 | Songs of the sea, with other poems |  |
SCENE III.
A Dungeon. Enter Philoxenus. Two Executioners, unperceived of him, follow.PHILOXENUS.
Could all poor poets thus confute their critics,
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Good sooth! here's room enough to criticize,—
And matter too,—with very patient listeners.
The ceiling is a thought too nigh the floor;
The architecture of a style too heavy;
A mouldy moisture hangs upon the air,
If air it may be called by courtesy.
A caviller might find even other faults;
But, when I think on all that I've escaped,
This dungeon smiles a welcome. Who approach?
Ah, worthy sirs! I knew not you were present.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
A merry knave! Eh, comrade?
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
'Tis a marvel
To see a man smile here. Art in thy senses?
PHILOXENUS.
Ay, sir, and they in me. Canst say as much?
Pardon me—am I right?—your gentle craft—
Is it not—are ye not the executioners?
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
The same, sir, at your service.
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We shall be
Better acquainted soon.
PHILOXENUS.
Ha! that's a comfort.
How long have ye pursued your cheerful calling?
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
More than ten years.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
And I—let me consider!
When had we the great plague in Syracuse?
I came in with the plague.
PHILOXENUS.
A worthy colleague!
Well, ye must be no bunglers at your trade
By this time, gentle sirs. I'll warrant me,
In bringing down an axe upon the block,
Tying a noose, or nailing to the rack,
Ye've ne'er had rivals;—ye can do it deftly?
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Ah! thou may'st say it. I defy the man
Can do those jobs more neatly.
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Hold thy tongue!
Bah! Thou'rt a scandal to the craft—a botcher!
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Dost hear the jealous rogue? Go to! go to!
Thou'rt a mere boy.
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
When had I to strike twice
At a man's neck? O! thou'rt a matchless workman!
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Fellow! I scorn thy malice. There was cause
Why I should miss that aim: the light was dim.
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
Thy eyes, more like.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Fellow, I say thou liest!
PHILOXENUS.
Nay, gentlemen, this generous strife must end.
Ye both are artists—'tis a pride to know you;—
Artists, I say—the first in your vocation,
Though your vocation may not be the first!
Ye do abhor all tyros—all pretenders,
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The king's chief barber fell beneath your axe,
For rashly boasting that the royal weasand
Was at his mercy daily.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Marry, I
Took care of him. A very pretty job!
A handsome throat he had—made a good mark.
PHILOXENUS.
Sir, spoken like an artist! Hear me now:
I am an artist equally—a poet.
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
We could have sworn thou wast no honest man.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Did I not tell you 'twas a desperate knave?
PHILOXENUS.
Well, listen to my case: your lord, the king,
Though neither born nor bred to my vocation,—
Without that natural gift no toil can lend,
Or that acquaintance study may supply,—
Attempts the poet's function, and then asks
My frank opinion of his verses. I
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Behold me here! Now put it to yourselves:
What had the king essayed your handicraft,
And, emulous to wield the axe like you,
Hacked off my head,—then asked, “Was't not well done?”—
Would ye've said, Ay?
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Not were he twice a king!
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
No! Each man to his trade, is still my maxim.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
'Tis a shrewd knave. Well, well; enough of prating!
SECOND EXECUTIONER,
(aside to Philoxenus.)
I like thy humor;—view me as thy friend.
'Twill be thy privilege to choose the arm
That is to—
PHILOXENUS.
Yes, I fully comprehend.
SECOND EXECUTIONER,
(aside to Philoxenus.)
Give me the chance, and I'll outdo myself.
Thou shalt be featly dealt with;—thou shalt see
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But smooth, clean, faultless headsmanship.
PHILOXENUS.
Good sir,
How shall I show my gratitude? Thy claims
Shall be considered.
FIRST EXECUTIONER,
(aside to Philoxenus.)
If your head
Is to come off, consider me your man.
Marry, 'twill do your heart good when you see
How dexterously I'll do it. You'll confess
That I'm the better artist.
PHILOXENUS.
You o'erwhelm me.
[Exeunt Executioners.
Well, by the gods, I hold in reverence more
A skilful headsman than a charlatan!
O, 'tis the curse of every liberal art,
There still are vile pretenders who defame it.
In painting, what mere daubers do we see,
Who, born to guide the plough, mislead the pencil!
In music, what deluded sciolists
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From chords which, smitten by responsive fingers,
Give up the very soul of harmony!
And how art thou, divinest Poesy,
Shamed and molested by the wretched herd,
Who, unordained, profane thy sacred temples,
And claim to utter oracles of thine,
Mistaking the foul tumors of their brains
For a god's impregnation! Scribbling fools,
Innocent cheats, and facile poetasters!
O, would they quit the pen and grasp the spade,
Apollo should not curse, but Flora bless!
Enter Xanthe.
My child! thy footstep was so feathery light,
Methought, a moment, 'twas thy mother's spirit,
With sainted beauty, come to light my dungeon.
XANTHE.
Whatever doom may be for thee reserved,
Behold me here to share it!
PHILOXENUS.
Tremble not.
I cannot think the king will do me harm;
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To prematurely quench life's sinking taper,
Know, that it was not with a serious purpose,
I've interposed objections to the choice
Of thy surrendered heart.
XANTHE.
Ah, do not turn
My thoughts from thy great peril on myself!
Another time, those words had made me start
With a too vivid joy; but now, alas!
They bring no consolation;—I should hate
My own ungrateful spirit if they did.
Enter Executioners.
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
'Tis the king's order;—we must e'en obey it.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Poor fellow! Well, come, master!
XANTHE.
Who are these?
PHILOXENUS.
Command thyself—the executioners!
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We both are sorry for thee, master poet;
But the king's will is final.
PHILOXENUS.
Do ye bear
His written mandate?
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
Ay, sir; more's the pity!
XANTHE.
Away! ye grim and lying murderers!
Ye shall hew off these limbs before ye reach him.
PHILOXENUS.
Let me behold your order.
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
If you doubt it,
Read for yourself. Marry, 'tis plain as daylight.
PHILOXENUS,
(reading aside.)
“And let Philoxenus appear to-night
At the king's banquet.” (Laughs.)
XANTHE.
Ah, that frantic laughter!
'Tis even more terrible than tears.
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A summons
To attend the king! These gentlemen, my child,
Are wags in their small way. Unmannered caitiffs!
Why did ye palter with us?
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
Be not angry.
We gladly would have served you, master poet;
But then his majesty, you know, is wilful.
PHILOXENUS.
Well, I can pardon you the disappointment
With all my heart. And now, good sirs, farewell!
Nay, we must tear ourselves from your embraces.
[Exit with Xanthe.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
'Tis always thus our choicest customers
Find a reprieve.
SECOND EXECUTIONER.
Bear up, bear up, old fellow!
Fear not the king will let our axes rust.
[Exeunt.
| Songs of the sea, with other poems | |