Produced by C. P. Boyko
PLAYSby John Davidson
Being: An Unhistorical Pastoral: A Romantic Farce: Bruce, A Chronicle
Play: Smith, A Tragic Farce: and Scaramouch in Naxos, A Pantomime
London: Elkin Mathews and John Lane
Chicago: Stone and Kimball
1894
AN UNHISTORICAL PASTORAL
(Glasgow, 1877)
PERSONS
Alardo, King of Belmarie.
Rupert, Alardo's Son.
Conrad, }
Guido, }
Felice, } Nobles of Belmarie.
Bruno, }
Torello, }
Cinthio, Conrad's Son.
Sebastian, a Sea-Captain.
Scipio, }
Ivy, } Rustics.
Green, }
Celio, a Shepherd.
Oberon.
Puck.
Eulalie.
Faustine, Guido's Daughter.
Sylvia, a Shepherdess.
Onesta, Faustine's Maid.
Martha.
Titania.
A Servant.
Fairies.
Mayers.
Officers.
In Grenade, at the siege had he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.
Chaucer.
Enter Alardo and Conrad.
Alardo. Safe, sound, on land, and our own land at last.
How long, Conrad, have we been seafarers?
Conrad. On our disastrous and untimely cruise,
In early spring we merrily embarked.
The trees are greener now than when we sailed,
More softly breathes the air: my lord, I think
About this time last year our ills began,
A honeymoon on ocean's breast gone by.
If I be right—for judgment here is wide,
Since in escapes from icebergs, pirates, perils
Of krakens, quicksands, bloody cannibals,
Storms merciless, and nights of many days—
The married life of those who wed the deep—
All reckoning was lost—hoar, doting time
Repeats the seasons' epic where our ears
Ceased to attend the world-old history,
One year's discordant interlude between.
Alardo. Well-tempered discord strengthens: if my son
Be but alive and well, life's music glides
In sweeter, richer cadence for this crash.
If in deep ocean's unrobbed tomb, or white
And all unsepulchred, on some bleak coast
His bones lie withering, discord is the theme
Shall din my hearing to eternity.
Do you remember when the envious wave,
Begrudging me so beautiful a boy,
With swift abduction snatched him from the poop,
And swept him from our ken? Mind you his cry
That pierced the howling storm, nor through that shield
Did with a gentler wound transfix our ears?
Saw you his begging hand finger the air,
Then vanish, lastly visible of him?
Conrad. 'Tis deeply graven in my memory.
Alardo. Ay, as a moving picture's strong impress;
But I was of it—you, a looker-on.
I watched the sneaking waves, the subtle waves,
The sly, the pitiless, the sinewy waves,
Swarm from the cuttle-sea like suckers lithe,
And steal my son to feed its hungry maw.
Conrad. Indeed, my lord, not to that tongueless grief
Which seized you then, and held you captive long,
Was I prisoner; but I sorrowed both
For your bereavement and my own past lost.
Alardo. O, you, too, mourn a son!
Conrad. In infancy
One was reft from me.
Alardo. Blessed then are yo