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My mother's side of the family was in the production side of theatre. My grandfather, Jose Vega, was a general manager for Neil Simon shows on Broadway.

quote by Yancy Butler
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Saw It Myself (Short Verse Drama)

Dramatis Personae: Adrian, his wife Ester, his sisters Rebecca and Johanna, his mother Elizabeth, the high priest Chiapas, the disciple Simon Peter, the disciple John, Mary Magdalene, worshipers, priests, two angels and Jesus Christ.

Act I

Scene I.- Adrian’s house in Jerusalem. Adrian has just returned home after a business journey in Galilee, in time to attend the Passover feast. He sits at the table with his wife Ester and his sisters, Rebecca and Johanna. It’s just before sunset on the Friday afternoon.

Adrian. (Somewhat puzzled) Strange things are happening,
some say demons dwell upon the earth,
others angelic beings, miracles take place
and all of this when they had put a man to death,
had crucified a criminal. Everybody knows
the cross is used for degenerates only!

Rebecca. (With a pleasant voice) Such harsh words used,
for a good, a great man brother?
They say that without charge
he healed the sick, brought back sight,
cured leprosy, even made some more food,
from a few fishes and loafs of bread…

Adrian. (Somewhat harsh) They say many things!
That he rode into Jerusalem
to be crowned as the new king,
was a rebel against the state,
even claimed to be
the very Son of God,
now that is blasphemy
if there is no truth to it!

Johanna. I met him once.
He’s not the man
that you make him, brother.
There was a strange tranquilly to Him.
Some would say a divine presence,
while He spoke of love that is selfless,
visited the sick, the poor
and even the destitute, even harlots.

Adrian. (Looks up) There you have it!
Harlots! Tax collecting thieves!
A man is know by his friends,
or so they say and probably
there is some truth to it.

Ester. Husband, do not be so quick to judge.
I have seen Him myself, have seen
Roman soldiers marching Him to the hill
to take His life, with a angry crowd
following and mocking Him.

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sister Helen

"Why did you melt your waxen man
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."
"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
You'll let me play, for you said I might."
"Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well."
"Even so,--nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
How like dead folk he has dropp'd away!"
"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

"See, see, the sunken pile of wood,
Sister Helen,
Shines through the thinn'd wax red as blood!"
"Nay now, when look'd you yet on blood,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,
Sister Helen,
And I'll play without the gallery door."
"Aye, let me rest,--I'll lie on the floor,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Here high up in the balcony,
Sister Helen,

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Simple Simon

Simon found love, in love he thinks he found himself
Only has a heart for her and her alone
He walks down crowded streets and doesn't feel alone
Oh, never alone
Walks in space with his feet firmly on the ground
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Well she's just a simple girl, yeah
Spends her time on crossword games and cigarettes, ah
She lives all alone in a military zone where sam's can't get in
Facts and evidence, she probably give you no clues away
No clues away
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon found love, in love he thinks he found himself
Only has a heart for her and her alone
He walks down crowded streets and doesn't feel alone, oh never alone
Walks in space with his feet firmly on the ground
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Camp on love sign people I talk about
Johnny knows love song people I talk about
Simon, oh oh oh
Simon, oh oh oh
Submitted by Michael Hack

song performed by INXS
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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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.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Broadway

(ian hunter)
Green lights on broadway
All the magic seems to say
Come and ride with me baby you know
Its got to be the greatest show on broadway
Out here on the streets they say
You can see your life in one day
I long I long I long I long I long to hear every single street singer
Oh what a mood that feeling brings
You can capture life in a jar
Chances are that youll find out on broadway
Who you really are
Sitting in a lonely room
Staring through the evening gloom
Shell never make the grade on broadway
Shell never spend exciting nights
Surrounded by a maze of lights
And stars that line the streets on broadway
Broadway
When the neon lights are shining bright
She knows shes going to make it someday
Broadway
You can hear the music of the night
She knows that she will
Broadway
When the neon lights are shining bright
Oh I know shes going to make it some day
Broadway
You can hear the music of the night
I know that she will
I said
Broadway
Oh how I love you how I love you
Broadway
How I love you how I love you
Broadway
Its your show I know I know
But chances are youll find out on broadway
Who you really are

song performed by Ian Hunter
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Peace Proposal

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Do The Vega

(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
Do the vega take a chance and do the vega
If you dance it youll have fun
The fever gets ya and then Ill bet ya
Youll shake like the sun of a gun
First you make the right connection
Choose the one whose your selection
Though you risk your reputation
Youll increase youre circulation
Do the vega take a chance and do the vega
If you dance it youll have fun
The fever gets ya and then Ill bet ya
Youll shake like the sun of a gun
Roll and keep youre shoulders busy
Like a wheel spin till youre dizzy
Kick your heels when youve a notion
Shake and shimmy thats the motion
Do the vega take a chance and do the vega
If you dance it youll have fun
The fever gets ya and then Ill bet ya
Youll shake like the sun of a gun
Do the vega take a chance and do the vega
If you dance it youll have fun
The fever gets ya and then Ill bet ya
Youll shake like the sun of a gun
Shake like the sun of a gun
Shake like the sun of a gun
Shake like the sun of a gun

song performed by Elvis Presley
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On Broadway

(barry mann/cynthia weil/mike stoller/jerry leiber)
They say the neon lights are bright
On broadway
They say theres always magic in the air
But when youre walkin down that street
And you aint got enough to eat
The glitter rubs right off and youre nowhere
They say the chicks are somethin else
On broadway
But lookin at them just gives me the blues
cause how ya gonna make some time
When all you got is one thin dime
And one thin dime wont even shine your shoes
They say that I wont last too long
On broadway
Ill catch a greyhound bus for home they all say
But theyre dead wrong, I know they are
cause I can play this here guitar
And I wont quit till Im a star
On broadway
But theyre dead wrong, I know they are
cause I can play this here guitar
And I wont quit till Im a star
On broadway
On broadway
Im gonna make it, yeah
On broadway
Ill be a big, big man
On broadway
Ill have my name in lights
On broadway
Everybody gonna know me
On broadway
All up and down broadway
On broadway

song performed by Eric Carmen
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San Jose

Writen by bacharach & david
Do you know the way to san jose?
Ive been away so long. I may go wrong and lose my way.
Do you know the way to san jose?
Im going back to find some peace of mind in san jose.
L.a. is a great big freeway.
Put a hundred down and buy a car.
In a week, maybe two, theyll make you a star
Weeks turn into years. how quick they pass
And all the stars that never were
Are parking cars and pumping gas
Do you know the way to san jose?
Theyve got a lot of space. therell be a place where I can stay
I was born and raised in san jose
Im going back to find some peace of mind in san jose.
Fame and fortune is a magnet.
It can pull you far away from home
With a dream in your heart youre never alone.
Dreams turn into dust and blow away
And there you are without a friend
You pack your car and ride away
Ive got lots of friends in san jose
Do you know the way to san jose?
Cant wait to get back to san jose.

song performed by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
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Carlos Drummond de Andrade: A tribute

What now, José?
The party’s over,
the lights are off,
the crowd’s gone,
the night’s gone cold,
what now, José?
what now, you?
you without a name,
who mocks the others,
you who write poetry
who love, protest?
what now, José?
You have no wife,
you have no speech
you have no affection,
you can’t drink,
you can’t smoke,
you can’t even spit,
the night’s gone cold,
the day didn’t come,
the tram didn’t come,
laughter didn’t come
utopia didn’t come
and everything ended
and everything fled
and everything rotted
what now, José?
what now, José?
Your sweet words,
your instance of fever,
your feasting and fasting,
your library,
your gold mine,
your glass suit,
your incoherence,
your hate—what now?
Key in hand
you want to open the door,
but no door exists;
you want to die in the sea,
but the sea has dried;
you want to go to Minas
but Minas is no longer there.
José, what now?
If you screamed,
if you moaned,
if you played
a Viennese waltz,
if you slept,
if you tired,

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway

Keep your fingers out of my eye.
While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls. the people in memory are pinned to events I cant recall too well, but Im putting one down to watch him
K up, decompose and feed another sort of life. the one in question is all fully biodegradable material and categorised as rael. rael hates me, I like rael, - yes, even ostriches have feelings,
Our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with. rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme, but you wont see me directly anymore - he hates my being around. so if his story
Nt stand, I might lend a hand, you understand? (ie. the rhyme is planned, dummies).
The flickering needle jumps into red. new york crawls out of its bed.
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
Early morning manhattan,
Ocean winds blow on the land.
The weary guests are asked to leave the warmth of the all-night theater, having slept on pictures others only dream on.
Movie-palace is now undone,
The all-night watchmen have had their fun.
Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show,
Its the same old ending - time to go.
Get out!
It seems they cannot leave their dream.
The un-paid extras disturb the sleeping broadway. walk to the left dont walk to the right: on broadway, directions dont look so bright. autoghosts keep the pace for the cabmans early mobile r
Theres something moving in the sidewalk steam,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
Nightimes flyers feel their pains.
Drugstore take down the chains.
Metal motion comes in bursts,
The gas station can quench that thirst.
Suspension cracked on unmade road
The truckers eyes read overload
Enough of this - our hero is moving up the subway stairs into day- light. beneath his leather jacket he holds a spray gun which has left the message r-a-e-l in big letters on the wall leading un
Ound. it may not mean much to you but to rael it is part of the process going towards making a name for yourself. when youre not even a pure-bred puerto rican the going gets tough and the tou
Ts going.
And out on the subway,
Rael imperial aerosol kid
Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
With casual sideways glances along the wet street, he checks the motion in the steam to look for potential obstruction. seeing none, he strides along the sidewalk, past the drugstore with iron g
Being removed to reveal the smile of the toothpaste girl, past the nightladies and past patrolman frank leonowich (48, married, two kids) who stands in the doorway of the wig-store. patrolman le
Ch looks at rael in much the same way that other patrolmen look at him, and rael only just hides that he is hiding something. meanwhile from out of the steam a lamb lies down. this lamb has noth
Hatsoever to do with rael, or any other lamb - it just lies down on broadway.
The lamb seems right out of place,
Yet the broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.
Somehow its lying there,
Brings a stillness to the air.
Though man-made light, at night is very bright,
Theres no whitewash victim,
As the neons dim, to the coat of white.
Rael imperial aerosol kid
Wipes his gun - hes forgotten what he did,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
Suzanne tired her work all done,
Thinks money - honey - be on - neon.
Cabmans velvet glove sounds the horn
And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.

[...] Read more

song performed by Genesis
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Grandfather Bridgeman

I

'Heigh, boys!' cried Grandfather Bridgeman, 'it's time before dinner to-day.'
He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising 'Hurrah!'
Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch in his throat,
Said, 'Father, before we make noises, let's see the contents of the note.'
The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: 'Too bad!
John Bridgeman, I'm always the whisky, and you are the water, my lad!'

II

But soon it was known thro' the house, and the house ran over for joy,
That news, good news, great marvels, had come from the soldier boy;
Young Tom, the luckless scapegrace, offshoot of Methodist John;
His grandfather's evening tale, whom the old man hailed as his son.
And the old man's shout of pride was a shout of his victory, too;
For he called his affection a method: the neighbours' opinions he knew.

III

Meantime, from the morning table removing the stout breakfast cheer,
The drink of the three generations, the milk, the tea, and the beer
(Alone in its generous reading of pints stood the Grandfather's jug),
The women for sight of the missive came pressing to coax and to hug.
He scattered them quick, with a buss and a smack; thereupon he began
Diversions with John's little Sarah: on Sunday, the naughty old man!

IV

Then messengers sped to the maltster, the auctioneer, miller, and all
The seven sons of the farmer who housed in the range of his call.
Likewise the married daughters, three plentiful ladies, prime cooks,
Who bowed to him while they condemned, in meek hope to stand high in his books.
'John's wife is a fool at a pudding,' they said, and the light carts up hill
Went merrily, flouting the Sabbath: for puddings well made mend a will.

V

The day was a van-bird of summer: the robin still piped, but the blue,
As a warm and dreamy palace with voices of larks ringing thro',
Looked down as if wistfully eyeing the blossoms that fell from its lap:
A day to sweeten the juices: a day to quicken the sap.
All round the shadowy orchard sloped meadows in gold, and the dear
Shy violets breathed their hearts out: the maiden breath of the year!

VI

Full time there was before dinner to bring fifteen of his blood,
To sit at the old man's table: they found that the dinner was good.
But who was she by the lilacs and pouring laburnums concealed,

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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The Generals

Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Grandfather Squeers

'My grandfather Squeers,' said The Raggedy Man,
As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--

'The most indestructible man, for his years,
And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!

'He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten,
'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'

'He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he
Could tell by them just what the weather would be;

'And would laugh and declare, 'while the _Almanac_ would
Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'

'Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers
That, 'though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,

'He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week,
While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:

'Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack
Of sitting around on the small of his back,

'With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate
Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.

'He was fond of tobacco in _manifold_ ways,
And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,

'And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for
The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War.'

And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl
Of his own pipe and leisurely picking a coal

From the stove with his finger and thumb, 'You can see
What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!

'And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight
In pruning his corns every Saturday night

'With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused
By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;

'And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same
Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,

''Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade
As 'A Seth Thomas razor--the best ever made!'

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Thespis: Act I

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

GODS

Jupiter, Aged Diety
Apollo, Aged Diety
Mars, Aged Diety
Diana, Aged Diety
Mercury

THESPIANS

Thespis
Sillimon
TimidonTipseion
Preposteros
Stupidas
Sparkeio n
Nicemis
Pretteia
Daphne
Cymon

ACT I - Ruined Temple on the Summit of Mount Olympus

[Scene--The ruins of the The Temple of the Gods, on summit of
Mount Olympus. Picturesque shattered columns, overgrown with
ivy, etc. R. and L. with entrances to temple (ruined) R. Fallen
columns on the stage. Three broken pillars 2 R.E. At the back of
stage is the approach from the summit of the mountain. This
should be "practicable" to enable large numbers of people to
ascend and descend. In the distance are the summits of adjacent
mountains. At first all this is concealed by a thick fog, which
clears presently. Enter (through fog) Chorus of Stars coming off
duty as fatigued with their night's work]

CHO. Through the night, the constellations,
Have given light from various stations.
When midnight gloom falls on all nations,
We will resume our occupations.

SOLO. Our light, it's true, is not worth mention;
What can we do to gain attention.
When night and noon with vulgar glaring
A great big moon is always flaring.

[During chorus, enter Diana, an elderly goddess. She is carefully
wrapped up in cloaks, shawls, etc. A hood is over her head, a
respirator in her mouth, and galoshes on her feet. During the

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Added by Poetry Lover
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Bacharach / David Medley

(live)
Any day now
Any day now, I will hear you say,
Goodbye my love youll be on your way
And my wild, beautiful bird,
You will have flown, yeah!
Any day now, Ill be all alone
And you wont be around
Any day now, when your restless eyes meet someone new
To my sad surprise
And the blue shadows will fall all over town,
Any day now, you wont be around
Any love will let me down
I shouldnt want to keep you if you dont want to stay
And until youre gone forever
Ill be holding on for dear life, holding on
Holding you this way
And Im begging you to stay
Any day now, when the clock strikes go, youll go away
Then my tears will fall
And the blue shadows will fall all over town, yeah!
Any day now, you wont be around,
And love will let me down
Baby its you
Its not the way you smile
That touches my heart
Its not the way you kiss
That tears me apart
(*) many, many, many nights go by
I sit alone
At home I cry
Over you
What can I do
Cant help myself
cause baby its you
You should hear what theyre saying about you
They say youve never
Never, never been true
Oh! no! no!
It doesnt matter what they say
Im gonna love you any old way
What can I do
When its true
Dont want nobody
cause baby its you
Repeat (*)
Knowing when to leave
Go while the going is good
Knowing when to leave may be
The smartest thing anyone can learn, go!

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song performed by Carpenters
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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