TLACAELEL
My lord, your wives entreat you to carouse,
And tend a show of juggling acrobats.
MOTECUHZOMA
When work is done. Recall those sorcerers. Exit Servant.
Till concrete facts come in, abstractions must suffice.
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT
Your majesty, a humble fisherman
Brings news pertaining to these prodigies.
MOTECUHZOMA
Admit him. [Exit Servant.] Lord, when peons paint my way!
Enter the Fisherman and Servant. *He trails his hand
on the ground toward him, and kisses his ***** fingertips.*
FISHERMAN
O master, ruler, lord, great gentleman,
If witless lips which kiss the unswept earth
Be fit to thus accost an emperor,
Regard me, if it please your majesty.
TLACAELEL
Speak, boy. Sublime Motecuhzoma hears.
FISHERMAN
I come from Hellwood, at your southern shores,
Where this week past, upon a beetling bluff,
I glimpsed a buoyant, surging reef of hills
With twining towers carousing on the waves,
That seemed a transport for intruding rarities:
A fear which whisperings in the wind confirmed.
TLACAELEL
Ho, ** **
Was this the Spirit speaking, or the spirits?
Some extra mushrooms in your salad, sir?
FISHERMAN
Discard me if I lie! Hail, lords! All hail!
TLACAELEL
All hail and sleet and snow, and all things cold.
And chill reception from this wintry prince,
For I suspect you seek remuneration.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
TLACAELEL
My lord, your wives entreat you to carouse,
And tend a show of juggling acrobats.
MOTECUHZOMA
When work is done. Recall those sorcerers. Exit Servant.
Till concrete facts come in, abstractions must suffice.
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT
Your majesty, a humble fisherman
Brings news pertaining to these prodigies.
MOTECUHZOMA
Admit him. [Exit Servant.] Lord, when peons paint my way!
Enter the Fisherman and Servant. *He trails his hand
on the ground toward him, and kisses his ***** fingertips.*
FISHERMAN
O master, ruler, lord, great gentleman,
If witless lips which kiss the unswept earth
Be fit to thus accost an emperor,
Regard me, if it please your majesty.
TLACAELEL
Speak, boy. Sublime Motecuhzoma hears.
FISHERMAN
I come from Hellwood, at your southern shores,
Where this week past, upon a beetling bluff,
I glimpsed a buoyant, surging reef of hills
With twining towers carousing on the waves,
That seemed a transport for intruding rarities:
A fear which whisperings in the wind confirmed.
TLACAELEL
Ho, ** **
Was this the Spirit speaking, or the spirits?
Some extra mushrooms in your salad, sir?
FISHERMAN
Discard me if I lie! Hail, lords! All hail!
TLACAELEL
All hail and sleet and snow, and all things cold.
And chill reception from this wintry prince,
For I suspect you seek remuneration.
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
