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Transcriber's Note: As far as possible, I have followed the
layout of the original book, which is somewhat irregular...
(T. N. cont. at end of book).
-----------------------------------------





        "A COMEDY OF ERRORS"

               IN

            SEVEN ACTS


                BY

            SPOKESHAVE

              ALIAS

             OLD FOGY


          SUPPLEMENTED BY

"SIR WINDBAG CONSULTS COUNT LUIE," "AN
  IMAGINARY OFFICIAL CONSULTATION,"
      "A DEMOCRATIC WAKE," "A
       COUNCIL OF WAR" AND "A
          SOLEMN CONCLAVE"

                BY

             OLD FOGY


            LUZON PRESS

E. J. HABERER, PUBLISHER. 1914




_PREFACE_


_As many were not able to secure all the Acts of "A Comedy of Errors"
owing to the editions having been exhausted, and as numerous friends
have expressed a desire to secure it entire, the author has concluded
to publish it, supplemented by four more recent compositions._

_With malice towards none and charity to all, this modest booklet is
launched on the uncertain sea of literature._

_--Old Fogy._

_Manila, November 15th, 1914._




A COMEDY OF ERRORS

BY SPOKESHAVE

       *       *       *       *       *




ACT I


Dramatis Personae

  _Caesar_... _Ruler of the State._
  _Francos_ .. _Governor General of a Province._
  _Quezox_... _Resident Delegate from the Province._
                               _Page._


    _Scene: Throne Room at the Capitol_

_Caesar:_  Most noble Francos, I greet thee heartily.
           A function truly noble falls within thy grasp;
           And thou wilt with it deal as only sages can.
           The distant Isles are now crushed by the pow'r
           Of ruthless tyrants, who on plunder bent,
           Oppress a helpless, but a worthy race,
           Which groans beneath a yoke of foreign make,
           And hence it fitteth not the sable necks
           On which it now, relentless, firmly rests.
             'Tis well, we know, how, filled with visions vain,
             Our predecessor sought to stuff those minds
             With mental food fit only for those born
             To skins of whiter tint, and hence with grasp
             Of firmer structure, built by kindly Time,
             Who fashioned us in more ennobled mold;
             While power divine to cap the climax grand,
             With hand so deft, gave it its final touch.
           These men with vision faint who planned so vain
           Knew not the knightly thought bred in the south.
           The north winds chill and stunt the subtle power
           Which flourishes alone 'neath southern skies,
           To read unerring from the page of truth
           That God has fashioned some to mount aloft,
           While others grovel on a lower plane.
             Hence we must cherish ever in our hearts,
             The thought that pigment marks the subtle line;
             And so throw off a burden on us laid
             By those who blindly cast their shoulders down,
             To bear a load which deep ingratitude
             Alone will be the recompense for all our pains.
_Francos:_ My liege, I grasp the thought: a burden dark,
           Which now each year a golden tribute calls,
           Must be disposed of quickly, but so sly
           That watching nations may not fling a slur
           Upon our honor as we cast adrift
           This alien race to face the world alone.
_Caesar:_    Sweet Francos, truly thou hast quick discerned
             The thought which wisdom fathered in my mind.
             "Be wise as serpent, harmless as the dove,"
             Should be our watchword as we scuttle ship,
             For there be those who speak with venomed tongues
             Of serpents, as we cast them helpless off.
             But if we of politicos make use,
             And to their clamour lend approving smile,
             We may while coolly thrusting them aside,
             Meet with the thoughtless world's approving nod.
_Francos:_ Ha! Ha! methinks I see my path made clear
           'Twere wise to fellowship with only those
           Who, longing for the flesh pots, lend their aid
           To further us in this our deep design.
_Caesar:_    Hold! Francos, hold! The very walls have ears.
             Suspicion once aroused our game is up
             In silence let our worthy scheme mature;
             An utterance unwise may spell defeat.
_Francos:_ Most noble Caesar, thou at wisdom's fount
           Hast drunk until the fountain hath run dry.
           I ready stand to follow each command
           Ignoring every judgment of mine own.
_Caesar:_    When I before the gods did minister,
             I learned that strategy cured many ills;
             And when Parnassus high I made my throne,
             I found it well to wield an iron hand.
             And now to work our pleasure in these Isles,
             'Twere best to blend these methods in our scheme,
             Whilst thou with honeyed tongue shall words employ
             The callow forum shall my will obey.
             But silence! put a padlock on thy tongue;
             A word unspoken never worketh harm.
             While he who babbles layeth down his shield,
             And thus an enemy may work his death.
_Francos:_ Mine ears are open to thine every word,
           Would that they could but hear in distant Isles;
           For when I beard the lion in his den,
           Thy potent thoughts were then a healing balm.
_Caesar:_  Thou sayest well, Francos, but lend an ear;
           Avoid our enemies; they counsel ill.
_(To Page)_ But, page, entreat sweet Quezox to attend
           While we in converse measure every act.
_Enter Quezox:_ Most honored sire, I come at thy command,
           And wait your pleasure; if by any means
           My words, convincing, can this matter solve:
           The land that bore me bids me loud proclaim.
           So we consider wisely, let us call
           The Commoner, whose wisdom is renowned.
           That he may with us weigh each tangled point,
           And thus make our solution doubly sure.
_Caesar:_    Sweet Quezox, caution is a precious thing.
             And while 'tis known that council oft is wise,
             Yet it were better Wilhelm were left out
             For he hath visions which from tender plants
             To forest monarchs grow, with roots so deep
             Emplanted in the soil, that naught can stir.
             Beside, financial ills have him beset,
             And he now eager, filthy lucre seeks.
_Francos:_ Most honored sire, I would from Quezox learn
           What stern encounters I must early meet.
           He from the first did see the canker grow
           And hath a remedy, methinks, conceived.
_Caesar:_    Speak, Quezox, speak! and free thy surging mind.
             For well I know abuses rankle there.
             Our enemies politic, firm entrenched,
             Have borne with heavy hand upon thy race.
_Quezox:_  Ah noble sire, how well thy mind conceives
           The ills which bear my hapless people down.
           Much learning fits thee for the ruler's seat
           And keen discernment flashes from thine eye.
           There pigmies move within a circle charmed
           And fatten on rich spoils with cruel glee.
           They force their alien ways with tyrant hands
           Upon my people; and with cold disdain
           Refuse our council, when 'twere meet and wise.
           I beg thee, cast them out, both root and branch
           And clean official nests from grafty filth.
           Our patriots, able, then can claim their own
           And on the ruins build a blissful state.
_Caesar:_    Most noble Quezox, thou hast touched the sore.
             In Francos thou wilt find a helping hand,
             Council him wise for he the subtle wiles
             Of crafty scheming men may not discern.
_Quezox:_  Ah, noble sir, if I advice may breathe,
           It were to shun the brood of vultures well.
           They're skilled indeed to sing the siren's song,
           And play with flattery on honest minds.
           I feel 'twere well to journey to these Isles
           In company with Francos, at thy will,
           Thus guarding him from every idle tongue,
           Which might make impress on an open heart.
_Caesar:_    Sweet Quezox, thou art wise, it shall be done.
             And as you journey, meditate and plan
             To lop off every head that blocks thy way,
             Or lacks in sympathy for thy great work.
             For Francos hath been trained for civic life
             Where virtue reigns and intrigue hath no place.
             But with thine aid and to guide a fearless soul,
             And Tammany his pattern, all were well.
_Francos:_ Great Caesar, trust me well; I smell the rot
               that distance cannot smother, and will clean
           The halls of state, and there implant true men.
_Caesar:_    And silence! speak nor write not idle words,
             For they are often swords which cleave the soul;
             When enemies who wield a cunning hand
             Shall thrust them back, and laugh in gleeful scorn.
             E'en I regret what in an idle hour,
             I thoughtless paged regarding freedom's gift.
             And now they sting me, sting me to the soul.
             Oh that I ne'er had penned such childish thoughts!
             Hence hold thy tongue or honeyed words proclaim
             Which may mean little or perchance mean much.
             And now farewell, and hie thee on thy way:
             Again I say a padlock on thy tongue.
_Quezox and Francos moving backward, and making obeisances._
          