"Bushlet" Act 1
SCENE i: CRAWFORD - A platform before the castle.
[FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO.]
BER.: Who's there?
FRA..: Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
BER.: Long live the Chief!
FRA..: Bernardo?
BER.: He.
FRA..: You come most carefully upon your hour.
BER.: Wracked with dreams was I, dreams of war.
FRA..: Marry, to be wracked with Iraq's attack at that!
BER.: Funny. What hear you of our attack? 'tis time?
FRA.: Nay, only this: that our sweet young prince
Doth stalk here nightly, his brow furrowed, as if
In semblance of thought. Far does he roam.
BER.: Aye, for he is in remarkable shape
For a man his age.
FRA.: So they say - Hssst! He comes!
BER.: We'll listen, and mayhap learn more of the coming storm.
[Enter BUSHLET, clad in doublet, hose, and a ten gallonne hat.]
BUSHLET: Oh, what a brogue and pissant shave am I!
BER. (whispered): 'tis inpenetrable! His words lack all sense!
FRA.: And yet in that nonsense, his sense does emerge.
BER.: 'Tis why we love him.
[Unseen, a GHOST appears behind Bushlet]
BUSHLET: To attack or not to attack, that is the question -
GHOST.: -Nay, 'tis not. Not the question. Not.
FRA. (whispered): 'Pon my life - 'tis his father, once King.
BUSHLET: Lo! What's this? Tis the ghost of my Father,
Cruelly slain, and now here reanimerated.
GHOST: Slain? Nay, son, I live. Feelin' good...
BUSHLET: Oh dear father - thine death shall be avenged!
GHOST: Nay, son, I am not dead I tell thee...
BUSHLET: Long shall be the struggle, but this evil-doer
Shall be brought low. Much avengeration
Shall I have 'pon the head of Saddam.
GHOST: Saddam. Tis he who I come to speak of with thee.
BUSHLET: Speak, dear shade! What has roused thee from thy grave?
GHOST: Whatever. Listen, son. Time to listen. Now.
Thou dost fritter away thy days in indecision.
Now waiting, now preparing thine attacks.
Thy sabre rattles, and yet stays sheathed withal.
BUSHLET: Tis a defective sabre. I can't find the trigger.
GHOST: Listen! I come here to beseech thee -
Thou must not yet make war upon Saddam.
BUSHLET: What? But you did, oh saucy hippocrat.
GHOST: Yes, but you have not yet prepared.
Haven't built thine international coalition.
Shouldn't attack, then. Wouldn't be prudent.
BUSHLET: Fie upon coalitions! Those fancy-pantses
With their extra languages and their "hot cuisinarts..."
They listen to me not. Fuck 'em. Fie!
GHOST: 'Tis my very point. Thou must make
Them attend. Persuasion. Ne-go-tiation.
BUSHLET: Nay, I will heed you not, old ghost!
For thine words do confuse me. But I am clear
In my purpose - to do what thou couldst not
And bring down the evil-doer in thine name.
GHOST: Not a great plan. Got to think. Prudence-
BUSHLET: Nay, begone, ghost, and to thy rest!
GHOST: Really, I am far from dead, my boy.
BUSHLET: To thy rest!
[the GHOST exits, grumbling]
BUSHLET: Would that he had lived.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
The sun wilt come out tomorrow, come what may.
And then shall I give the signal, and let loose
The dogs of war! Probably. Pretty sure now...
Hey! What ho! A firefly! C'mere, thou rogue!
[BUSHLET wanders off, chasing the firefly.]
BER.: And so we learn that nothing is to be learned.
FRA.: Aye, 'tis a walking riddle that prances yonder
Fixed on that fly, heedless of the pond he approacheth...
[Pause. A loud SPLASH is heard anon.]
BER.: Come, sweet Francisco, a beer will I buy thee.
FRA.: Aye, thou hast it! Or perchance a hard lemonade.
Lead on, Bernardo! Let kings to their businesses,
And us to ours.
[Exeunt.]