 Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantell, narrated by Simon Slater There are three kinds of scenes, one called the tragic, second the comic, third the satiric. The decorations are different and unlike each other in scheme. Tragic scenes are delineated with columns, pediments, statues, and other objects suited to kings. Satiric scenes exhibit private dwellings with balconies and views representing rows of windows after the manner of ordinary dwellings. Satiric scenes are decorated with trees, caverns, mountains, and other rustic objects delineated in landscape style. From Vitruvius de Architectura on the Theatre, 27 BC These be the names of the players, Felicity, Liberty, Measure, Magnificence, Fancy, Counterfeit Countenance, Crafty Conveyance, Cloaked Collusion, Courtly Abusion, Folly, Adversity, Poverty, Despair, Mischief, Good Hope, Redress, Circumspection, Perseverance. From John Skelton's Magnificence and Interlude, 1520 Part I, Chapter I, Across the Narrow Sea, Putney, 1500 So now get up! Fel, dazed, silent he has fallen, Knocked full length on the cobbles of the yard, His head turned sideways, His eyes are turned towards the gate, As if someone might arrive to help him out. One blow properly placed could kill him now. Blood from the gash on his head, Which was his father's first effort, His trickling across his face. Add to this his left eye is blinded, But if he squints sideways, With his right eye he can see that Stitching his father's boot is unraveling. The twine has sprung clear of the leather, And a hard knot in it has caught his eyebrow And opened another cut. So now get up! Walter is roaring down at him, Working out where to kick him next. He lifts his head an inch or two, And moves forward on his belly, Trying to do it without exposing his hands, On which Walter enjoys stamping. What are you, an eel? His parent asks. He trots backwards, gathers pace, And aims another kick. It knocks the last breath out of him. He thinks it may be his last. His forehead returns to the ground. He lies waiting for Walter to jump on him. The dog, Bella, is barking, Shut away in an outhouse. I'll miss my dog, he thinks. The odd smells of beer and blood. Someone is shouting down on the riverbank. Nothing hurts, or perhaps it's that everything hurts, Because there is no separate pain that he can pick out. But the cold strikes him just in one place, Just through the cheekbone as it rests on the cobbles. Look now, look now, Walter bellows. He hops on one foot as if he's dancing. Look what I've done, burst my boot, kicking your head. Inch by inch, inch by inch forward. Never mind if he calls you an eel, Or a worm, or a snake. Head down, don't provoke him. His nose is cluttered with blood, And he has to open his mouth to breathe. His father's momentary distraction At the loss of his good boot Allows him the leisure to vomit. That's right, Walter yells, spew everywhere. Spew everywhere on my good cobbles. Come on boy, get up, let's see you get up, By the blood of creeping Christ, Stand on your feet. Creeping Christ, he thinks. What does he mean? His head turns sideways, His hair rests on his own vomit, The dog barks, Walter roars, And bells peel out across the water. He feels a sensation of movement, As if the filthy ground has become the Thames. It gives and sways beneath him, He lets out his breath, one great final gasp. You've done it this time, a voice tells Walter. But he closes his ears, Or God closes them for him. He's pulled downstream on a deep black tide. The next thing he knows it's almost noon, And he's propped in the doorway of Pegasus, the flying horse. The sister cat is coming from- Sample complete. Ready to continue?