CASHEL. You resolute G.o.ds That will not spare this man, upon your knees Take the disparity twixt his age and mine.

Now from the ring to the high judgment seat I step at your behest. Bear you me witness This is not Victory, but Execution.

[_He solemnly projects his fist with colossal force against the waistcoat of_ MELLISH _who doubles up like a folded towel, and lies without sense or motion_.

And now the night is beautiful again.

[_The castle clock strikes the hour in the distance._

Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark!

It strikes in poetry. 'Tis ten o'clock.

Lydia: to thee!

[_He steals off towards the castle._ MELLISH _stirs and groans_.

ACT II

SCENE I

_London. A room in Lydia's house_

_Enter_ LYDIA _and_ LUCIAN

LYDIA. Welcome, dear cousin, to my London house.

Of late you have been chary of your visits.

LUCIAN. I have been greatly occupied of late.

The minister to whom I act as scribe In Downing Street was born in Birmingham, And, like a thoroughbred commercial statesman, Splits his infinities, which I, poor slave, Must reunite, though all the time my heart Yearns for my gentle coz's company.

LYDIA. Lucian: there is some other reason. Think!

Since England was a nation every mood Her scribes have prepositionally split; But thine avoidance dates from yestermonth.

LUCIAN. There is a man I like not haunts this house.

LYDIA. Thou speak'st of Cashel Byron?

LUCIAN. Aye, of him.

Hast thou forgotten that eventful night When as we gathered were at Hoskyn House To hear a lecture by Herr Abendga.s.se, He placed a single finger on my chest, And I, ensorceled, would have sunk supine Had not a chair received my falling form.

LYDIA. Pooh! That was but by way of ill.u.s.tration.

LUCIAN. What right had he to ill.u.s.trate his point Upon my person? Was I his a.s.sistant That he should try experiments on me As Simpson did on his with chloroform?

Now, by the cannon b.a.l.l.s of Galileo He hath unmanned me: all my nerve is gone.

This very morning my official chief, Tapping with friendly forefinger this b.u.t.ton, Levelled me like a thunderstricken elm Flat upon the Colonial Office floor.

LYDIA. Fancies, coz.

LUCIAN. Fancies! Fits! the chief said fits!

Delirium tremens! the chlorotic dance Of Vitus! What could any one have thought?

Your ruffian friend hath ruined me. By Heaven, I tremble at a thumbnail. Give me drink.

LYDIA. What ho, without there! Bashville.

BASHVILLE [_without_]. Coming, madam.

_Enter_ BASHVILLE

LYDIA. My cousin ails, Bashville. Procure some wet. [_Exit_ BASHVILLE.

LUCIAN. Some wet!!! Where learnt _you_ that atrocious word?

This is the language of a flower-girl.

LYDIA. True. It is horrible. Said I "Some wet"?

I meant, some drink. Why did I say "Some wet"?

Am I ensorceled too? "Some wet"! Fie! fie!

I feel as though some hateful thing had stained me.

Oh, Lucian, how could I have said "Some wet"?

LUCIAN. The horrid conversation of this man Hath numbed thy once unfailing sense of fitness.

LYDIA. Nay, he speaks very well: he's literate: Shakespear he quotes unconsciously.

LUCIAN. And yet Anon he talks pure pothouse.

_Enter_ BASHVILLE

BASHVILLE. Sir: your potion.

LUCIAN. Thanks. [_He drinks._] I am better.

A NEWSBOY [_calling without_]. Extra special _Star_!

Result of the great fight! Name of the winner!

LYDIA. Who calls so loud?

BASHVILLE. The papers, madam.

LYDIA. Why?

Hath ought momentous happened?

BASHVILLE. Madam: yes. [_He produces a newspaper._ All England for these thrilling paragraphs A week has waited breathless.

LYDIA. Read them us.