh, Uncle, Uncle, Uncle Bertle Holger sees him Bertle on his other side Uncle Bertle, welcome Bertle tussling their hair and shaking himself loose in pretended dismay Help, help, Ropa's, I'm beset Gently youngsters He goes over to the fire and stands warming himself It's cold in the forest tonight Well, why am I come? Tell me that To take us to the Christmas service Uncle, how tits thou know we were not going? I met a fox Who said? Thou hast seen mother and father Bertle draws the stool nearer the fire and sits The children promptly drop on the floor beside him Ha, ha, ha, by our lady, yes And walking so fast they only had time to throw me a word from the sides of their mouths Go up, cried mother I wist my boys are deep in tears And I, not wishing to see you drown in so much water Holger patting his arm Dear Uncle Bertle Seen rising on his knees Come, let's go, quick Patience, patience, young colt, plenty of time Mother said something else What? Bertle, his eyes on the shelf above the fire That I should find some warm porridge for my pains Holger springy to his feet Why, of course, there is porridge He goes to the shelf Nice and warm it is All ready for supper He hands the first bowl to Bertle Steen capers nimbly across the intervenes base And seats himself on the side of the hearth facing Bertle Is back to the audience Supper, how could we forget about supper? Give me a big bowlful, Holger Holger handing Steen his porridge There isn't a big bowlful here Steen taking the bowl and hugging it Nice kind good supper Begins to eat eagerly Holger suddenly looking toward the door Listen To what? Someone sobbing at the door He goes to it, the others watching him startled He opens the door, finds nothing, closes it, and comes back Nothing there The wind, thy old tricks, Holger Always dreaming some strange thing Holger recalled by Bertle's word to something else Tits thou pass an old woman on the road, near here? Not a soul nearer than the town gate Holger stands, thinking, absorbed Come boy, eat, eat, see how Steen eats Holger breaks through his abstraction and reverts to his bright self Oh, Uncle Bertle, I'm too glad to eat Bertle, more seriously Thou art right, lad Fasting were better than feasting this day in Trousent They say Do you know what they say in the town? What? They say that tonight, in the great church, when the offerings are laid upon the altar for the Christ child, something will happen Steen has finished his porridge, puts the bowl on the shelf near him, seizes his cloak and cap from the bag near the hearth, and stands eager to be gone What? Who can say, all day the folk have been pouring into the town as never before The marketplace has crowded every inn is full No church but the cathedral could hold such a multitude Never have I seen such excitement, such fervor There will be many gifts The rich are bringing their treasure, gold and jewels, kings ransoms, I and the king comes Bertle finishes his porridge and hands the bowl to Steen The king The king himself Oh, and shall we see him, Uncle, and the fine gifts and everything Why not? Even the poorest may go up and give What has Thou to offer? Steen abashed I? Nothing Puts his porridge, bowl, and Bertle's on the shelf, then goes restlessly to the door Holder breaking in with eagerness Oh, I have? See, Uncle? Feels in his pocket and brings out two pennies See, last week I was gathering sticks in the forest, and a fine gentleman rode past and asked the way of me. I showed him the path, and he gave me these Holds up the pennies Bertle rising and going to Holder, who is in the middle of the room Faith! Real money in the family Stoops and looks at the pennies as though they were a rare sight Oh, I thought we were going to buy cakes with those, Holger But it's better to give it to the Christ child You see, he is a little child, smaller than even you And I think he would like a little gift A little break gift that would buy cakes for him Holder goes toward the window and stands looking dreamily out at the lights of the church Aye, tonight we must think of him There in his holy church It is a holy place, the church I feel it every time I go It's like God's forest The pillars like old oaks and the great windows All colors like sunsets through the trees Tears like the forest And when the organ plays That's like a storm gathering in the mountains A storm? Aye, the Lord hath his way in the whirlwind And in the storm and the clouds are the dust of his feet Why should he not do a wonder as of old? Perhaps the great miracle will come again Oh, witch uncle, there are so many in the Bible Yes, witch, would there be a will now to swallow a priest? Thou goosey, this is no Bible miracle It happened there There, where we see the lights Hundreds of years ago Bertol has followed Holger to the window and Steen joins them As he speaks, Bertol slips his arms affectionately round both children and the three stand looking out At this moment something stirs in the dim shadows that shroud the corner up above the fireplace Suddenly, out of the dark, the old woman emerges A tall figure, if she were not so bent, wrapped in a black cloak There is nothing grotesque or sinister in her appearance She might have stood for a statue of old age, impressive in his pathos As she sits on the stool near the fire, she throws back the cloak disclosing the plain, straight dress of gray beneath The light of the fire reveals her, crouched, swaying back and forth, praying silently Her face still shaded by the heavy hood of her cloak The others gazing intently out at the church do not see her Bertol continues speaking Surely thou hast heard of the miracle of the chimes I've heard folk speak of it, but I never knew just what happened Oh, tell us, Uncle Bertol Aye, listen then You see the great tower there Both children nod emphatically It goes so high into the clouds that no one can see its top No one even knows how high it is For the men who built it had been dead for hundreds of years But what has that to do with the chimes? Hush, Stain, let Uncle speak The chimes are up at the top of the tower And they are holy bells, miraculous bells, placed there by sainted hands And when they rang, twas said that Angel's voices echoed through them Why doesn't someone ring them now? That is not so easy They are said to ring on Christmas Eve When the gifts are laid on the altar for the Christ Child But not every offering will ring them It must be a perfect gift And for all these years not one thing has been laid upon the altar good enough to make the chimes ring out Oh, that's what the priest was talking about the mother then He said it mustn't be just a fine gift for show But something full of love for the Christ Child Oh, I want to hear them We shall The very air is full of holy mystery The spirit of Christ will be there in the church tonight To Holger Thy cap, boy Holger stands wrapped in thought gazing out at the cathedral Stain taking the cap and cloak from the peg near the door And bringing them down and piling them into Holger's arms Here they are, old dreamer He turns back up toward the door in such a way that he does not see the silent figure in the corner And hurry Vertle too turns toward his left hand and does not see the woman Holger in a tone of bright happiness roused from his dreaming I'm coming Nothing can happen to stop us now, can it? As he says this he wheels to his right in a way that brings the chimney corner in his line of vision He starts, bends forward, staring as the others open the door Stain The others stop and stare at him Then in the direction of his look Oh, the old woman Vertle looking at Stain When did she come in? I didn't see her Holger crosses timidly towards her As he approaches the old woman turns her eyes on him And holds out her hands, impitiful appealed What does thou want, Dane? Refuge From the storm of the world Surely thou shalt rest here Old woman half rises tiffly as Holger draws near her Oh, son I am so weary and so heavy laden She sways and Holger runs forward catching her in his arms and supporting her on the stool The others stand watching She sits huddled forward in a position that suggests collapse She's faint He touches her hands She's so cold Quick, Stain Build up the fire Stain goes to the fire and puts in another log The flames blaze up And Holger busies himself Chafing the woman's hands and covering her with the old cloak that has dropped back from her shoulders She must have lost her way in the forest Vertle stands watching the woman rather suspiciously Now comes to Holger, taps him on the arm And draws him a little apart speaking in an undertone Ah, we have scant time to lose with that old beggar What'll I do with her? Leave her and come on And come before it is tomorrow He is back by the door, his hand on the latch Holger turns and looks at the old woman and then back to Bertle Oh, I ought we to go and leave her? Not go Of course we'll go. She'll warm herself and march along But she is ill Turns to Stain with a new decision in his manner Thou shalt go with uncle, but I must stay with her Nonsense, Holger No, it isn't If we should all go now the fire would go out and the light And she would wake up in the cold darkness and not know where to turn for help Ah, by St. Christopher Miss a miracle to keep company with a beggar Who held her hand before thou came still long? Send her packing and make haste, Holger Oh, do, Holger If there were some place near that we could take her There isn't a place on the road They've all gone to town long ago Bid her fair there also Holger looks at the old woman, then at Bertle Then back to the old woman Then shakes his head Mother wouldn't treat her so She'd be good to her Think of what you'll miss An expression of anguish passes over Holger's face But he shakes his head and turns towards the old woman Well, this is idle talk Thou and I will go, Stain Oh, come, let's go Bertle, to Stain, but for Holger's benefit Thou and I will see the king, perchance The Christ Thou art stubborn, Holger I, who am older, tell thee what to do Holger shakes his head again Ah, come, Stain He opens the door and goes out Stain following him Goodbye, Holger Stain goes out and shuts the door Goodbye There is a moment's pause while Holger stands staring at the closed door Then he suddenly runs toward it Oh, wait Wait for me, uncle, I will go He opens the door, starts to go through it Then stops, turns, and looks at the woman Is drawn slowly backward by his gaze And comes in, closing the door No Oh, the path is so steep Holger goes to her and bends over Didst thou speak, Dame? The woman does not answer Thou art like grandmother And I know what mother would do for her Feeling her hands Art warmer, Dame? Still cold The covers aren't very thick He looks about the bare room Sees the old shawl hanging from the peg near the fire Takes it down and spreads it over the woman Thou must get warm Goes to the fire and builds it higher Woman still wandering in her mind Berries Yes Find berries Oh, Thou art hungry He turns to the shelf, takes his own untasted bowl of porridge Brings it to her Dame Here's food Woman rousing Food Give it to me, child I am dying for food Holger gives her the porridge and sits down on the floor beside her Holger watching her as she devours the porridge Ah, poor soul Why, Thou art starving Nah, just see Mother says that's what makes my little brother so round and rosy Because he eats so much porridge You like it, don't you? It is life itself Her voice has grown young and strong Sinks back again as she has eaten it all Bless thee, child Holger sets the empty dish aside on the hearth and turns to feel her hands Oh, Thou art warm I warm And a voice increasingly rich and sweet At this moment there comes the distant sound of organ music Holger straightens suddenly in a listening attitude Listen Is that music? From the cathedral Aye, it must be Last summer we could hear it playing And now, with so many thousands there Leaves the woman and stands in the center of the room listening attentively It's beginning Pause Everyone is there Why are they there? It's the great service He goes toward the window and stands looking out He talks on half to her, half to himself All the world is there The village folk and strangers from afar Great court folk too Aye, and the king, our king And he will give a gift A king's gift She rises erectly and follows him across the room There is the strength and poise of youth in her walk The heavy black hood has fallen back revealing a head covering a white linen That suggests a sister of charity And gives her face a look of austerity And sweetness She is strong, maternal, beautiful Intuitively, Holger in his disappointment begins to lean upon her sympathy The music grows a little louder and floats into the room Look, Dame You can even see the windows gleam It is so near It's all beginning Aye, I am not there A sob creeps into his voice Son Aye, Dame He turns and comes toward her She seats herself on the stool near the window Reaches out a hand and draws him down beside her Thou too wouldst go Holger too moved by her sympathy to speak Not silently and puts up a hand to hide the trembling of his lips She slips her hand to his shoulder Another time, thou will go Holger, fighting back his tears It'll never be the same again Tonight the Christ comes Bertle said, the Christ Nay, son, pray to the Christ child Pray that he does not pass thee by She sits facing the back wall of the hut Holger kneels before her and drops his head in her lap She lays her hand gently upon his hair And makes the sign of the cross above him As they have been talking together The fire on the hearth has burned itself out And the shadows in the room have crept forward And closed around them Till only a faint outline of Holger and the woman Can be distinguished in the glimmer of moonlight Shining through the window nearby There is a long pause Broken only by the boy sobbing Which gradually sinks to silence As he prays, a faint light begins to grow behind him The smoke grime back wall of the hut has vanished And in its place appears a vision of the cathedral chancel One by one objects emerge from the darkness The light touches the golden altar The gleaming appointments upon it The jewel-like tones of the stained glass window above And the rich carpet underfoot It shows the marble arches at the sides And shines softly on the robe of the kneeling priest As the dim vision grows to clearness So the music comes nearer and swells forth softly Into the Christmas processional Unconscious of it all, Holger looks up at the woman His face swept with despair Oh, it's no use I'd rather be all blind and never see Than miss the vision that the Christ will send Woman gazing at the vision Look Look what comes Holger staring at the woman's face Illuminated by the light from the chancel Damn He turns to see where the light comes from And the vision meets his eye Ah He crouches back at the woman's feet Held spellbound by the sight As the music changes The priest rises slowly to his feet Faces the congregation and makes a gesture of approach The voices of the choir join the music And from the left side of the chancel People begin to enter carrying their gifts An imperious-looking man Richly dressed in black and gold comes first Bearing a heavy box He approaches the altar Nielsen puts the chest in the priest's hand And that the full value of his gift may be publicly recognized He throws back the lid Heaping up the gold coin with which the box is filled The priest turns, goes up the steps to the altar And raises the chest as high as its weight will permit The man still kneeling awaits the chimes With superb self-confidence The bells do not ring Slowly the priest lowers the gold to the altar Turns, raises his hand in blessing and dismissing The rich man rises, looking bewildered at his failure Crosses to the right and stands near the altar As the pageant moves on The priest turns to the next comrade A courteous brave in green and gold Who enters with an air of great elegance Bearing daintily a gilded jewel casket He kneels, lays it in the priest's hands The latter turns to go But the courteur detains him a second Raises the lid of the box and holds up String after string of rich gems The priest carries the jewels to the altar and offers them The bells do not ring The priest dismisses the courteur And the young man rises, turns back with assumed lightness of manner And stands at the left of the chancel Watching with great interest A beautiful woman, clad in flame, colored velvet Sweeps proudly up the steps of the altar Kneels, takes from her neck, a long strand of pearls And offers it to the priest The priest receives the necklace, ascends to the altar And offers the jewels The woman smiling listens tensely for the chimes They do not ring The smile fades as the priest turns and blesses her She rises, trying to hide her chagrin In a look of great hutu Crosses to the right and stands near the man in black and gold With whom she exchanges disdainful smiles Over the next arrival An old white-haired man, clad in a scholar's robe, totters on Burying with difficulty a large vellum bound book The priest takes a step forward to relieve the old man of his burden And as he goes up the altar steps The sage sinks, exhausted to his knees Listening with straining senses for the bells They do not ring The priest blesses the old man and helps him to rise He turns back and stands near the courtier at the left A lovely young girl enters, dressed in pale green satin Her arms filled with a sheaf of white lilies The very way she carries them and bends her head to catch their fragrance Shows that to her they are the most beautiful things in the world Kneeling she gives them into the hands of the priest as she offers them She listens with childish confidence for the ringing of the bells Still there is no sound save the organ music and the singing of the choir Subdued almost to a breath as the gifts are offered Abashed as the priest blesses and dismisses her The young girl steps back and stands near the old sage There is a stir in the chancel Even the priest turning to watch The king enters He is a man of forty with tall distinguished figure and a proud face His purple robes richly jeweled trail behind him And on his head he wears his crown Everyone leans forward watching with great tension The king exalted with his mood of self-sacrifice kneels Removes his crown and lays it in the hands of the priest Holger crouching at the shadow quivers with anticipation Again the pantomime of hope and failure The priest turns back to the king and raises his arms in the customary gesture The king starts to rise Then suddenly as though overcome at his spiritual defeat Sinks again to his knees before the altar And buries his face in his hands praying The priest stands with arms crossed upon his breast Regarding him sorrowfully Holger overwhelmed with disappointment softly to the woman Perhaps there are no chimes Perhaps the Christ hears us not Have faith Have faith in God I would that I could give my pennies to the child The king rises from his prayer and goes sadly to the right Standing near the lady in red Woman in a low-ringing voice that thrills like the call of a trumpet Go up, my son Fear not, the Christ child waits for all Holger breathless with the adventure Rises and goes timidly forward out of the gloom of the hut Into the splendor of the chancel Looking very small and poorly dressed Beside all the great ones He holds out his pennies to the priest Who bends and takes them with a tender little smile And holds her crossing himself to a bash to stand and wait Shrinks back into the darkness and the sheltering arms of the woman The priest goes up the steps of the altar And holds the pennies high above his head In consecrating gesture And as he does so the organ music breaks off Within a maze suddenness for from above There comes the far triumphant ringing of the chimes Mingled with ethereal voices singing the hallelujah A wave of awe sweeps over everyone in the chancel And as the priest wheels and gestures them to their knees They prostrate themselves quickly Holds her too, kneels, awestruck But the woman rises to her full height And stands watching From this time on she withdraws gradually Into the deeper shadow of the hut And is seen no more As they all kneel The angel enters from the right Ascends the steps of the altar And stands beside the huddled figure of the priest As she stands there A single pencil of light shines down upon her from above A ray of light so brilliant That everything around seems dull in comparison And while she gives her message The light above grows till it floods her hair And garments with a miraculous radiance The angel smiles at hold you And chants in a lovely voice Verily, verily, I say unto you It is not gold nor silver nor rich pearls But love and self-sacrifice that please the Lord The Christ child was hungered And you gave him meat A stranger, and you took him in But I, I have not seen the Christ child In so much as you have done it unto one of the least Of these, his brethren, you have done it unto him The angel stands with one hand uplifted As the music rises in a great crescendo of triumph Holder, quite overcome, drops his face in his hands And as the climax of the singing is reached The whole tableau is held for a moment Then blotted out in darkness There is a pause Then the light on the hearth clears up Revealing the boy alone Still on his knees, looking up bewildered At the back wall of the hut, where the vision had been Swiftly he rises to his feet and turns to face the woman Dame, dame, the chimes, the star Did you see? She is gone He stares about him looking for her Gone, gone The music still rings softly But the chimes He turns, runs to the window And flings open the casement A soft light, half moonlight, half something more luminous Pours in upon him He speaks in a tone of infinite happiness Looking upward The stars God's chimes The curtain falls slowly End of why the chimes rang The line of no resistance by Percival L. Wilde This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org The line of no resistance A comedy in one act By Percival L. Wilde Characters George Robertson Red by Thomas Peter Jean Robertson Red by Devorah Allen Ethel Red by Betsy Walker Stage Directions Red by Erin White George Robertson, an oldest young man of some 30 odd years Extremely good-looking and fully aware of the fact He has made money rather rapidly And his success has gone to his head Jean Robertson, his wife A motherly young woman still on the sunny side of 30 Pretty in a quiet way And blessed with a splendid sense of humor And with a profound understanding of her husband's character Ethel Quentin A stunning girl of twenty She is very much in love with George And believes his wife is not the woman for him The scene is the living room of the Robertson's apartment Center, rear, a mantle Decorated with vases, photographs, and a clock Right of the mantle, a liquor stand At right center, the main entrance A hat rack is visible in the hall beyond when the door is open Another door, left center, opens into the servant's hallway And a third, down left, leads into a bedroom In the left wall, a window There is plenty of furniture, the most conspicuous pieces being A Morris chair to the right of center And a large and comfortable sofa to the left of center Each placed diagonally A small table with smokers articles And two or three books is near the head of the sofa Towards center And there is a chivalre glass between the mantle And the left center door The room is furnished rather expensively And in the best of good taste There are handsome rugs about the floor Curtains at the windows And tapestries and paintings about the walls The curtain rises, showing an empty stage Elevator door, off right, is heard to slam Door right opens And Ethel enters, in a street dress Wearing hat and cloak, followed by George Who leaves his things outside on the coat rack And who closes the door as soon as he is in the room Ethel, crossing to center, throws back wraps Turns Is she out? Indicates lower left door George, crossing to her Yes, she's gone shopping for the afternoon You are sure she doesn't suspect? Not she He opens his arms, they embrace and kiss fondly Noise off left, pause Ethel pushing him away Now George, I have come here to say something Something which I should have said long ago Ethel sits right center I was thinking the other night, how long have we been friends? Friends Well, more than friends Since the time my new life began Which is to say, in ordinary reckoning, six months Is that all? It was in July we met, you remember? Do I remember? But the stars shining down on us And the breeze is sighing through the pines And Waifie going to bed two hours ago And the whisper of millions of insects And love in the very airway breathed And you and I alone hand in hand And the next day, avoiding each other's glances Acting as if we had never met Oh, the sham, the sham George shrugging his shoulders What would you have me do? Ethel, rising and crossing towards him What would I have you... George, tell me, you are a big man, aren't you? Well You are big enough to be above public opinion Perhaps Do you expect to keep up the sham? Do you expect to continue this play-acting? Do you expect to hide your real feelings from the world? What do you mean? George, listen to me You and I have loved each other almost from the day we met Yes, I know that Do you think there's anything sinful in it? Sinful Or do you believe that our love purifies itself? What does your wife matter? What does anything matter? You and I love each other I need you And you need me Isn't that enough? Well, almost enough Then what is the future to be? Our way to indulge in our love is if it were something shameful Something horrible which will not bear the light of day Something vile which we must not mention Something despicable for which we must hang our heads No, a thousand times no Well, what do you propose? Ethel, rising Let us be honest Honest? Let us look the facts in the face Choose between us Between your wife and me But There is no other way If you love her, you have no use for me If you love me, you have no use for her She is my wife What of that? Is she a wife for such a man as you? George is visibly pleased Is she a wife for a successful businessman? A genius He is still more pleased When you married her, you were poor Then she meant something Today you are rich What does she mean to you now? George, hanging his head Nothing And are you content? You are satisfied? No, I'm not satisfied by God, no Then why keep up the farce? George sinks into a chair and buries his face in his hands If your wife knew that it would be best for you to leave her If she knew that I could fill her place better than she Would she say, go? Would she release you and make you happy? Or would she beg you to stay for her sake? I don't know, I don't know But I know George, be fair with yourself Now is the time to decide Will you be miserable with her or happy with me? Which is it? Are you a coward? George, rising No, I am not a coward Then I want you They embrace There speaks the man I know The first time I saw you The first time I looked upon your beautiful face I said to myself He was made for me George, I am proud of you What have you to fear? Noise off left They both start That's my wife I thought she was out She must have come back Ethel glancing at her watch and speaking quickly George, listen to me It is three o'clock now At five I board the train for Jacksonville Will you come with me? Today Yes, today Have you the courage? Have I the courage? Then I will expect you to call for me at a quarter past four You understand? Quarter past four Jean enters left carrying a parcel Oh, I miss Quentin I am so glad to see you Crosses over and kisses her effusively So I was out when you called And George has been entertaining you By the way, George Would you mind running around to the express office With the parcel? Handing him parcel and money Thirty-five cents prepaid Ethel makes a move to go Oh no, I really couldn't allow it Stay a few minutes and chat We women must gossip a little Now not a word Turning to George George, hurry back Exit George, closing door right She opens it and calls after him George, don't forget to put on your rubbers Closes door again, turns to Ethel Now my dear, tell me all the news They sit on sofa The news? There isn't any No? Then you haven't heard You won't repeat it With show of secrecy It's not generally known But I'm just bursting to tell you A friend of mine is going to run away from his wife Elevator door off right slams Ethel starting violently Why, Mrs. Robertson The elevator does startle one, doesn't it? But call me Jean, dear, you won't mind I feel as if I knew you so well And I will call you Lucy My name is Ethel Oh, is it? Such a pretty name, too Experimenting with the sound Ethel You were saying? Yes, what was I saying? I quite forget Do remind me You were telling me about a friend of yours Ah, not another word I remember now Yes, he's going off with some insignificant western girl Ethel commencing indignantly Mrs. Recalling herself and continuing more mildly Robertson Jean Jean, I meant Who is it? Oh, that would be telling, dear But it's so romantic You see, they've loved each other in secret so long And his wife doesn't know a thing about it Isn't it cute? Ethel wetting her lips nervously And you, you approve? I know, Ethel, dear You wouldn't But what is there for me to do? I'm so immoral And I think it's such a lark A lark? Yes, he'll come back Ethel rising and moving towards center What do you mean? Jean following her I forgot You see, dear, you don't know him as well as I do And he's such a good-looking man And all the ladies are in love with him But he's conceited Very conceited And unless you flatter him all the time There's no getting along with him Oh So it will be very beautiful for a week Or two weeks or a month And then he'll get tired of her And she won't be able to invent any new flatteries And one fine day he'll come running back home Just like Bo Peep And he'll be happy to get back Isn't it killing? I don't see the joke No But you're so straight-laced For one thing It is possible that his wife doesn't appreciate him Curious He thinks the same thing But then all men think that, don't they? I don't know Jean apologetically Laying her hand on Ethel's knee I forgot, dear You've had experience Yes, that's it Experience Ethel Raising her handkerchief to her eyes You know, Mrs. Robertson Jean Jean It's very cruel of you to jest As for me I am inclined to sympathize with the wife Sympathize with the wife My dear, you convulse me Rising and turning her back At which Ethel drops her handkerchief And watches intently You're so funny Sympathize with the wife Turning suddenly Ethel puts her handkerchief back to her eyes Why, I sympathize with the girl With the girl? Of course You see, she's a sweet little thing But she's so sentimental And she's in love with any man Who is foolish enough to take her seriously Ethel Rising indignantly Mrs. Jean Jean coming to her quickly Pardon me, dear You wouldn't have spoken of her so harshly I know I am so impetuous My tongue simply runs away with me But you won't repeat it I can trust you Yes Thank you so much You see, she's so happy to think That it's a married man she's getting A bachelor wouldn't attract her nearly as much And she thinks his wife will be heartbroken And sit at the window and cry her eyes out And mope and fret And go to her lawyers and And all that sort of thing And she won't? My dear She will enjoy the vacation Oh As for the girl I didn't tell you why I sympathize with her No Well, she thinks she will be a permanent fixture And I know that she won't even be an episode Oh It will be a terrible blow You feel for her too, don't you Ethel's sitting right center I am beginning to I knew you would, dear And the wife will be so grateful to her Grateful Jean nodding Yes, grateful She will teach the husband a lesson A valuable lesson Ethel rising with a desperate effort to control herself Mrs. Rob Jean I am going Jean also rising So soon, dear Won't you wait for George? No No I I haven't time Very well then, if you must You know, dear One trouble with this world of ours is that There are thousands of girls who want to take husbands And don't know whose husbands to take Ethel smiles despite herself Then looking into Jean's twinkling eyes And beginning to realize the true state of affairs She breaks into almost hysterical laughter The older woman unfolds her in a motherly embrace And the girl sobs without restraint Jean soothing her All right, dearie, all right Have a good cry, it won't hurt you Smooth the girl's hair and kisses her tenderly And now go home and forget all about it Tomorrow you may come here to tell me that I'm the best friend you have in the world The two go toward the rear door The elevator door is heard to slam They both start There's George now Oh, Mrs. Jean, I don't Yes, yes, I understand Leading her quickly to door up left The servant's elevator is on this side Ethel hurries out Goodbye Closes door slowly, shaking head Hearing footsteps rushes over to sofa And reads as George enters George showing disappointment Oh, she's gone Jean turning a page of her book Beg your pardon Ethel, Miss Quinn, is she's gone? Jean, much interested in the book Yes, big hurry, minutes ago A pause George, under his breath Guess I'd better tell him how He looks at her furtively Crosses silently to liquor cabinet And takes out glass and a bottle of whiskey Pours a little into the glass, pauses And looks at his wife to gauge her requirements Pours out a little more And stops again to estimate Nervously This ought to revive her He pauses in indecision then In desperation He fills the glass almost to the brim And corks the bottle During all of this he has kept a grave face And Jean is wholly unconscious of his preparations Having finished He adjusts his tie with the aid of the mirror Smoothes his hair and strikes an attitude Jean Jean, turning another page Yes Come here Jean turns, looks at him quizzically Marks place with a hairpin And joins him at the mantel Where she stands running her finger along the woodwork Ah, they have something to tell you Jean, examining the mantel with horror Oh, did you notice it? The girl hasn't dusted here in a week It's positively disgraceful George recoiling from the dust Jean, that isn't it I have something else to tell you Jean picks up a vase and examines it closely Well, what is it? Jean, I don't love you any longer Jean, holding the vase to the light And tapping it to dislodge the dust Oh Jean Did you hear what I said? Ah, I don't love you any longer Jean replacing the vase and taking up another That all My god, isn't that enough? Jean dusting the second vase Well, what do you expect me to do? Jean, I don't love you any longer I heard you the first time, George Go on She takes up a third vase For heaven's sake, put that vase down Jean obeys him And begins to adjust her hair at the cheval glass Please storm that Now listen to me It is my duty to tell you that I don't love you Any longer All right, you've done your duty four times Now what do I say? Jean, be serious I'm not joking I know it I am going to leave you Yes I love another woman Of course You will never know who she is Certainly not I love purifies itself Jean snapping her fingers Just like that She inspires me Bully for her And we are going off together On the five o'clock train George staggering back How do you know that? How do you know that? Sitting right center very suddenly Jean offering him the glass of whiskey Here, George, drink this He gulps it down Chokes She pats him on the back There, there You were in the next room She nods When I thought you were out shopping A nod And you overheard Every word Good lord Rising That they should come to me My wife an eavesdropper She looks at him in blank amazement It's bitter Yes, it's bitter Jean after pausing for him to calm down George Yes You had better hurry George coming toward her threateningly Hurry You've got to call for her at quarter past four But I've packed your clothes You packed my clothes Yes, while you were talking You'll need them, won't you? How dare you do such a thing I'd never heard of anything like it in my life You're still a young man, George But that I thought it would save you trouble Save me I don't believe you did it Rushes out down left Returning an instant later You did Of course I did Sits on sofa George striding to her and glaring Tell me, woman, are you glad to have me go? She looks up at him innocently and shrugs her shoulders Tell me the truth Don't care if it hurts Don't you love me any longer? George, isn't that rather a leading question? What will you do if I go away? George, I don't see how that can interest you No evasion, woman I insist on an answer Jean sitting up slowly Well, if I must I thought of taking a leaf out of your book What? You know Tommy Andrews, don't you? He's such an attractive boy And he makes love so delightfully Jean Jean, not noticing the interruption And he's been so attentive to me And I've repulsed him But you're not narrow-minded, George So when you are gallivanting all over the country with Miss Quentin And when you're telling her that you've never been so happy in your life Just remember that I am happy also And you say this to my face? Why not? She yawns You'd find it out anyhow Crossing to Cheval Glass and admiring herself Tommy Andrews is going to call tonight And I'm going to put on my prettiest dress With a hairpin in her mouth And do up my hair the way he likes it The way he lacks it? Why, of course, dear He notices such things And when he says Removing the hairpin Jean Darling, I'd love to kiss you I'll say, you know Tommy Tommy, a woman hates a coward Uh, no, no, that wouldn't be nice I'll say, I'm alone Tommy And you're so strong George, I'm beginning to think that I'm frightfully immoral You are immoral But no worse than you, George, am I? As God is my witness, I don't deserve it That my wife, my wife whom I have idolized Should deceive me I haven't deceived you yet, George Yet, but you are going to Mm-hmm, you're going to deceive me I'm going to deceive you We're going to deceive each other Won't it be Jolly? Jolly, Jean, in Heaven's name have you no heart? If that isn't too funny George, that's just what Tommy Andrews asked me Damn, Tommy Andrews He collapses onto the chair, right center, and sobs Jean watches him quietly George No answer George No answer She approaches him and touches his shoulder How about the train? Oh, damn, the train Jean, her face is radiant for an instant, then controlled And you must call for Miss Quentin Damn, Miss Quentin Oh, how can you? George, lifting a tear-stained but set face Woman, why did you marry me? Tommy Andrews asked me that also Please, don't mention his name Didn't you love me? Well, perhaps I did But perhaps Perhaps what? Perhaps I was merely anxious to get married George, rising sternly I thank God for this revelation I know my duty at last What is your duty, George? To tell me that you don't love me any longer? Four times? No, my duty is to stay here and watch you Oh George, driving her towards left I trusted you once Oh But my confidence has been misplaced Oh I am not going away I must remain here and protect my wife's honor Won't that be nice, George? A longish pause You are sure you're going to stay? George, crossing to chair right center sits Yes Jean, after a pause Quite sure? George, firmly rising My mouth is made up Jean, another pause Then... then you might take off your rubbers Without a word, he seats himself in the Morris chair and takes the rubbers off She takes them and opening the hall door deposits them under the coat rack Then, humming merrily, she crosses the room, finds his pipe, fills it, lights a match, and brings it to him He does not notice She pushes the pipe into his mouth He grunts his thanks and accepts a light She blows out the match and throws it into an ash receiver She returns to the sofa, takes up her book, and commences reading There is a long pause during which he watches her What are you reading? Oh, it doesn't matter So that's where you get your ideas Rising sternly Read it aloud, I insist Really, George? George, approaching Obey me Jean makes a curious face, then... Soft flannel or woollen garments should be worn next to the skin for the greater part of the year And when a change is made to lighter material, it should be done with great caution Dress the infant so that... What? With a sudden understanding of what it all means, he turns to her and opening his arms in the wildest excitement cries Jean! Jean! Curtain End of The Line of No Resistance Rosencrantz and Guildenstern by W. S. Gilbert This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, an original tragedy in three acts founded on an old Danish legend Players King Claudius, read by Aaron White Queen Gertrude, read by Sonja Rosencrantz, read by Kevin S. Guildenstern, read by Thomas Peter Ophelia, read by phone Hamlet, read by Alan Mapstone First Player, read by Campbell Shalp He, read by Peter Yersley She, read by Sandra Schmidt Stage Directioned, read by Todd Argument King Claudius, when a young man, wrote a five-act tragedy which was damned and all referenced to it forbidden under penalty of death The king has a son, Hamlet, whose tendency to soliloquy has so alarmed his mother, Queen Gertrude, that she is sent for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to devise some court rebels for his entertainment Rosencrantz is a former lover of Ophelia, to whom Hamlet is betrothed, and they lay their heads together to devise a plan by which Hamlet may be put out of the way Some court theatricals are in preparation Ophelia and Rosencrantz persuade Hamlet to play his father's tragedy before the king and court Hamlet, who is unaware of the prescription, does so, and he is banished, and Rosencrantz happily united to Ophelia Act One Interior of King Claudius' palace Claudius discovered, seated in gloomy attitude, Queen Gertrude at his feet, consoling him Nay, be not sad, my lord Sad, loved queen If by an effort of the will I could revoke the ever-present past, disperse the gaunt and gloomy ghosts of bygone deeds, or bind them with unperishable chains in caverns of the past in carceret, then could I smile again, but not till then O my dear lord, if ought there be that gives thy soul unrest, tell it to me Well-loved and faithful wife, tender companion of my faltering life Yes, I can trust thee Listen, then, to me Fifty years since, when but a headstrong lad, I wrote a five-act tragedy Queen interested Indeed A play, writ by a king And such a king Finds ready market It was read at once, but Eret was read, accepted Then the press teamed with portentous import, Elsinor was duly placarded by willing hands We know that walls have ears, I gave them tongues, and they were eloquent with promises Even the dead walls? Aye, the deader they, the louder they proclaimed Queen appalled Oh, marvellous The day approached, all Denmark stood agape, arrangements were devised at once by which seats might be booked a twelve-month in advance The first night came And did the play succeed? In one sense, yes Oh, I was sure of it A farce was given to play the people in, my tragedy succeeded that That's all And how long did it run? About ten minutes, ere the first act had traced one half its course, the curtain fell Never to rise again And did the people hiss? No, worse than that They laughed Sick with the shame that covered me I knelt down palsied in my private box And prayed the hurst and catacombed dead might quit their vaults and claim me for their own But it was not to be Oh, my good lord, the house was surely packed It was By me, my favourite courtiers crowded every place, from floor to floor the house was peopled by the sycophantic crew My tragedy was more than even sycophants could stand Was it, my lord, so very, very bad? Not to deceive my trusting queen It was And when the play failed, did thou take no steps to set thyself right with the world? I did The acts were five, though by five acts too long I wrote an act by way of epilogue, an act by which the penalty of death was meted out to all who sneered at it. The play was not good, but the punishment of those that laughed at it was capital Think on it no more, my lord, now, mark me well To cheer our son, whose solitary tastes and tendency to long soliloquy have much alarmed us, I, unknown to thee, have sent for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern To marry Nave, skinned to Polonius, who will devise such revels in our court, such antique schemes of harmless merriment as shall abstract his meditative mind from sad employment Claudius, who can tell but that they may divert my lord as well? Ah, they are here Enter Guildenstern, who kneels My homage to the queen Enter Rosencrantz In hot obedience to the royal haste we have arrived, prepared to do our best We welcome you to court Our chamberlain shall see that you are suitably disposed Here is his daughter She will hear your will and see that it receives fair countenance Exit King and Queen Enter Ophelia Both embrace her Ophelia, delighted and surprised Rosencrantz and Guildenstern This meeting likes me much We have not met since we were babes The queen has summoned us And I have come in a half-hearted hope that I may claim once more my baby love Alas, I am betrothed Betrothed? To whom? To Hamlet Oh, incomprehensible Thou lovest Hamlet Nay, I said not so I said we were betrothed And what's he like? A like for no two seasons at a time Sometimes he's tall Sometimes he's very short Now with black hair Now with a flaxen wig Sometimes an English accent Then a French Then English with a strong provincial burr Once an American and once a Jew But Danish never take him how you will And strange to say What ere his tongue may be Whether he's darker flaxen English French Though we're in Denmark A.D. 1062 He always stresses As King James I Oh, he is surely mad Well, there again opinion is divided Some men hold that he's the sanest far of all sane men Some that he's really sane But chamming mad Some that he's really mad But chamming sane Some that he will be mad Some that he was Some that he couldn't be But on the whole As far as I can make out what they mean The favorite theory is somewhat like this Hamlet is idiotically sane With lucid intervals of lunacy We must devise some plan to stop this match Stay Many years ago King Claudius was guilty of a five-act tragedy The play was damned And none may mention it under the pain of death We might contrive to make him play this piece before the king And take the consequence Impossible, for every copy was destroyed But one, my father's Eh? In his capacity as Chamberlain He has one copy I, this night, when all the court is drowned in sleep Will creep with stealthy foot into his den And dare abstract the precious manuscript That's well-bethought, in truth But take good heed, your father may detect you Oh, dear, no! My father spends his long official days In reading all the rubbishing new plays From ten to four at work he may be found And then my father sleeps exceeding sound Act two, apartment in the castle Chair, right Enter Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Have you as yet planned all that may relieve Our poor afflicted son's despondency? Madam, we have lost no time Already we are getting up some court theatricals In which the prince will play a leading part That's well-bethought It will divert his mind See, here he comes How gloomily he stalks As one overwhelmed with weight of bitter care He thrusts his hand into his bosom Thus starts, looks around, and as if reassured Rumples his hair and rolls his glassy eyes That means he's going to soliloquise Prevent this gentleman by any means We will, but how? Anticipate his points And follow out his argument for him Thus will you cut the ground from beneath his feet And leave him not to say We will, we will A mother's blessing be upon you, sirs Exit No, Guildenstern, apply thee to this task Enter Hamlet He stalks to the chair, throws himself into it To be, or not to be Rosencrantz, right of chair Yes, that's the point Whether he's bravest who will cut his throat Rather than suffer all Guildenstern, left of chair Or suffer all rather than cut his throat Hamlet, annoyed at an interruption, resumes To die, to sleep It's nothing more Death is but sleep spun out Why hesitate Offers him a dagger The only question is, between the choice of deaths, which death to choose Offers another Hamlet, in great terror Do take those dreadful things away They make my blood run cold Resumes To sleep, perchance to Dream That's very true, I never dream myself But Guildenstern dreams all night long, out loud With blushes, sir, I do confess it true This question, gentlemen, concerns me not Resumes For who would bear the whips and scorns of time? Rosencrantz, as guessing a riddle Who'd bear the whips and scorns? Now let me see Who'd bear them, eh? Guildenstern, same business Who'd bear the scorns of time? Rosencrantz, correcting him The whips and scorns The whips and scorns, of course Hamlet, about to protest Don't tell us, let us guess The whips of time Oh, sirs, this interruption likes us not I pray you give it up My lord, we do, we cannot tell who bears these whips and scorns Hamlet, not heeding them, resumes But that the dread of something after death That's true, post-mortem and the coroner Feludice, crossroads at twelve p.m. And then the forfeited life policy, exceedingly unpleasant Hamlet, really angry Gentlemen, it must be patent to the mirish dunce Three persons can't soliloquise at once Rosencrantz and Guildenstern retire up Hamlet, aside They're playing on me Playing upon me, who am not fashioned to be played upon Show them a pipe, a thing of poles and stops Made to be played on They'll shrink a bashed and swear they have not skill on that Now, Mark Rosencrantz Here Producing a flute as Rosencrantz comes down Exit Guildenstern This is a well-toned flute Play me an air upon it Sneeringly Do not say you know not how Nay, but I do know how I'm rather good upon the flute Observe Plays an elaborate roulade Hamlet, snatching it from him, peevishly Huh, everything goes wrong Throws himself into a chair as if buried in soliloquy Enterophilia, white with terror Rosencrantz Well? I found a manuscript, but never put me to such work again Why, what has happened that you tremble so? Last night I stole down from my room alone and sold my father's den I entered it, the clock struck twelve, and then, oh, horrible From chest and cabinet there issued forth the moldy spectres of five thousand plays All dead and gone, and many of them damned I shook with horror They encompassed me, chattering forth the scenes and parts of scenes Which my poor father wisely had cut out Oh, horrible, oh, it was most horrible Covering her face What was they uttered? I declined to say The more I heard, the more convinced was I My father acted most judiciously But that suffies thee Give me then the play, and I'll submit it to the prince But stay, do not appear to urge him, hold him back Or he'll decline to play the piece, I know him Hamlet, who has been soloquizing under his breath And lose the name of action Rises Why, what's that? We have been looking through some dozen plays to find one suited to our company This is my lord a five-act tragedy Tis called Gonzago, but it will not serve Tis very long Hamlet, interested Is there a part for me? There is, my lord, a most important part A mad archbishop who becomes a Jew, despite his diocese That's very good Rosencrant, taking manuscript Here you go mad, and then, sir, a little applause Here you are the sane again, and then you don't Then later on you stab your aunt Because, well, I can't tell you why you stab your aunt But still you stab her No, that is quite enough Then you become the leader of a troop of Greek banditai In soliloquies, after a long and undisturbed career of murder Tempered by soliloquy You see the sin and folly of your ways And offer to resume your diocese But just too late, for terrible to tell As you were repenting in soliloquy The bench of bishop sees you unawares and blow you from a gun That's excellent That's very good indeed We'll play this piece But pray consider, all the other parts are insignificant What matters that? We'll play this piece The plot's impossible, and all the dialogue bombastic stuff I tell you, sir, that we will play this piece Bestow yourself about it and engage All the most fairly-famed tragedians To play the small parts, as tragedians should A mad arch-bishop Yes, that's very good Act three Room in the palace, prepared for a stage performance Enter King Claudius and Queen, meeting Rosengrant A fair good morrow to you, Rosengrant How much the royal revels Lamely, madame, lamely, like a one-legged duck The prince has discovered a strange play He hath called it a right reckoning, long delayed And of what fashion is the prince's play? Tis an excellent poor tragedy, my lord The thing of shreds and patches Welded into a form that hath mass without consistency Like an ill-built villa But, sir, you should have used your best endeavours To wean his fantasy from such a play Madam, I did, and with some success For he now seeth the absurdity Of its tragical catastrophes And laughs at it as freely as we do So, albeit the poor author had hoped To have drawn tears of sympathy The prince has resolved to present it As a piece of pompous folly intended to Excite no lofty emotion than laughter and surprise Here comes the royal tragedian with his troop Enter Hamlet and players Good morrow, sir This is our company of players They have come to town to do honour And add completeness to our revels Good says, we welcome you to Elsinor Prepare you now We are a gog to taste the intellectual treat In store for us We are ready, sir But before we begin, I would speak a word To you who are to play this piece I have chosen this play in the face of sturdy opposition From my well-esteemed friends Who were for playing a piece with less bombastic fury And more frolic But I have thought this a fit play to be presented By reason of that very pedantic bombast And windy obtrusive rhetoric That they do so rightly despise For I hold that there is no such antic fellow As your bombastical hero Who doth so earnestly spout forth his folly As to make his hearers believe That he is unconscious of all incongruity Whereas he who doth so mark, label, and underscore His antic speeches As to show that he is alive to their absurdity Seameth to utter them under protest And to take part with his audience against himself For which reason I pray you Let there be no huge red noses Nor extravagant monstrous wigs Nor coarse men garbed as women in this commie tragedy For such things are as much as to say I am a comic fellow I pray you laugh at me And hold what I say to be cleverly ridiculous Such labelling of humour Is an impertinence to your audience For it's Seameth to imply That they are unable to recognise a joke Unless it be pointed out to them I pray you avoid it Sir, we are beholden to you for your good councils But we would urge upon your consideration That we are accomplished players Who have spent many years in learning our profession And we would venture to suggest That it would better be fit your lordship To confine yourself to such matters As your lordship may be likely to understand We on our part may have our own ideas As to the duties of heir's apparent But it would ill become us to air them before your lordship Who may be reasonably supposed to understand Such matters more perfectly than your very humble servants Come, let us take our places Call the court that all may see this fooling Here's a chair The court enter In which I shall find room to roll about When laughter takes possession of my soul Now we are ready The curtain rises Enter a loving couple lovingly Should stop prove, faithless If I do, then let the world forget to woo The mountaintops bow down in fears The midday sun dissolves in tears And outraged nature, pale and bent Fall prostrate in bewilderment All titter through this, breaking into a laugh at the end The king enjoying it as much as anyone Truly sir, I hope he will prove faithful Lest we should all be involved in this catastrophe Much indeed it depends upon his constancy I am sure he hath all our prayers, gentlemen Aside, Rosencrant Is this play well known? It is not, my lord I seem to have met with these lines before Go on Hark, dost thou hear those trumpets and drums Thy hated rival, stern Gonzago comes And wherefore cometh Gonzago He cometh here to woo Cannot he woo without an orchestra at his elbow? A fiker for such a wooing, say I Claudius, rather alarmed, aside to Rosencrant's Who is Gonzago? He's a mad archbishop of Elsinor, tis a most ridiculous and mirthful character, and the more so that the poor author had hoped to have appalled you with his tragidical end During this the king has shown that he has recognized his tragedy He is horrified at the discovery Enter Hamlet as archbishop All laugh except the king Who is miserable Free from the cares of church and state I come to wreak my love and hate Love whirls me to the lofty skies Hate drags me where dark Pluto lies All laugh except king Mary, but he must have a nice time of it between them Oh sir, this path is the bounds of ridicule and to think that these lines were to have drawn our tears Truly, mine eyes run with tears, but they are begotten of laughter Gently, gently, spare your ridicule lest you have none left for the later scenes This tragedy is full of such windy fooling You shall hear more and on There are five acts of this All grown Hamlet resumes For two great ends I daily fume The altar and the deadly tomb How can I live in such a state And hold my arch-episcopate Oh my lord, I pray you end this Or I shall die with laughter Ha ha ha, did mortal ever hear such metrical folly Stop it, my good lord, or I shall assuredly do myself some injury Oh sir, pretty have mercy on us We have laughed till we can laugh no more The droly scene is coming now Listen Claudius rises Stop Hamlet about to resume Stop I say, cast off those mummaries Come hither, Hamlet Hamlet takes off robes and comes down Why, what ails you, sir? Claudius with suppressed fury Noist thou who wrote this play Not I indeed, nor do I care to know I wrote this play To mention it is death by Denmark's law Oh, spare him, for he is thine only child No, I have two My son, my play Both worthless, both shall together perish Draws dagger, Hamlet on his knees Hold thine hand, I can't bear death I'm a philosopher Apollo's son, Lycaeus, built a feign at Assens, where philosophers dispute It is known as the Lyceum Send him there, he will find such a hearty welcome, sir, that he will stay there Goodness knows how long Well, be it so, and Hamlet get you gone He goes to the Lyceum where he is much esteemed Curtain End of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern by W. S. Gilbert