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I submit all my plays to the National Theatre for rejection. To assure myself I am seeing clearly.

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Lines in Defence of the Stage

Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all be advised by me,
And don't believe what the clergy doth say,
That by going to the theatre you will be led astray.

No, in the theatre we see vice punished and virtue rewarded,
The villain either hanged or shot, and his career retarded;
Therefore the theatre is useful in every way,
And has no inducement to lead the people astray.

Because therein we see the end of the bad men,
Which must appall the audience - deny it who can
Which will help to retard them from going astray,
While witnessing in a theatre a moral play.

The theatre ought to be encouraged in every respect,
Because example is better than precept,
And is bound to have a greater effect
On the minds of theatre-goers in every respect.

Sometimes in theatres, guilty creatures there have been
Struck to the soul by the cunning of the scene;
By witnessing a play wherein murder is enacted,
They were proven to be murderers, they felt so distracted,

And left the theatre, they felt so much fear,
Such has been the case, so says Shakespeare.
And such is my opinion, I will venture to say,
That murderers will quake with fear on seeing murder in a play.

Hamlet discovered his father's murderer by a play
That he composed for the purpose, without dismay,
And the king, his uncle, couldn't endure to see that play,
And he withdrew from the scene without delay.

And by that play the murder was found out,
And clearly proven, without any doubt;
Therefore, stage representation has a greater effect
On the minds of the people than religious precept.

We see in Shakespeare's tragedy of Othello, which is sublime,
Cassio losing his lieutenancy through drinking wine;
And, in delirium and grief, he exclaims -
"Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!"

A young man in London went to the theatre one night
To see the play of George Barnwell, and he got a great fright;
He saw George Barnwell murder his uncle in the play,
And he had resolved to murder his uncle, but was stricken with dismay.

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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

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National Front Disco (live)

David, the wind blows,
The wind blows
Bits of your life away.
Your friends all say,
"Where is our boy?
Ah, we've lost our boy".
But they should know,
Where you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
That you're going to . . .
Oh, oh, oh, going to . . .
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
"England for the English",
"England for the English".
David, the wind's blown,
The wind's blown
All of my dreams away.
And I still say,
"Where is our boy?
Ah, we've lost our boy".
But I should know
Why you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
You're going to the National . . .
Ah, to the National . . .
There's a country,
You don't live there,
But one day you would like to.
And if you show them what you're made of,
Ah, then you might do.
But David, we wonder,
We wonder if the thunder
Is ever really gonna begin,
Begin, begin
Your mum says,
"I've lost my boy".
But she should know
Why you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
You're going to the National,
To the National,
To the National Front disco,
Because you want the day to come sooner,
You want the day to come sooner,
You want the day to come sooner,
When you've settled the score.
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,

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Pinball Wizard

Local lad:
Ever since I was a young boy,
Ive played the silver ball.
Ever since I was a young boy,
>from soho down to brighton
Ive played the silver ball.
I must have played them all.
]from soho down to brighton
But I aint seen nothing like him
I must have played them all.
In any amusement hall...
But I aint seen nothing like him
That deaf dumb and blind kid
In any amusement hall...
Sure plays a mean pin ball !
That deaf dumb and blind kid
Sure plays a mean pin ball !
He stands like a statue,
Becomes part of the machine.
He stands like a statue,
Feeling all the bumpers
Becomes part of the machine.
Always playing clean.
Feeling all the bumpers
He plays by intuition,
Always playing clean.
The digit counters fall.
He plays by intuition,
That deaf dumb and blind kid
The digit counters fall.
Sure plays a mean pin ball !
That deaf dumb and blind kid
Sure plays a mean pin ball !
Hes a pin ball wizard
There has got to be a twist.
Hes a pin ball wizard
A pin ball wizard,
There has got to be a twist.
Sgot such a supple wrist.
A pin ball wizard,
Sgot such a supple wrist.
how do you think he does it? I dont know!
What makes him so good?
how do you think he does it? I dont know!
What makes him so good?
He aint got no distractions
Cant hear those buzzers and bells,
He aint got no distractions
Dont see lights a flashin
Cant hear those buzzers and bells,

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Theatre Of The Soul

On a cold night in a hotel in new orleans
Came the final blow
And somehow somewhere we lost sight
In our search for that pot of gold
And all that happened I dont understand
Could somebody here, somebody please explain to me
Cause Im feeling so damn deceived
And I cant run, cant hide, cant get nothing right lately
Theatre of my soul....play on child
Ashes to ashes...light the good lord lays us down
Dust to dust, oh, no
The time has come to lay to rest the years
All the years it took this heart to trust
Maybe too much too soon, I couldnt get my head on straight
All that worry, just wasted time
And now its much too late to save it
Long forgotten midnight dancer
Plays her final role
The curtain falls and Im still standing
Theatre of my soul you left in vain
Could someone please explain, and I said
Solo
I know that nothings the same
Riding blind on the winds of change
But in my head that scene just keeps on playing
Long forgotten midnight dancer
Plays her final role, oh, yes she does
Cant run, cant hide, cant get nothing right lately
The curtain falls and Im still standing
In the theatre of my soul
Cant run, cant hide, cant get nothing right lately
When time it just keeps on passing,
I got to let it go, let it roll, let it roll, let it roll
Cant run, cant hide, cant get nothing right lately
I keep searching for those long lost answers
In the theatre of my soul
Theatre of my soul

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Theatre Of The Absurd

(ian hunter)
My tea turned seven shades darker
As I sit n write these words
And londons gettin paler
In my theatre of the absurd.
You figured for an evening
And you made it all worthwile.
Its seldom people have a job
And even rarer that I smile.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
And if your songs be classics,
Throw them to the hurd.
Truth is where they came from
And not this theatre of the absurd.
Some say you wanted to play for me
But its only what youve heard
That made you want to capture me
In your theatre of the absurd.
It was not me, I said myself
And you must do so, too.
I hope you have the strength to stay
When Ill be watchin you.
So baby,
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
Oh when I got here back home tonight
Something within me stirred.
Oh it must have been a different kind of play
That touched my theatre of the absurd.
Now Ill be on my way alone
But an interesting thing occurred
See nobody ever shared too much
In my theatre of the absurd.
And there I was back in london,
Thought about history.
It was just like being in school again
But I felt something movin in me.

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A culture and tolerence

Any culture that teaches tolerance is great
Their back ground and heritage may clearly state
The excavations may lead to some clue
It is remnant of national treasure and venue

No one can simply boost of culture without any back ground
It has to be worked out on certain theory and must be found
All revelations that may come to the fore and in light
It may have to be preserved as asset and declared as monument or site

National achieve is full of ancient gadgets
They are provided with special budget
They are not made to suffer for the want of fund
It is preference for national pride for the land

When we speak highly of achieves?
We clearly see what that stand to achieve?
How national sentiments bring them together in the time of crisis?
There is no special thinking or thesis

We are full aware that national moral should stand all the time very high
National flag should be seen all over and fly
It is not mere piece of cloth but heart of millions
It must send clear waves to the heart of aliens

Many countries are known for their known loyalty
The people have also proved it number of times by remaining loyal
They had deep regard for the ruler of the land
They stood fast for the country with hand to hand

Nothing can compare when it comes to the question of devotion
It is the duty of all population to keep the wheels in motion
Nation may survive only when there is complete faith and awareness
It is necessary to maintain that level with solidarity and oneness

Nobody can afford to be less vigilant
There may still be danger from distant
It is not that only neighbors may prove hostile
Big powers may interfere and watch for while

Natural resources are always power of strength
Country can afford to go to any length
It may not have self sufficiency in all the fields
It may still have the courage to garner more yields

Country may stand fast against foreign pressure
It can carve out honorable path and assure
Nothing can be compromised at the cost of pride
It can’t be bartered or attempts be made to hide

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I've done a lot of costume drama and theatre - the National Theatre and In fact, most of my work at the theatre, at the National Theatre anyway, was period.

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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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James Stephens

Strict Joy

To-day i felt as poor O’Brien did
When, turning from all else that was not his,
He took himself to that which was his own
— He took him to his verse — for other all he had not,
And (tho’ man will crave and seek)
Another all than this he did not need

So, pen in hand he tried to tell the whole tale of his woe
In rhyming; lodge the full weight of his grief in versing: and so did:
Then — when his poem had been conned and cared,
And all put in that should not be left out — did he not find and with astonishment,

That grief had been translated, or was come
Other and better than it first looked to be:
And that this happened, because all things transfer
From what they seem to what they truly are
When they are innocently brooded on
— And, so, The poet makes grief beautiful.

“Behold me now, with my back to the wall,
Playing music to empty pockets!”
So, Raferty, tuning a blind mans plight,
Could sing the cark of misery away:
And know, in blindness and in poverty,
That woe was not of him, nor kind to him.

And Egan Rahilly begins a verse —
My heart is broken, and my mind is sad …”
‘Twas surely true when he began his song,
And was less true when he had finished it:
— Be sure, his heart was buoyant, and his grief
Drummed and trumpeted as grief was sung!

For, as he meditated misery
And cared it into song — Strict Care, Strict Joy!
Caring for grief he cared his grief away:
And those sad songs, tho’ woe be all the theme,
Do not make us grieve who read them now —
Because the poet makes grief beautiful.

And I, myself, conning a lonely heart
— Full lonely ’twas, and ’tis as lonely now
Turned me, by proper, to my natural,
And, now too long her vagrant, wooed my muse:
Then to her — let us look more close to these,
And, seeing, know; and, knowing, be at ease.

Seeing the sky o’ercast, and that the rain had
Plashed the window, and would plash again:
Seeing the summer lost, and the winter nigh:

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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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Amours de Voyage, Canto III

Yet to the wondrous St. Peter's, and yet to the solemn Rotunda,
Mingling with heroes and gods, yet to the Vatican Walls,
Yet may we go, and recline, while a whole mighty world seems above us,
Gathered and fixed to all time into one roofing supreme;
Yet may we, thinking on these things, exclude what is meaner around us;
Yet, at the worst of the worst, books and a chamber remain;
Yet may we think, and forget, and possess our souls in resistance.--
Ah, but away from the stir, shouting, and gossip of war,
Where, upon Apennine slope, with the chestnut the oak-trees immingle,
Where, amid odorous copse bridle-paths wander and wind,
Where, under mulberry-branches, the diligent rivulet sparkles,
Or amid cotton and maize peasants their water-works ply,
Where, over fig-tree and orange in tier upon tier still repeated,
Garden on garden upreared, balconies step to the sky,--
Ah, that I were far away from the crowd and the streets of the city,
Under the vine-trellis laid, O my beloved, with thee!

I. Mary Trevellyn to Miss Roper,--on the way to Florence.

Why doesn't Mr. Claude come with us? you ask.--We don't know,
You should know better than we. He talked of the Vatican marbles;
But I can't wholly believe that this was the actual reason,--
He was so ready before, when we asked him to come and escort us.
Certainly he is odd, my dear Miss Roper. To change so
Suddenly, just for a whim, was not quite fair to the party,--
Not quite right. I declare, I really almost am offended:
I, his great friend, as you say, have doubtless a title to be so.
Not that I greatly regret it, for dear Georgina distinctly
Wishes for nothing so much as to show her adroitness. But, oh, my
Pen will not write any more;--let us say nothing further about it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yes, my dear Miss Roper, I certainly called him repulsive;
So I think him, but cannot be sure I have used the expression
Quite as your pupil should; yet he does most truly repel me.
Was it to you I made use of the word? or who was it told you?
Yes, repulsive; observe, it is but when he talks of ideas
That he is quite unaffected, and free, and expansive, and easy;
I could pronounce him simply a cold intellectual being.--
When does he make advances?--He thinks that women should woo him;
Yet, if a girl should do so, would be but alarmed and disgusted.
She that should love him must look for small love in return,--like the ivy
On the stone wall, must expect but a rigid and niggard support, and
E'en to get that must go searching all round with her humble embraces.

II. Claude to Eustace,--from Rome

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Big Ten Inch Record

Got me the strangest woman
Believe it, this chicks no sinch
When I wanna get her goin
Then I whip out my big ten inch
Record of the band that plays the blues
Well the band that plays the blues
She just loved my big ten inch
Record of her favorite blues
Last night I tried to tease her
I gave my love a little pinch
But she said now stop that jivin
Now whip out your big ten-inch
Record of the band that plays the blues
Well the band that plays the blues
She just loved my big ten inch
Record of her favorite blues
Ill cover her with kisses
And when were in a lovers clinch
She gets all excited
When she puts on my big ten-inch
Record of the band that plays the blues
Well the band that plays the blues
She just loved my big ten inch
Record of her favorite blues
My gal dont go smokin
And liquor just makes her flinch
Seems she dont go for nothin
cept for my big ten-inch
Record of the band that plays the blues
Band that plays the blues
She just loved my big ten inch
Record of her favorite blues

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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

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Seeing Things

I find it hard to shed a tear
You brought it all on yourself my dear
Wrong, yes I may be
Dont leave a light on for me
cause I aint comin home
It hurts me baby to be alone
Yes, it hurts me baby
A hundred years will never ease
Hearing things I wont believe
I saw it with my own two eyes
All the pain that I cant hide
And this pain starts in my heart
And this love tears us apart
You wont find me bent down on my knees
Aint bendin over backwards baby
Not to please
cause Im seeing things for the first time
Im seeing things for the first time, oh yeah
Im seeing things for the first time
In my life, in my life
I used to dream
Of better days that never came
Sorry aint nothin to me
Im gone and thats the way it must be
So please Ive done my time
Lovin you is such a crime
You wont fine me down on, on my knees
Wont fine me over backwards baby
Just to please
cause Im seeing things for the first time
Im seeing things for the first time
Seeing things for the first time
Oh Im seeing things for the first time
Yeah, seeing things for the first time
Im seeing things for the first time
Yeah, Im seeing things for the first time
In my life, in my life

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Hush goes the crowd

(The music plays, the stage is lit, the crowd come in and a man starts to sing)
Hush goes the crowd,
While I sing this sad love ballad,
The story of my heart,
And I continue singing,
One by one,
The leave the theatre,
And soon I’m left alone,
Singing this ballad,
While I weep before every word,
From daybreak to midnight,
From spring till to winter,
I sing this melancholy filled ballad,
Murmuring these words,
As my throat dry’s,

(The man is on his knees)
Now in a empty theatre,
This song still plays,
Even though I’m alone,
My speech does not stop,
And from a sad ballad,
This song his turned into screams,
Shattering through,
Deafening every living being,
But it isn’t even heard,
No not even listened to,
By the muse of this song,
If only she heard my voice,
If only she would come to this theatre,

(Sound of weeping, tears hit the stage floor; the light slowly fades, till there is only silence and darkness)
Then the Hong is hit,
And I awake to sing again,
The same old lyrics,
There is a new audience in the seats,
But she is not here,
She will never be,
Where she is,
Is far away,

(The music plays again and he starts to sing then hush say’s the crowd)

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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

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Great Conductors

Hans Richter Parsifal did not conduct,
and to the National Gallery he never paid
a visit, but he showed Franz Strauss who never sucked
just how the horn in Meistersinger should be played.

Franz Strauss refused to play a second time
for Hans von Bülow Meistersinger’s second act;
Hans begged his pardon when Franz told him: “I’m
retiring, since you for the hornist show no tact.”

There is an incident reported about the premiere of Die Meistersinger von Nuremberg. The first version: during a rehearsal Strauss complained about the terrible demanding horn part, but Hans Richter, Wagner's secretary & former first horn at the Viennese Kaerntnerthor Theatre (Beethoven's Sonata op.17 had been premiered there; forerunner theatre of the Imperial Opera House) , was present & asked Strauss to lend him his horn & played the passage from the endings of the second act flawless, but giving the horn back with the comment With your B-flat-horn you will have difficulties always; the F-horn sounds much better.
I do not believe this anecdote to be true. Even an already warmed up horn player of excellent qualities might have difficulties with the Pruegelszene How can a conducter to be (Richter became the first world famous conductor; he led the first Ring in Bayreuth 1876) , who had not played his horn for a while, play this passage flawless without any warm-up. A myth only! Richter used this complain about B-flat horn also, when he conducted in Bayreuth. He recommended the use of the single F horn always. No wonder. He came from Vienna.
The second incident happened after the end of the dress rehearsal of Mastersingers. Hans von Bülow wanted to repeat the ending of the 2nd Act again, but Strauss refused to do so, telling von Bülow that he could not do it again, as being exhausted already. If you cant do it again, so you must better ask for retirement! , replied von Buelow to Strauss. But Strauss left the pit and asked the opera's administration for immediate retirement. So Hans von Bülow had to come to Strauss house at the Pschorr Estate, ask for pardon, which was granted, - so the premiere of Mastersingers was saved.
There is an incident reported about the premiere of Die Meistersinger von Nuremberg. The first version: during a rehearsal Strauss complained about the terrible demanding horn part, but Hans Richter, Wagner's secretary & former first horn at the Viennese Kaerntnerthor Theatre (Beethoven's Sonata op.17 had been premiered there; forerunner theatre of the Imperial Opera House) , was present & asked Strauss to lend him his horn & played the passage from the endings of the second act flawless, but giving the horn back with the comment With your B-flat-horn you will have difficulties always; the F-horn sounds much better.
I do not believe this anecdote to be true. Even an already warmed up horn player of excellent qualities might have difficulties with the Pruegelszene. How can a conductor to be (Richter became the first world famous conductor; he led the first Ring in Bayreuth 1876) , who had not played his horn for a while, play this passage flawless without any warm-up. A myth only! Richter used this complain about B-flat horn also, when he conducted in Bayreuth. He recommended the use of the single F horn always. No wonder. He came from Vienna.
The second incident happened after the end of the dress rehearsal of Mastersinger. Hans von Bülow wanted to repeat the ending of the 2nd Act again, but Strauss refused to do so, telling von Bülow that he could not do it again, as being exhausted already. If you can’t do it again you had better ask for retiremen! replied von Bülow to Strauss. But Strauss left the pit and asked the opera's administration for immediate retirement. So Hans von Bülow had to come to Strauss house at the Pschorr Estate, ask for pardon, which was granted, - so the premiere of Mastersingers was saved.


8/25/08

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I Pledge

I pledge allegiance to national flag
Let there be any attempt to tarnish the image or drag
It shall remain super most in my mind
I am not novice so not to understand and go blind

How many people have shed their blood for motherland?
How many might have perished in foreign land
For upholding the national pride and honor
What might have they expected in return for?

I am for sure many might have perished unsung?
No national anthem might have been aired or sung
Yet we owe our head in their honor for brave front
This is what all citizens expect from soldiers or want

Today we are free country with all liberal thoughts
On national front we have undergone sufferings when fought
No one wanted any material benefit but only free air
Have we given them what they wanted as fair share?

Motherland is compared to a beautiful and sacred lady
Love and respect shown for all the time from everybody
No one can think of harming national interest?
It is expected and desired even more as best

We have forgotten our past
We have lost the trust
Our head bows down in shame
Where to go and whom to blame?

The beautiful lady, motherland we call, is torn apart
She has been taken off cloths and divided in parts
Who can claim they have national interest at heart?
Can any one think of making again a noble start?

No, nothing will be done
Past golden days are for memory to remain
Flowers will laid as mark of respect once in year
Everybody is afraid and gripped of fear

We are killing our own brethrens
Poor are dying everyday without much concern
This is welfare state we enshrined?
Was that the show for later on to be fined?

We have created position to corner the wealth
Compromised with nature and helped to deteriorate health
It is world boxing match to attract more people
To pay for the show and invite more trouble

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Traitors of today

Traitors of today occupy imminent position
Well orchestrated songs in praise for composition
Establishment of personal rule over millions of people
Can not look forward for anything good and are unable

What have they to do for their own country?
Rob, steal, cut backs and commission in form of money?
Add vows to already worsened poverty?
Can any one tell us when this will end misery?

I have all praise and kudos for their divine talent
We have tears in eyes but nothing more to lament
What else do they deserve to invite us for comment?
We prefer to be mere spectator and be silent

In ancient time people were hanged to death
For crimes, murders and ill gotten wealth
Today it is considered as an adorable art
Academicians, politicians present themselves as smart

Where is the national interest and security?
How can one claim to be powerful and mighty?
When house is full of defaulters and selfish?
Searching for troubled water to catch the fishes

Why are we facing such national scene?
Such a low lever acts were never witnessed or seen?
How come national wealth is deposited in foreign banks?
How come National security weakened and remains with unsecured flank?

I am no crocodile to shed the tears
I am immune and have no fears
I have power and money to manage the show
I can reign supreme and in full readiness to grow

O, countrymen wake up and prepare for national funeral
Decorate with honor and shields upon their arrival
They are our heroes to barter and take away the freedom
Such things may never appear to witness seldom

I feel pity upon those who foolishly laid down their lives
Curse on those parents who push their children and believe
The motherland is precious than heaven” and come forward
Time has come now to think and look back ward

Where are those golden days when promises were kept?
Words were honored and nights were spent without being slept?
The national interest ruled supreme in the mind and at heart
Where from to pick thread now and with open mind to restart?

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