CORTÉS
But how to learn their Tower-of-Babel tongues?
I think I have an inkling. Sandoval,
Bring me that Díaz from the footmen’s ranks-
A proud alumnus of this school of vice. Exit Sandoval.
Young Sandoval shows promise of promotion,
But, Alvarado, you’re my confidante,
As well as in effect my deputy.
We must concur about these Indians.
They are not possibly the “natural slaves”
Of which the pagan Aristotle spoke,
And can be raised to all the dignity
Of sons of Christ.
ALVARADO I’ll take your word.
CORTÉS Take God’s.
Enter DÍAZ.
DÍAZ God save you, captain! What mighty business of state pulls my
rare proficiencies away from tent-tying?
CORTÉS
So Díaz,
Twice now have you arrived in Cozumel
With this old villain, who reveals to me,
When last you pitched your tents, a year ago,
Your fleet encountered awestruck Indians,
Who nodded at the whiteness of your hides
And uttered, “Castilán . . . Castilán.”
Who came before, that they knew you by face?
DÍAZ
Some say that eight years past, lost in the fog,
A Spanish galleon shattered on these reefs.
Her ribs discharged a dash of castaways
That disappeared into these gloomy woods.
ALVARADO
And thus within hide our interpreters.
DÍAZ
So: Castellano . . . Castilán.
CORTÉS Well done.
Commune with these glad-handed Indians,
And sleuth it out through means of pantomime
If any of our cast-off countrymen
Might swelter yet in this unsparing clime. Exit Díaz.
ALVARADO
And as regards your noble savages?
CORTÉS
I shall induct them to the host of Christ.
I’ll give them scissors, candles, silver mirrors,
With tops and kites to cheer their little ones.
As your bombastic threats have scattered them,
I must so kindly call to coax them back.
ALVARADO
With prayer and kindness- Save us all! Kind words!
CORTÉS
Speak now, or hold your peace. . .
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
CORTÉS
But how to learn their Tower-of-Babel tongues?
I think I have an inkling. Sandoval,
Bring me that Díaz from the footmen’s ranks-
A proud alumnus of this school of vice. Exit Sandoval.
Young Sandoval shows promise of promotion,
But, Alvarado, you’re my confidante,
As well as in effect my deputy.
We must concur about these Indians.
They are not possibly the “natural slaves”
Of which the pagan Aristotle spoke,
And can be raised to all the dignity
Of sons of Christ.
ALVARADO I’ll take your word.
CORTÉS Take God’s.
Enter DÍAZ.
DÍAZ God save you, captain! What mighty business of state pulls my
rare proficiencies away from tent-tying?
CORTÉS
So Díaz,
Twice now have you arrived in Cozumel
With this old villain, who reveals to me,
When last you pitched your tents, a year ago,
Your fleet encountered awestruck Indians,
Who nodded at the whiteness of your hides
And uttered, “Castilán . . . Castilán.”
Who came before, that they knew you by face?
DÍAZ
Some say that eight years past, lost in the fog,
A Spanish galleon shattered on these reefs.
Her ribs discharged a dash of castaways
That disappeared into these gloomy woods.
ALVARADO
And thus within hide our interpreters.
DÍAZ
So: Castellano . . . Castilán.
CORTÉS Well done.
Commune with these glad-handed Indians,
And sleuth it out through means of pantomime
If any of our cast-off countrymen
Might swelter yet in this unsparing clime. Exit Díaz.
ALVARADO
And as regards your noble savages?
CORTÉS
I shall induct them to the host of Christ.
I’ll give them scissors, candles, silver mirrors,
With tops and kites to cheer their little ones.
As your bombastic threats have scattered them,
I must so kindly call to coax them back.
ALVARADO
With prayer and kindness- Save us all! Kind words!
CORTÉS
Speak now, or hold your peace. . .
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
