Cards of Identity (37 page)

C
OUNT
:
Peace, peace at last. Among these furs and feathers,

Beaks, horns, and claws I find a leisure.

The Duke’s a bore, his attendants worse –

If worse than bore can be – and I,

Disguiséd through necessity, must play the fool.

How can I cackle, trip, and play the goat

When every item in my senses’ book

Sums to the total of Hermione?

This screwy fowl that apprehends my steps,

Resumes the pretty strutting of my love.

This monstrous dunghill, in contingent rank,

Doth but attach me to her vaprous scent.

As I a clown, so does she play a whore,

And yet methinks she, too, is somewhat more.

A certain quality beneath her brass

Bespeaks a gentle. I wonder, say,

If she’s my sister in disguise;

(That would be odd) or some disfranchised queen?

But whore or paladine I’ll never ask! Love

Probes not th’essent nature, hugs in the one enfold

Enclaves of pro and con. Oh! my heart raged

To see him put her off so sharp! Death –

His or mine I know not – clouded the moment’s breath.

But hist, whist! Voices, voices; what does?

PRINCE
:
What now, sweet mentor?

CAPT
:
Here’s a place for plunder, schoolboy, oh my eye! On, on, there’s a spanking roost ahead, filled up, I swear, with host o’ drowsy muttering fowls. In, in with you, snatch you a gander. Cosset him close at the neck, snug as a tippet. I’ll wait you here, whisp’ring advice.

COUNT
(
aside
):
What! A mariner robbing my pumpkin’s roost!

CAPT
:
Forward, forward; forward is hearty!

PRINCE
:
Forward, my aspic legs!

COUNT
:
Ho! Ho! Guards and securers! Arson! Murder! Help, help! A manikin in my lord’s filbert, a second under brush.

PRINCE
:
What, now? Master, master, inform me, pray, pray!

CAPT
:
Thou’st muffed it, colt. Put thy legs to the fence or swing ’em on a gibbet!

PRINCE
:
Can a poplar run, rooted?

COUNT
(
advancing
):
Antioch’s voice in Brittany!

PRINCE
:
Touch me not, fool!

COUNT
:
No fool but knows his brother. Look, my visage.

PRINCE
:
What! Two fools o’ the same mother?

How’re you here, dear one?

COUNT
:
Antioch’s lost. Since your depart, Enos,

That trusted eunuch, hath

Turned i’ the pan, put out poor father’s eyes,

And wound him up a mummy. Your own betrothed,

The velvety Zenobia, raped by conspiring Turks,

Which have enslaved our mother. Our sisters now

All concubines, praying to Mahomet, blood

Like a million Niles flooding our ancient seat.

PRINCE
:
Oh, dear, what sorry news! My grief oblates In oozy gutturals.

COUNT
:
Fly, fly, redeem your kingdom, heir of Antioch!

Or stay and hang, a common poacher.

PRINCE
:
Meseems it were too late.

COUNT
(
aside
):
Thus was he ever. Some disposition

Peculiar to his temper, checked his pace.

In Antioch, instructed by old Zeno, a

Sluggard sprite engaged him, made all his homework late.

Oh, brother, brother! Thou hast hesitated

For the last time.

Exeunt Guards with captive Prince, followed by Attendants and Count.

1ST COUN
:
Here’s diversion, my Lord! A sailor turned roost-robber, caught in the act, and his fellow snatched up two fields distant.

2
ND COUN
:
You’ll hang them both, my Lord, with much entrancing ceremony.

3
RD
COUN
:
’Twill bright a whole long tedious morning, Lord. Do I call the Master of your Ceremonies?

DUKE
:
I guess so.

1
ST
COUN
:
Remit, dear Lord, a public invitation, and delight your villeins with the spectacle.

DUKE
:
Why not?

3
RD
COUN
:
I’ll call the torturers and butchers too. We’ll make a shambles.

DUKE
:
Thanks, generous friends.

I see you do conspire

To silk the silly worsted of my life.

All fur and presence, yea or nay according,

They tread me as their hen, much as these mariners.

Crimer, absolve thy gritty soul.

Babble thy last excuse.

PRINCE
:
Hungry, I sought a goose.

DUKE
:
Peace, hunger; thou’lt seek no more.

Hast, too, a little line, or wilt thy tongue,

Silent, anticipate the gibbet’s purple?

CAPT
:
’Twas thus, amazing peer and demi-Caesar:

I am a man of parts innumerous,

Cradled in Asia, reared in far Marsaylls,

Parlaying in Haver, sotto voice in Rome,

Was gibt’s in Hamburg, do-ye-do on Thames,

Amico, loving, shy, on every land. But,

On the decks, thwarting the furious surge

Of Neptune’s chariots, another man entire.

Upon my stance at helm a whole world waits,

Sighing and fretting, pacing the patio,

Murmuring: And doth his convoy come? Alas!

Sometimes, alone with the sea-god, he

Layeth finger on my thigh, and worsens

Me. So was it now. Consigned

By Antioch’s king to bear his son,

I struggled might and main to clench

My trust, was overborne, tossed brusquely on

Your sands. There, as I stood, peeling

Salt rainbows from my eyes, this vagabond

Strides up. Limpid, he cries:

Poor captain, chase with me, let’s snatch a dinner,

Behind’s rich territory. What! Poach

In Brittany, cried I? For shame, for shame!

Then he, aware my ethic, bends a smile,

Takes out red gems, bribes me to show the way

(For I am wise in ways). I’ll lead you

Captive to noble duke, threat I, and follow

Him. He takes the gander; I take

Him – or am about to, when

Your feal guard, blind with sweet ardour,

Snatch rat and cat together.

COUNT
:
A lie, a lie! Oh, my poor brother,

Hanged

On a cord of lies!

DUKE
:
Sew up thy lips, fool; we are solemn.

Investigate, my friends, the poacher’s pouch,

Duct his red rabbits.

CAPT
:
Fast in the pocket; there on t’other side!

COUNT
:
Lord, dear Lord; allow me speak!

DUKE
:
Thou’rt hired to sing, not speak.

COUNT
:
Then here’s a song will save my brother’s windpipe!

DUKE
:
I see square rubies. Do I see two square princes?

PRINCE
:
’Tis true, my lord. I, your poacher, am Prince of Antioch; he, your clown, is the Count of Baalbeck, my brother.

DUKE
:
And this fast sailor, what’s he? Mahomet himself in a pickle of salt?

COUNT
:
A venal rogue, my lord, fit to be hanged over and over: once were too lax to stop his gullet.

DUKE
:
We’ll hang him twice: once for his own sake; once for your disguises’.

CAPT
:
Ah, well! ’Twould have been a good play, had it but served.

DUKE
:
Thou prince and duke of Allah, welcome,

Who are to me in earthly rank, two brothers.

But what avails, alas, this brotherhood

When, in God’s eye thou art abominable?

Guarded, I’ll post thee to the diocese

Of Rouen, where the papal axe

Will chop thy heads for Christ. I

Much regret it.

COUNT
:
Good duke, thy piety is sweet

But vent it not on us. Had I

Not feared its rage, I long before

Had witnessed my true self.

Thou must believe that I, and

Brother dear, took secret dip

In Egypt’s font, and clasp the Cross, as you.

DUKE
:
Then all is fine and fair ’twixt you and me.

Stay, brothers, in my court till your return.

Beguile my stingey hours with florid talk

And we’ll all laugh at what the sea threw up.

Tomorrow morn, we’ll have a royal show,

Sit in our box and watch the poacher leap,

Thou’lt laugh the louder that it is not you.

PRINCE
:
Dear brother, Duke of Brittany,

Thy hospice will be sunny to our hearts.

Permit me, though, to crave a lease of life

For this convicted. Wise in the world’s

Ways, he is my mentor,

Chos’n upon your sands to armour me

In steely lore of life. Princes

Must learn from scoundrels, or

Their piety, begot in dreams,

Hems in and suffocates the growing craft.

In two short hours this lusty reprobate

Hath run me through the primer of his years.

It were a waste to throttle at the source

A sustenating Nile of savoir faire.

DUKE
:
Fair words and fair advice, sweet Prince. Take you the rogue.

COUNT
:
Oh, brother, brother, loving simpleton! Cheat’st thou the gallows, that thou mayst hang thyself? Heed him not, good duke.

PRINCE
:
Nay, nay, ’tis life to learn. Leave ignorance to the grave.

You sunburst cyclamen, august and wary,

Conjoin our rebel.

DUKE
.
What! What! How so? I, too, strive to become another?

PRINCE
:
Here’s the philosophy. What man

Is happy with the man he is?

Didst choose thy mother, Duke, didst

Seek thy sire? Nay. ’Twas their

Conjunction bred in the dark, occasioning

You, as plotters in a hedge had bred

Conspiracy. ’Tis faint, at start, this

Weakly, others’ plot, asks little of

Itself, content to suck, and be,

And trust who made it. At length,

It waxes, growing will and sinew.

And, looking in glass, shrinks back

From him it sees. Now comes

Resolve to be another, to smash

The silly, brittle plan and hew

A better. But where’s a form?

Oh, Duke, good Duke, this

Life’s astream with forms; we shape

Us how we will. There’s Time,

Calling us back to shapes made

Hon’rable by his dark shade, or,

Crying us forward to anticipate

Himself and grow new fangled.

There’s Place, which ever asks of us

A man that’s other than the man we are.

There’s Faith, which bids us hew

Down at the very base our inborn

Root, and climb anew. There’s

Reason, Chance Remark, there’s

Heroes of now and then, and Circumstance.

We bend them to our make.

COUNT
:
Or so we try. Like muscled trappers

We bend down the tree; but

Up it flies – and we with it;

Back as we were, not new but hurt.

PRINCE
:
Aye, brother, the chosen form’s

Not always in our clasp.

What wots it? One thing alone

We know: we’ll not endure

The foolish shell in which we did begin;

We’ll not be lame and sick, timid,

Hunchback’d. Or, if we’re strong,

We’ll yearn t’attain that weakness

Which woos the love of men.

Hairy, we would be smooth,

Or smooth, become uncouth.

COUNT
:
Happy, we would woo misery,

Content, find pain in frenzy.

Folly, folly, brother! Duke,

Have none of it! Wouldst take

A sailor’s form? Hath not

The world sailors enough

Without dukes float? I

That was Count to start was

Forced a clown, nor chose it.

Now, Count again, I’ll stay.

DUKE
:
And yet, I am engaged, dear Count.

Your princely brother’s words are

Sage or silly, do not ask me

Which. But this I know,

The desert that’s my life

Dreams to be green, and

Green I’d have it. Good

Prince, I’ll follow where you lead

In footsteps of this man,

Sit in his class and

Shape myself anew. What

Shall we name our mentor? Master

Of Horse? Prime Minister? Or

Duke himself?

PRINCE
:
Duke were the best, for true authority.

DUKE
:
Duke it shall be! What say you, Captain-Duke?

CAPT
:
I like the eminence; ’tis above the gallows.

COUNT
:
I fear a horrid consequence, oh Lord!

DUKE
:
Now, Count, take up thy silly fears;

Gather them in a bundle with

Thy old fool’s rig, and heave them

In the sea that’s made four friends.

Tonight we’ll dance roulades with gongs and lays,

Tomorrow twist our toes to sager ways.