Friday's Whims of the Time Traveler 6.1: May 2011
For the final assignment we had in my Shakespeare Tragedies and Romances class I took back in senior year of college, we were given the option of writing any additional scenes, prologue, or epilogue for one of the plays we studied. With some edits, this is the resulting assignment I wrote back in May of 2011.
It got a B+.
The Winter’s Tale: The Lost Story of Antigonus: Three Scenes From A Missing Act
BORA
You speak so feebly of time. It hath not
been more than five transformations of
the moon since we first met. Besides, my feet
grew far too swollen in my boots, so I
returned to wilderness to cool them down.
ANTIGONUS
Such happens when you cram your shoes with coals.
But stay a little longer – I am cold
and shaken by the eclipse of the night.
Methinks it hath never been dark like this
since I escaped the gaping mouth of death.
BORA
And what a gaping mouth it was indeed!
ANTIGONUS
Not so gaping that I could not escape.
BORA
Aye, me, your head grows lighter on your neck
by the day, and so soon shall it detach
and float away from its forgotten string!
Remember, sir, the man who moved and struck
the undiscerning palate with dry flint.
Such creatures are not picky with their prey.
ANTIGONUS
I do remember.
BORA
Oh, indeed you do?
I, wanderin’ from a castle no longer
my own to call a shelter built with bones,
did see you running, noble dress aflight
with eyes that bulged while red lit sight aflame,
and lumb’rin’ after, yellow teeth that flashed
beneath the bloody snout of your demise,
was beast befit a thrill for my poor soul.
ANTIGONUS
Aye, I remember such, in vivid tones,
for then you drew your arrow among stones
and scattered old bear’s brains along terrain
that would no sooner swallow me alive.
It got a B+.
by Belinda Roddie
Act VI, Scene I
Enter Antigonus, stooped with age.
ANTIGONUS
These sixteen years have weighed upon my brow,
and sixteen more will wear away my eyes,
my ears, my tongue – the flow’ry speech! Aye, man,
no use in fancy words that trip the fool
and send him tumbling down into the sand.
My feet have blistered on these rocks before,
and now the wounds will fester yet again.
Come, rest a while, Antigonus, and calm
the battered flesh that holds your heart within.
Ah, poor man who believed that he, redeemed,
would find his safe return t’ Leontes’ court!
They will not miss a shadow on the wall,
nor kiss the lips of age with winter’s pall.
But stay! I hear a bellow in the night,
and now I hide, my bones frosted in fear
that would befit an infant in the cold.
He hides. Enter Bora, a Bohemian nobleman and hunter.
BORA
How now! What? No reeds rustling in the wind?
No tripping of the feet in woods so naked?
Beshrew me, do I not have the hot glimpse
of second sight predicting every whistle
in air, the feathers peeling back to show
the shaft that humbly penetrates the flesh?
Methinks a man or monster sleeps nearby,
the ground a humble dwelling for a dream.
I shall quiet my brains and let them nap.
ANTIGONUS
The breeze sings a familiar song tonight.
How the trees ache with fading memory!
BORA
Ah, wrinkles and creases along my brow –
my head tempered with evenin’ revelry!
Aye, when the coyote ask the owl to dance,
the foxes in cahoots shall be witch-eyed.
Why, forests are perfect for dreaming – dreams
pose stronger firmaments than scavenging
of men do in damp and sober dawn.
ANTIGONUS
The voice is light and lilting like the waves
that strangely fringe the shores of this small nation.
BORA
Hush, rattling ribs – awaken quiv’ring bows,
the string plucked from the chest when love was frail.
Gentle, gentle – the string doth play music
when arrows force heavy lips over mouths.
ANTIGONUS
How he flits passion with his weaponry –
Can it be one I’ve left alone tonight?
Oh, sir! Oh, gentleman! I cannot crouch
on hands and knees in ashes anymore.
How now, Bora!
BORA
Dear God, a ghostly sight!
But is it perhaps a broken mirror where
my aged reflection sits? How now, old sir –
your skeleton grows gray like dust in this weary
oaken shade, the coastal winds frosting your
crumbling temples. Careful around stones, sir,
lest you fall down and break your teeth on them.
ANTIGONUS
Better to have cracked the molars than let
them rot the jaw in which they’ve made their nest.
But what news tonight, Bora? ‘Tis been an hour
since I left you after dinner. ‘Twas it
not seven months ago this very night
that you abdicated your woodly throne
for kingdoms, cities, and grand provinces?
You've yet to tell me of your adventures
Act VI, Scene I
Enter Antigonus, stooped with age.
ANTIGONUS
These sixteen years have weighed upon my brow,
and sixteen more will wear away my eyes,
my ears, my tongue – the flow’ry speech! Aye, man,
no use in fancy words that trip the fool
and send him tumbling down into the sand.
My feet have blistered on these rocks before,
and now the wounds will fester yet again.
Come, rest a while, Antigonus, and calm
the battered flesh that holds your heart within.
Ah, poor man who believed that he, redeemed,
would find his safe return t’ Leontes’ court!
They will not miss a shadow on the wall,
nor kiss the lips of age with winter’s pall.
But stay! I hear a bellow in the night,
and now I hide, my bones frosted in fear
that would befit an infant in the cold.
He hides. Enter Bora, a Bohemian nobleman and hunter.
BORA
How now! What? No reeds rustling in the wind?
No tripping of the feet in woods so naked?
Beshrew me, do I not have the hot glimpse
of second sight predicting every whistle
in air, the feathers peeling back to show
the shaft that humbly penetrates the flesh?
Methinks a man or monster sleeps nearby,
the ground a humble dwelling for a dream.
I shall quiet my brains and let them nap.
ANTIGONUS
The breeze sings a familiar song tonight.
How the trees ache with fading memory!
BORA
Ah, wrinkles and creases along my brow –
my head tempered with evenin’ revelry!
Aye, when the coyote ask the owl to dance,
the foxes in cahoots shall be witch-eyed.
Why, forests are perfect for dreaming – dreams
pose stronger firmaments than scavenging
of men do in damp and sober dawn.
ANTIGONUS
The voice is light and lilting like the waves
that strangely fringe the shores of this small nation.
BORA
Hush, rattling ribs – awaken quiv’ring bows,
the string plucked from the chest when love was frail.
Gentle, gentle – the string doth play music
when arrows force heavy lips over mouths.
ANTIGONUS
How he flits passion with his weaponry –
Can it be one I’ve left alone tonight?
Oh, sir! Oh, gentleman! I cannot crouch
on hands and knees in ashes anymore.
How now, Bora!
BORA
Dear God, a ghostly sight!
But is it perhaps a broken mirror where
my aged reflection sits? How now, old sir –
your skeleton grows gray like dust in this weary
oaken shade, the coastal winds frosting your
crumbling temples. Careful around stones, sir,
lest you fall down and break your teeth on them.
ANTIGONUS
Better to have cracked the molars than let
them rot the jaw in which they’ve made their nest.
But what news tonight, Bora? ‘Tis been an hour
since I left you after dinner. ‘Twas it
not seven months ago this very night
that you abdicated your woodly throne
for kingdoms, cities, and grand provinces?
You've yet to tell me of your adventures
that I, too tired of roaming, must full hear.
BORA
You speak so feebly of time. It hath not
been more than five transformations of
the moon since we first met. Besides, my feet
grew far too swollen in my boots, so I
returned to wilderness to cool them down.
ANTIGONUS
Such happens when you cram your shoes with coals.
But stay a little longer – I am cold
and shaken by the eclipse of the night.
Methinks it hath never been dark like this
since I escaped the gaping mouth of death.
BORA
And what a gaping mouth it was indeed!
ANTIGONUS
Not so gaping that I could not escape.
BORA
Aye, me, your head grows lighter on your neck
by the day, and so soon shall it detach
and float away from its forgotten string!
Remember, sir, the man who moved and struck
the undiscerning palate with dry flint.
Such creatures are not picky with their prey.
ANTIGONUS
I do remember.
BORA
Oh, indeed you do?
I, wanderin’ from a castle no longer
my own to call a shelter built with bones,
did see you running, noble dress aflight
with eyes that bulged while red lit sight aflame,
and lumb’rin’ after, yellow teeth that flashed
beneath the bloody snout of your demise,
was beast befit a thrill for my poor soul.
ANTIGONUS
Aye, I remember such, in vivid tones,
for then you drew your arrow among stones
and scattered old bear’s brains along terrain
that would no sooner swallow me alive.
How many years it's been since that odd night!
BORA
Aye, poor man, so unfit for untouched earth,
you did approach the brush with fev’rish fright
as I fitted the bow as would a fop
adjust a glove upon his dueling hand,
and thus I drew two shots, one in the ear,
another in the mouth that, if ‘twere man,
will spew vilifications as death crept
along the tapestries of leaves and ground.
ANTIGONUS
And you I have to thank for such an aim
and skill to put even the Devil down.
BORA
My aging friend, ‘tis long past sleeping hour,
and I have come to take you back to bed.
Poor man, your brain is addled like
the breakfast I set down for you each day
and you do not recall what is eaten
and what is not. Sir, I did take you in
and raise a canopy for you to rest
in gentler skies within my dreary house
that I have called my home for o’er ten years.
To bed, good sir.
ANTIGONUS
But how, when sleep eludes
the very dreams it lights with whimp’ring sparks?
You know why I, poor old man that I am,
continue to traverse this rotten ground
and make returns to cold and sandy shores.
BORA
Aye, you do tempt the ocean winds with walks
and tease the tide that shouts in frigid storm.
So days go by when gentle warmth is scorned.
ANTIGONUS
Sixteen years past, I from Sicilia fled
to spare the daughter of a jealous king.
Aye, though the queen’s blood may have matched dark soot,
her husband’s wrath took shape of dagger bright
and he, loathing the life sprung from false loins,
did summon silver blade to kill the child.
So I swore loyalty to reddened eyes,
in order that I spare the infant’s life.
BORA
And did she live?
ANTIGONUS
I cannot say how long.
I lay her on a grassy knoll like this,
as coaxed by mother’s ghost one ghastly night.
Then flee did I from bear’s half-crazed pursuit.
BORA
This is a tale you have not told before,
and such grows wings and flies to unknown heights.
Aye, I may not assume to know the scale.
ANTIGONUS
That you should not, or let the burden swell,
for tongues grow knotted when the words have salt.
BORA
So swallow I the over-seasoned meal.
Tell me, my aging friend, does that king
still dwell within walls fretted with despair?
ANTIGONUS
Despair, I know not – these years have been dry
and hungry for the discontent of souls,
and I, once given rooms of red and gold
now use guilt as a pillow and a quilt.
BORA
Ah, so it’s guilt that brings you here tonight.
ANTIGONUS
Oh, how a cherub’s face beholds the sun –
there be its lips, its cheeks, and birds do pluck
the feathers from its hands and peck away
BORA
Aye, poor man, so unfit for untouched earth,
you did approach the brush with fev’rish fright
as I fitted the bow as would a fop
adjust a glove upon his dueling hand,
and thus I drew two shots, one in the ear,
another in the mouth that, if ‘twere man,
will spew vilifications as death crept
along the tapestries of leaves and ground.
ANTIGONUS
And you I have to thank for such an aim
and skill to put even the Devil down.
BORA
My aging friend, ‘tis long past sleeping hour,
and I have come to take you back to bed.
Poor man, your brain is addled like
the breakfast I set down for you each day
and you do not recall what is eaten
and what is not. Sir, I did take you in
and raise a canopy for you to rest
in gentler skies within my dreary house
that I have called my home for o’er ten years.
To bed, good sir.
ANTIGONUS
But how, when sleep eludes
the very dreams it lights with whimp’ring sparks?
You know why I, poor old man that I am,
continue to traverse this rotten ground
and make returns to cold and sandy shores.
BORA
Aye, you do tempt the ocean winds with walks
and tease the tide that shouts in frigid storm.
So days go by when gentle warmth is scorned.
ANTIGONUS
Sixteen years past, I from Sicilia fled
to spare the daughter of a jealous king.
Aye, though the queen’s blood may have matched dark soot,
her husband’s wrath took shape of dagger bright
and he, loathing the life sprung from false loins,
did summon silver blade to kill the child.
So I swore loyalty to reddened eyes,
in order that I spare the infant’s life.
BORA
And did she live?
ANTIGONUS
I cannot say how long.
I lay her on a grassy knoll like this,
as coaxed by mother’s ghost one ghastly night.
Then flee did I from bear’s half-crazed pursuit.
BORA
This is a tale you have not told before,
and such grows wings and flies to unknown heights.
Aye, I may not assume to know the scale.
ANTIGONUS
That you should not, or let the burden swell,
for tongues grow knotted when the words have salt.
BORA
So swallow I the over-seasoned meal.
Tell me, my aging friend, does that king
still dwell within walls fretted with despair?
ANTIGONUS
Despair, I know not – these years have been dry
and hungry for the discontent of souls,
and I, once given rooms of red and gold
now use guilt as a pillow and a quilt.
BORA
Ah, so it’s guilt that brings you here tonight.
ANTIGONUS
Oh, how a cherub’s face beholds the sun –
there be its lips, its cheeks, and birds do pluck
the feathers from its hands and peck away
the scabs from the frigid and ill-used womb.
How I recall the weight within my arms,
as Atlas lets the constellations sleep
upon his naked forehead burned and red
and all the while his shoulders heave with grief.
Nay, I do not regret my travel here
to bring child to haven Mother called
the open gate to strongholds for the meek.
But had I not been victim to the fates!
BORA
(aside)
He plays the mournful marionette quite well
when puppeteers will draw the strings too tight.
ANTIGONUS
Oh, Bora, do not think I only mourn
my fate – a miser would no better be.
Though wife I lost, and grand estate no more
can be my home, I do accept and breathe.
But swaddling clothes can hardly beat the brush
and nettle from such soft and tender flesh.
BORA
And what of her? The girl?
ANTIGONUS
Nay, I know not
what seraphim have carried her away.
Perhaps the angels found a bed for her.
BORA
Oh, pessimism be the nectar here!
Come, sir, your heart is quaking from the cold
and muscles lose their spring without their rest.
I’ll take back to shelter, give you bread
and wine before you sleep the tears away.
ANTIGONUS
I would first shed them on the paltry sheet
that draw my bones from all forgiving heat.
Exeunt.
Act VI, Scene II
Morning has come. Enter a bear trainer and a lord.
BEAR TRAINER
What means the morning to conspire against my work? Aye, Jack Frost was no better companion to the wolves who bury bloody snouts in the snow.
LORD
Old friend, you speak of winter like the spring
thereafter cannot shush the frosty babe
to sleep. This cold encircles me so tight
that it nearly becomes a brand new cloak.
BEAR TRAINER
Then throw your old cloak off, so that I may pluck it from the ice and don it as my shield and sword.
LORD
You would do well to bring a flame the next
we search for missing pets.
BEAR TRAINER
Pet? Fie, my lord,
‘tis not extravagance I seek, nor a lapdog to lick the sores on my face. Nay, there’s money to be found, and gold to pluck from the teeth of bare thorns.
LORD
Better to scrounge for gold than scrounge for sons.
BEAR TRAINER
Again with family! How now, sir, does your mind flit back to ages not fitting of your pendant? Your son is gone, my lord, and blesséd be the halls that lost the taint of his shadow.
LORD
Haughty words for a shallow entertainer.
BEAR TRAINER
No more shallow than the wading pool that kicks up around your son’s ankles. I viewed him, sir, with no lesser hope that he hold estate grander than his predecessors. But when the hunt befalls his visage, good penmanship becomes a far coarser meal to swallow.
LORD
Shall I be so resigned to writing letters
that my fiefdom not hold some high esteem?
You tire my patience. Find this bear of yours
and bring it on a leash back to my castle.
I would not quarrel when the wind is harsh.
Exit Lord.
BEAR TRAINER
The meat grows dry and husky in his head – poor lordship! I would I have a dog to mourn for than a son. Dogs know to come when called, and they are happy with the scraps thrown under polished tables. How fatherhood makes weary men of us; I am glad I did escape such destiny. Come, weak light, warm my fingers so they thaw and grasp for whip. I will not let a gorgeous beast escape, not since the sixteen years where one grew tempted by the hurricane.
Exit bear trainer.
Act VI, Scene V
Enter Bora and Antigonus.
ANTIGONUS
No better meal than venison, methinks,
to clear the hardened heart and make it soft
again. I thank you, Bora, for your good
and gentle hospitality again.
BORA
The arrows are to thank for their vicious
flight, wings batt’ring ‘gainst impending equinox.
(Enter messenger)
But stay! A shadow flits along the walls.
Dear sir, do you make hearth this heavy dawn?
MESSENGER
I make the hearth in happiness. From Sicilia, I look for noblemen, as faint recalled from dear Leontes’ skull.
ANTIGONUS
Leontes! Oh, better name to hear
though tremble I from possible demise.
MESSENGER
He looks for friends forgotten – aye, when the eclipse faded from his castle, did his eyes grow blue again, for he has his daughter and his wife returned to his guilty breast. And do forgive him, they, with maiden hearts that melt to see such a beauteous sight.
ANTIGONUS
Can it be? Oh, fates, you have aveng’d
your temperament, and brought me news at last!
Good messenger, do you have boat or sail
to carry me to old Sicilia’s shore?
MESSENGER
I do, indeed, but who’s the sailor who demands passage? I look at your face – it is battered by a mood that sours the skin and turns it yellow. But there hang bells that ring an older tale. Who are you, sir?
ANTIGONUS
Antigonus was my name, long ago,
a namesake frought with gold and silver true.
I was the one who king’s daughter deliver’d,
so blue from venom from a serpent’s smile.
MESSENGER
And who is this serpent? If you speak of Queen Hermione as so, do not believe she needs to shed scales. She hath been innocent all this time, and king’s jealousy spurred the separation of kin and noble blood, scattered like drops across the nations.
ANTIGONUS
My heart bursts to hear such words!
Hermione innocent, and daughter saved.
I would I then return to happy lands.
BORA
Antigonus, my eyes deceiv’d me so
to think you fool and wanderer – your hands
hold noble warmth, the creases tell the tale.
ANTIGONUS
Good Bora, come with me – your role as heir
t’ Bohemian land will better fit the scope
of bright Sicilian gardens. I will make
you my companion through the light and dark
that now falls normally across the sky.
BORA
I thank you, sir, but here my home remains.
Besides, my father did disown me when
I threw down scepter for a bow and knife.
My royalty is spent, no more this life.
Enter Lord.
LORD
How now! Three men lost in the trees?
Methought performers hide under the branches
and draw the leafy curtain ‘round their waists.
BORA
My father! Dice are rolled so strangely now
that all game pieces move to the same ground.
LORD
What have we here? A rugged prince with men
who seem to swallow sea foam by the spoonful?
Tell me, how dost thou know this hunter who
I recognize as my own kin and flesh?
ANTIGONUS
Happy reunion!
BORA
No, I am aghast
to see the man who spurned me from the nest.
LORD
But did you not accept the ragged trail
that disappeared into the aching wood?
Aye, make a splint and set your heart within.
I do forgive your flight, and offer you
a penance should you kiss my hand.
BORA
What means my lord by such a strange request?
If I have not the hunt…
LORD
Hush, son. No more
great worry that you hide in castle walls.
Dost thou not think I once bereft of saddle
rode my steed to let the red foxes bay
and birds descend by my own blade and axe?
MESSENGER
A rather simple resolution there, unwinding like the seconds of a clock. A happy ending, though forced it seems to be.
ANTIGONUS
Dost thou seethe at such a lovely sight?
Be but content, good man, and tell me true
if wife Paulina still remains beyond
the bound’ries of our nations.
MESSENGER
Aye, sir, your wife keeps residence there still, but thoughts of necromancy plague the eyes that revel in the sight of our revived queen.
ANTIGONUS
Necromancy! Good man, can it be true?
MESSENGER
I know not, sir – as rumors they but mock the ears to bask in rather naughty thoughts.
ANTIGONUS
If fate swears our reunion, be it so!
Or else to purgatory I will go.
But hark! A roar I know hath sprung
from trees beyond our reckoning. Away!
How Time repeats itself and fates do taunt
the old man who in happiness must fly.
Away, away! Oh, most confusing day!
BORA
I’ll draw an arrow to subdue the race.
Too fast, say I, and haste away we must.
LORD
A carnival of happiness transpires
while sadness kicks away at dusty wheels.
My trainer, he had lost his hungry prize
and now it seeks its lunch on tender grass.
A tragedy and comedy at once!
We know which crowd this riot will amuse.
Exeunt all, pursued by a bear.
How I recall the weight within my arms,
as Atlas lets the constellations sleep
upon his naked forehead burned and red
and all the while his shoulders heave with grief.
Nay, I do not regret my travel here
to bring child to haven Mother called
the open gate to strongholds for the meek.
But had I not been victim to the fates!
BORA
(aside)
He plays the mournful marionette quite well
when puppeteers will draw the strings too tight.
ANTIGONUS
Oh, Bora, do not think I only mourn
my fate – a miser would no better be.
Though wife I lost, and grand estate no more
can be my home, I do accept and breathe.
But swaddling clothes can hardly beat the brush
and nettle from such soft and tender flesh.
BORA
And what of her? The girl?
ANTIGONUS
Nay, I know not
what seraphim have carried her away.
Perhaps the angels found a bed for her.
BORA
Oh, pessimism be the nectar here!
Come, sir, your heart is quaking from the cold
and muscles lose their spring without their rest.
I’ll take back to shelter, give you bread
and wine before you sleep the tears away.
ANTIGONUS
I would first shed them on the paltry sheet
that draw my bones from all forgiving heat.
Exeunt.
Act VI, Scene II
Morning has come. Enter a bear trainer and a lord.
BEAR TRAINER
What means the morning to conspire against my work? Aye, Jack Frost was no better companion to the wolves who bury bloody snouts in the snow.
LORD
Old friend, you speak of winter like the spring
thereafter cannot shush the frosty babe
to sleep. This cold encircles me so tight
that it nearly becomes a brand new cloak.
BEAR TRAINER
Then throw your old cloak off, so that I may pluck it from the ice and don it as my shield and sword.
LORD
You would do well to bring a flame the next
we search for missing pets.
BEAR TRAINER
Pet? Fie, my lord,
‘tis not extravagance I seek, nor a lapdog to lick the sores on my face. Nay, there’s money to be found, and gold to pluck from the teeth of bare thorns.
LORD
Better to scrounge for gold than scrounge for sons.
BEAR TRAINER
Again with family! How now, sir, does your mind flit back to ages not fitting of your pendant? Your son is gone, my lord, and blesséd be the halls that lost the taint of his shadow.
LORD
Haughty words for a shallow entertainer.
BEAR TRAINER
No more shallow than the wading pool that kicks up around your son’s ankles. I viewed him, sir, with no lesser hope that he hold estate grander than his predecessors. But when the hunt befalls his visage, good penmanship becomes a far coarser meal to swallow.
LORD
Shall I be so resigned to writing letters
that my fiefdom not hold some high esteem?
You tire my patience. Find this bear of yours
and bring it on a leash back to my castle.
I would not quarrel when the wind is harsh.
Exit Lord.
BEAR TRAINER
The meat grows dry and husky in his head – poor lordship! I would I have a dog to mourn for than a son. Dogs know to come when called, and they are happy with the scraps thrown under polished tables. How fatherhood makes weary men of us; I am glad I did escape such destiny. Come, weak light, warm my fingers so they thaw and grasp for whip. I will not let a gorgeous beast escape, not since the sixteen years where one grew tempted by the hurricane.
Exit bear trainer.
Act VI, Scene V
Enter Bora and Antigonus.
ANTIGONUS
No better meal than venison, methinks,
to clear the hardened heart and make it soft
again. I thank you, Bora, for your good
and gentle hospitality again.
BORA
The arrows are to thank for their vicious
flight, wings batt’ring ‘gainst impending equinox.
(Enter messenger)
But stay! A shadow flits along the walls.
Dear sir, do you make hearth this heavy dawn?
MESSENGER
I make the hearth in happiness. From Sicilia, I look for noblemen, as faint recalled from dear Leontes’ skull.
ANTIGONUS
Leontes! Oh, better name to hear
though tremble I from possible demise.
MESSENGER
He looks for friends forgotten – aye, when the eclipse faded from his castle, did his eyes grow blue again, for he has his daughter and his wife returned to his guilty breast. And do forgive him, they, with maiden hearts that melt to see such a beauteous sight.
ANTIGONUS
Can it be? Oh, fates, you have aveng’d
your temperament, and brought me news at last!
Good messenger, do you have boat or sail
to carry me to old Sicilia’s shore?
MESSENGER
I do, indeed, but who’s the sailor who demands passage? I look at your face – it is battered by a mood that sours the skin and turns it yellow. But there hang bells that ring an older tale. Who are you, sir?
ANTIGONUS
Antigonus was my name, long ago,
a namesake frought with gold and silver true.
I was the one who king’s daughter deliver’d,
so blue from venom from a serpent’s smile.
MESSENGER
And who is this serpent? If you speak of Queen Hermione as so, do not believe she needs to shed scales. She hath been innocent all this time, and king’s jealousy spurred the separation of kin and noble blood, scattered like drops across the nations.
ANTIGONUS
My heart bursts to hear such words!
Hermione innocent, and daughter saved.
I would I then return to happy lands.
BORA
Antigonus, my eyes deceiv’d me so
to think you fool and wanderer – your hands
hold noble warmth, the creases tell the tale.
ANTIGONUS
Good Bora, come with me – your role as heir
t’ Bohemian land will better fit the scope
of bright Sicilian gardens. I will make
you my companion through the light and dark
that now falls normally across the sky.
BORA
I thank you, sir, but here my home remains.
Besides, my father did disown me when
I threw down scepter for a bow and knife.
My royalty is spent, no more this life.
Enter Lord.
LORD
How now! Three men lost in the trees?
Methought performers hide under the branches
and draw the leafy curtain ‘round their waists.
BORA
My father! Dice are rolled so strangely now
that all game pieces move to the same ground.
LORD
What have we here? A rugged prince with men
who seem to swallow sea foam by the spoonful?
Tell me, how dost thou know this hunter who
I recognize as my own kin and flesh?
ANTIGONUS
Happy reunion!
BORA
No, I am aghast
to see the man who spurned me from the nest.
LORD
But did you not accept the ragged trail
that disappeared into the aching wood?
Aye, make a splint and set your heart within.
I do forgive your flight, and offer you
a penance should you kiss my hand.
BORA
What means my lord by such a strange request?
If I have not the hunt…
LORD
Hush, son. No more
great worry that you hide in castle walls.
Dost thou not think I once bereft of saddle
rode my steed to let the red foxes bay
and birds descend by my own blade and axe?
MESSENGER
A rather simple resolution there, unwinding like the seconds of a clock. A happy ending, though forced it seems to be.
ANTIGONUS
Dost thou seethe at such a lovely sight?
Be but content, good man, and tell me true
if wife Paulina still remains beyond
the bound’ries of our nations.
MESSENGER
Aye, sir, your wife keeps residence there still, but thoughts of necromancy plague the eyes that revel in the sight of our revived queen.
ANTIGONUS
Necromancy! Good man, can it be true?
MESSENGER
I know not, sir – as rumors they but mock the ears to bask in rather naughty thoughts.
ANTIGONUS
If fate swears our reunion, be it so!
Or else to purgatory I will go.
But hark! A roar I know hath sprung
from trees beyond our reckoning. Away!
How Time repeats itself and fates do taunt
the old man who in happiness must fly.
Away, away! Oh, most confusing day!
BORA
I’ll draw an arrow to subdue the race.
Too fast, say I, and haste away we must.
LORD
A carnival of happiness transpires
while sadness kicks away at dusty wheels.
My trainer, he had lost his hungry prize
and now it seeks its lunch on tender grass.
A tragedy and comedy at once!
We know which crowd this riot will amuse.
Exeunt all, pursued by a bear.
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