LAVOYAGE

An experiment in tragedy for me.

 ACT I, SCENE I

ANTIOCH, bodies line the street, occasional blasts of fighting.

 

Henri:     Gefroy! take care to your backside, you'll do

              No good with an iron spine inside you.

              [ thrusts, killing a soldier ]

Gefroy:    Did you, for one moment, begin to think

              That I could not defeat the dirty slim?

              Lo and behold, and the truth divulg'd to me.

              You think me weak?

Henri:                                        Come taste my steel and see.

Gefroy:    Believe I that steels not quite for the taste

              Suppos'd and form'd from the quickly silver.

              'Tis hot, Henri, the steel is hot, 'tis hot.

Henri:     You mock me and I let you. Such is life.

              Come to the fray, and waste away the day.

              [ exeunt all; enter General Lachaude, Lavoyage with soldiers ]

Lachaude: We are but men at arms with them, agreed?

Lavoyage: Yes, sir, true it surely is. Yes.

Lachaude:                                           Then how

               Bless'd by kindest fortune's hands be we when,

               Our Rapier's kiss hath rended them less arm'd.

               Battle's won, Lavoyage, and here I stand,

               Helm'd at it all. Were it not for tactic,

               Perhaps we should sip of darkness tonight.

               Instead, limitless ale pervades our mind -

               Go and tell the men we've won that

               hold here. I will go forth to France and spread

               the noble air, and tell the populace:

               a most deserving victory is ours.

               [ exeunt Lachaude and some soldiers ]

Lavoyage: (aside) Can sport that hunts itself contain valor?

               Is it thusly possible to play victor?

               I Pacify! The war's not won, but true,

               No better one to lose, than you, Urban.

               [ enter Henri and Gefroy and soldiers ]

Henri:       (to a soldier) Pennies' pity for a woman, no, no-

               'Pity not to pen her - hold her down, boy!'

               Cried he and so we did, and ho, ho, hah,

               The broad sure could run us all dry! Truth, truth.

Lavoyage: Your words bring a foul stench with you, Henri.

               Let it be known, men. Antioch's won.

               We'll trade our spears for ale and secret tears.

               Like those of most pure scent, from a flower,

               that pluck'd within the near sight of spring,

               gives off too quick in ill fore-sight.

Gefroy:     To our Crusades!

Lavoyage:                       (aside) Sins that God e'er forbade.

                [exeunt all]