Actus

Scene 1:

NIPPERS. (Enter.) If the head of this house allows us to speak a bit to all the gentlemen present: we'd be much obliged if you'd excuse us laddies. We're no more than children, as you can see; we'll start if the head of this house gives permission. (Exits.)

CARNEVAL. (Enters.) Oh yez! oh yez! It's time that Carneval sought revenge against Old Mistress Lent and her old man. Everybody's crying: war, war, for peace cannot be brought; injustice and hubbubs cause nothing but trouble, you hear nothing but woe. Some think more, some think less about ending this dour fast. Listen up, my lords, if you want to hear a tale of what is a-doing against Lent and her old man. (Exits.)

OLD MAN. (Enters.) Devil take it! Oh, wretched me! Does the master of this house grant me leave to come in? I'm a hundred and twenty-four years old, I sport this beard and these wrinkles, and I've not grumbled even once about a pulled hair. I'll give you all my thoughts, and I, poor fool, will make my way to yon corner. (Exits.)

Scene 2:

ARLECHIN. (Enters.) I've wandered like a gowk so long, seeking, but never finding that old man. Could that miserly old cad be here, the one who's made me lead a dog's life? Do you know what that wick's done to me? Do you know what slaps in the face he's given me? Blood of yours, blood of mine, my master wails I must take you to jail.

OLD LADY. (Enters.) My poor husband! I saw him pass by here, brought hopelessly low, tied tight as a mule and looking like the ass of one. I can't do no more; I retire to this here corner. (Exits.)

ARLECHIN. Gangway, you piece of crap! Were it not for the greater good, I wouldn't keep myself here! You heap of trash! Were it not for the greater good, I wouldn't piss on this job! Blood of yours, blood of mine, my master wails I must take you to jail.

DOCTOR. (Enters.) Damnable devil! What is this commotion and susseration? It’s been so long since anything was written or read, and I cannot draft a legal case until I get the papers and the documentations. It is for a lawsuit and a decree, formed by my great-grandmother over the lesser doctors of my lineage, about an old woman condemned to death. Everyone directs me to projectificate and projectificate, and for this reason, I want no more dispute about the matter. I'm confused, disturbed, and every moment excerebates like a maranatha. Arlecchino! Arlecchino!

ARLECHIN. What do you command of Arlecchino?

DOCTOR. Go to my palace, and dress yourself in something more presentable.

ARLECHIN. In a week and a day, off off and away!

DOCTOR. Fool, scoundrel!

ARLECHIN. Won't chop off my cock to spite my balls. (Exits.)

DOCTOR. Meanwhile, I will to my antechambers, to fix upon and study the foundation of the dispute and the disunion; thus do I, Doctor Balanzon.

ARLECHIN. (Enters.) Have you come back a bit better dressed?

DOCTOR. That looks like one of my robes. Who gave you that outfit?

ARLECHIN. Your wife.

DOCTOR. Who dressed you?

ARLECHIN. Your sister.

DOCTOR. You found those rags in my palace?

ARLECHIN. In your palace.

DOCTOR. Get out of here, fool, scoundrel!

ARLECHIN. Won't chop off my cock to spite my balls. (Exits. Returns.) The learned Doctor should know there's a fine young lady who would like to enter.

DOCTOR. If there's a fine young lady, let her come, and don't tease her.

DAMSEL. (Enters.) Good day, Doctor.

DOCTOR. Are you the young gentlewoman? What do you have to tell me?

DAMSEL. Things queer and unspoke that cannot be merry.

DOCTOR. Are you married?

DAMSEL. No, by Saint Mary.

DOCTOR. Do you believe your affairs have gravitas?

DAMSEL. Just bide a while till I catch my breath, and I'll tell how fate plays its game. This old man sups on many a dainty but never what's fair, thrives on the scrimp, and spurns the plenty, and I pray he'd vanish like morning mist, and be known as the ragabash who sought to shame me; for I'd never have the courage to pardon a man like him.

DOCTOR. Arlecchino! Arlecchino! Go call Mister Carneval and the Notary; I need to speak with them. Hurry up, I am waiting here.

ARLECHIN. In a week and a day, off off and away!

DOCTOR. Fool, scoundrel!

ARLECHIN. Won't chop off my cock to spite my balls. (Exits.)

NOTARY. (Enters.) I come with all my respects, most worthy sirs. I bow before you, Doctor.

CARNEVAL. (Enters.) To you, Doctor, I am your servant.

DOCTOR. Now that we're among ourselves, doctors, notaries, and Carnevals, what shall we compose?

NOTARY. Doctor, I am at your service, but without pen and inkwell, I cannot serve.

DOCTOR. Damn me! A notary of your kind, without a pen and inkwell?

NOTARY. The learnéd Doctor should know that last night, as I entered my house, I left the quill and the ink on my noble desktop.

DOCTOR. Arlecchino! Arlecchino! Go fetch the notary's inkwell.

ARLECHIN. In a week and a day, off off and away!

DOCTOR. Fool, scoundrel!

ARLECHIN. Won't chop off my cock to spite my balls. (Exits. Returns.) Are you back so soon?

DOCTOR. Where is the inkwell?

ARLECHIN. The esteemed Doctor should know that my master, last night, sent me to bed without dinner; so I mistook the inkwell for a meatball and ate it. Look at this big bonnie belly! (Indicating his stomach.)

DOCTOR. Get out of here you fool, scoundrel!

ARLECHIN. Won't chop off my cock to spite my balls.

CARNEVAL. Esteemed Doctor, he speaks well, but it's time to dispatch the old hag. I've found her in a corner many a morning, dirging and disheveled and disoriented, and by the sheath of my sword, I intend to cut her down.

DOCTOR. Oh curséd devil! Arlecchino! Arlecchino! Go fetch that old peasant woman; I wish for her to die in front of all these people who are audenciating. (Arlecchino exits and returns with the Old Lady, who is using a hand spindle, accompanied by two Bailiffs.)

OLD LADY. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe, I'm spinning dough to pay that ho.

DOCTOR. What are you singing, you misshapen old harridan? Don't you know you are about to die?

OLD LADY. Don't know nothing about dying. I'm just trying to pay that ho.

DOCTOR. Don't you perceive that you are surrounded by two barbaric bailiffs?

OLD LADY. I ain't spinning. (She throws away the spindle.)

DOCTOR. Before you die, do you want to make a will?

OLD LADY. Yessir. I leave to the nippers, that if they do not want to run then they can move their feet; to the prologue, that he may wipe his ass with a snot rag; to my husband, that he may die before me; to the doctor, that he may stand behind me to smell my stench; to the notary, that he may shove the inkwell up his ass; to Carneval, that he may be pecked by a cock's neb; to the damned ho, that she can finger herself if she wants to look good; to the bailies, that they may be shunned for their duty; to the master, that he may give us good wine.

DOCTOR. Anything else?

OLD LADY. Nossir.

DOCTOR. Have you any descendants?

OLD LADY. A son.

DOCTOR. Do you wish to see him before you die?

OLD LADY. Yessir.

DOCTOR. Arlecchino! Arlecchino!

ARLECHIN. What do you command of Arlecchino?

DOCTOR. Do you know the old woman's son?

ARLECHIN. Aye-aye, sir, I know him.

DOCTOR. Call him hither, and ask him if he wishes to see his mother before she dies.

ARLECHIN. In a week and a day, off off and away!

DOCTOR. Fool, scoundrel!

ARLECHIN. Won't chop off my cock to spite my balls. (Exits, then returns with the Son of the Old Lady.)

SON OF THE OLD LADY. (Enters.) Ah! Poor mother, where do I see you! Among two barbaric bailies!

OLD LADY. I am condemned to death.

SON. For what reason are you condemned to death?

OLD LADY. Because of that dreadful judge Carneval who has given me the death sentence.

SON. And where is that dreadful judge Carneval who has given my mother a death sentence?

CARNEVAL. Here he is.

SON. Why have you sentenced my mother?

CARNEVAL. Because your mother is a daft old bat, and by the sheath of my sword, I intend to cut her down.

SON. Ah! Poor mother! I've prayed for you to that dreadful judge Carneval, but I see that there is no other remedy. Give me your hand for this last farewell; but as I give this farewell, I feel my heart being pierced. Part of my blood, you are my beloved good that I must leave. Suffer well this death; thus, your arms will take you from my embrace and into Heaven's. (Then Carneval with a stroke of his sword kills the old woman.)

[The Nippers were here meant to partake in ritualistic eating to celebrate Lent's demise.]

END.