PS 3543 Class __:1!5JJ^1 Book , J. 3^ I 1 1 5 GoiyrigiitN" J3ll_ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm THE MASQUE OF MORNING THE MASQUE OF MORNING AND OTHER POEMS By EDWARD VIETS Boston The Four Seas Company 1921 \ Copyright, 1^21, by The Four Seas Company All rights are expressly reserved. For rights of public performance, please address the publishers who are the author's, agents. While the author will in general be pleased to grant permission to any amateur players who wish to present any of the Masques contained in this book, it is required that such application be made through the publishers before production is attempted. The Four Seas Press Boston, Mass., U. S. A. JUL -1 '21 ©CI.A622107 CONTENTS Page A Word About Production 7 The Masque of Morning 9 Noon, An Interlude 19 The Masque of Evening 23 Hark, How Jubilant the Morn ... 33 Fountain of Remembrance 34 A Woodland Idyll 35 Fallen Petals 36 In April Time 37 Sadness With a Veil Goes By . . . .38 Little Good Night 39 Love's Jail 40 The Broken Vow 41 The Nymph and the Brook .... 42 Depression 43 Love's Wound 44 Hymn to Phoebus Apollo 45 A WORD ABOUT PRODUCTION The Masque is simpler than the pageant, and at the same time more dramatic. Simpler in that only a few persons are required, more dramatic in that language is used. Being simple, and generally short, as well as suited to outdoor pre- sentation, it is still the ideal form of entertain- ment for groups who like intimate as well as artistic effects. Either of the Masques in this book can be presented effectively by itself, but a better effect possibly might be obtained by combining the two Masques, (with the Interlude, Noon) as one. The Masques of Morning, Noon and Evening may then be considered to constitute a single Masque of Day. In such case it is merely necessary to use some means for indicating the passing of time — ^to divide the act into scenes, so to speak. For outdoor presentation all the scene requires is a small knoll or rise of ground to represent a hill. The side of the knoll facing the audience should be steep or even overhanging — a straight [7] drop of three or four feet would be ideal. The purpose of this is twofold : first to give a prom- inent footing for the boy Dawn, and second to provide a natural and obvious hiding place for the shadows which are surprised by Dawn, and later routed by him. Bushes or stones would also help here. If presented indoors this effect could be easily obtained, and even better lighting effects could be produced, because sharper and quicker. In the matter of characters represented, a greater or smaller number of Shadows can be used than specified, according to the persons available. As many as a dozen could be used, or as few as two or three. [8] THE MASQUE OF MORNING CHARACTERS Dawn. Should be a boy (or girl) not older than twelve. Dressed in yellow, wearing a wig of yellow curls, bareheaded and barefoot. Pink cheeks. Wings at the shoulders. In the right hand a bright round shield, in the left hand a gilt goblet. A horn at his belt. Poet. A young man, preferably. Tousled hair and wrinkled coat, for he has been sleeping in it. A book sticking out of his pocket. Tramp. A ragged, but fat vagabond, good na- tured and sottish. Five Shadows. Boys or girls, five to eight years, dressed some in black, some in gray. THE MASQUE OF MORNING Outdoors. A small, grassy knoll having a rather abrupt face. At the side of the knoll a Poet and a Tramp, lying on the grass asleep. Sev- eral Shadows in front, who have just paused in their gambols and taken attitudes of listening. First Shadow Hark, whose footsteps Do I hear? Second Shadow Is it Dawn Approaching near? Third Shadow Crouch and dwindle, Skulk and hide; Fourth Shadow Tis the hour Of morningtide. Fifth Shadow Scurry under, \ Lurk behind; First Shadow Dawn must not Us shadows find. Second Shadow Under rock And under bush Third Shadow Say no other Word but, hush. Fourth Shadow Lips say hush Lips say hush, Fifth Shadow Dawn must never Find us. Hush! [The Shadows have retreated and are crouching against the face of the knoll. Dawn is hidden behind the knoll, hut with each of the first four words he speaks he rises fur- ther into view over the brow of the knoll.] [12] Dawn Trip, trip, trip, trip, And with a leap, Fm here; All pink and gold, a minute old, Hullo, awake, what cheer! Poet [ Waking. ] Why, here is Dawn. Tramp [ Waking. ] Yah, now we got to get up. Dawn Up, you sleepy mortals, up! In my hand I hold a cup. Filled with momentary dew; Poets drink it, why not you? Poet But I am a poet, wonderful boy. Dawn Drink, for these are magic drops, Only found on high hill tops. That from wild flowers I have shook With my rosy toe — and took! [13] Poet [Drinks.] Now am I drunk with lyric joy, And could with thee, my darling boy, Spurn lofty hills and leap wide vales. And waken nymphs in bosky dales — But tarry, tarry, whither away! Dawn Tarry? that I never can. All too soon I'll be a man. I must run a nimble race. For the day doth come apace. Tramp What! Do you have to work? Dawn If you watch me you will say, I am busy as the day. Chasing shadows behind trees. Into hollows, over leas ; Waking all the sleepy-heads, Rousing country lie-abeds. But there's one I do not hear. Where art thou, brave Chanticleer? [Rooster crows.] [14] Tramp Oh, so many years ago I used to hear that sound. Dawn Hear the echoes flying wide, Clatter o'er the country side Waking hamlet, town and farm With melodious alarm; Waking Jack and rousing Ned From their cosy attic bed. Country smells are in the air, Cow bells tinkle from afar; Milkmaid whistles in the lane. Horses neigh and neigh again. Swallows twitter, cattle stir. See, the farm house door's ajar! He that still can stay in bed Is the worst old sleepy head. Tramp By golly, nefer have I in that way looked at the matter before. Poet Whither now my golden curls? Dawn To make rubies out of pearls. [15] Poet And then, marvelous boy? Dawn The town hall clock ten miles away Must be painted ere 'tis day; And then, to please the country people I'll gild the tallest village steeple. Run, you naughty shadows, hide, — Farewell mortals, luck betide! [Dawn approaches to the edge of the knoll, the Shadows flee in every direction, then Dawn leaps, and pursuing them, disappears. Tramp Good bye, little feller. Poet Must thou be off, dear boy? So youth doth fly Ere it hath touched me twice; so happiness. So love, so life itself, and every pleasure Scarce greets me ere 'tis time to say farewell. Speed thee, sweet lad, and gild a hundred steeples While old men nod! Soon comes the searching day When brass and rust look through thy morning gold, And iron becomes the color of the world. Would I might follow thee, aye, steeple high, [i6] And no more footsore than thy radiant toe Pricked by the tallest spire! Than Chanticleer Himself with his full voice could scarce exclaim My shrill and piercing syllable of joy! But, here upon the earth my path is laid Close to the heart of man; and for a space Full sorrowful I walk, this way and that, Searching for Truth, to find at last — my grave. [17] NOON An Interlude CHARACTERS Poet. As before. Noon. A middle-aged, bearded man, wearing a linen duster, and a farmer's straw hat. NOON An Interlude A pleasant meadow. Poet is seated on the grass, reading a book, but rises when Noon enters. ' Poet Who are you? Noon I am the boy that was, now grown to man. Poet Are you the frolic lad that danced at dawn, An inch above the brim of yonder hill? Noon I am high noon. Poet Alack that babies must grow up. And dawn turn into day; But men grow old, and love turns cold. So wags the world away. [21] Noon When husbandmen sit down beside the grain, And Jack and Rover He beneath the tree; When plowman wipes his brow and sighs amain, And drinks his gingered water thirstily; When bells do ring, and hired men sit round To buttermilk, and beef, and lemonade, When dogs with lolling tongues pant on the ground, And harvest hands pitch quoits beneath the shade ; I come, serene and calm, majestic noon. And with an even stride walk through these lands ; I bring to parched fields a midday boon. And for an hour I soothe hot labor's hands. Cool shade, a darkened room, a tinkling glass, And sounds of distant laughter as I pass. Poet A benison go with thee, kindly noon, And tread but lightly on the parched grass, Now bruised by leathern heels. Farewell, fare- well. [22] THE MASQUE OF EVENING CHARACTERS Poet. As before. Tramp. As before. Girl. Evening. A bent but venerable old man, with flowing white beard, and bareheaded. Wears cloak and carries a staff. THE MASQUE OF EVENING A meadow crossed by a wall or a fence, with a gate. On one side of the gate stands the Poet, on the other side the Girl. Towards the front the Tramp sits on the grass, nodding and snoring. Poet While wise men sleep, may not two lovers kiss? Girl But if they wake. Oh, then 'twill be amiss. Poet Are not we wise to have such love as this ! Girl Then we should nod, while foolish lovers kiss. Poet Then nod towards me, and I will nod towards you. [25] Girl Oh, such a nod as that would never do. Poet You speak quite bravely when the gate's between. Girl 'Tis not a high gate, that is plainly seen. Poet Lead feet that should have wings, I'll seize thee now. Girl But if you seize too hard, I'll cry out "ouch". [Poet leaps the gate.] Poet Your cries shall not be heard ten feet away. Girl Rascal, thief, ruffian, mercy, sweetheart, pray! Tramp [In his sleep.] Help! Police! Murder! [Enter in the distance Evening, toiling along.] Girl Look, someone is coming! [26] Poet An old man. Girl Is he not old! And feeble! Poet Can it be — Girl Who? Poet Can it be — Evening? See how he toils along. His infirm step Stumbles at pebbles, and his bending staff Gropes for the path that grows increasing dark, Shadows on either side. Fll speak to him. [Evening draws near.] Sir, I do reverence you, and ask your name. Evening I am evening. Poet Are you the ruddy boy whose roguish smile Brought dimpled light through all this dusky vale? Evening A boy I was, I trow — but I am old, I scarce remember — merely know — I'm old. [27] Girl So it will be with me, and you, dear love! Poet And you, and you, and you. Who shall escape ! Evening How strange this place! It was upon this hill If memory still holds, I stood a boy Poised on a pebble, whence I leaped ten miles To yonder distant peak. Alack the day These rusty hinges now do scarce avail To bear me to my grave, laden with years. 'Tis twilight time; now yonder distant bell Calls with a voice of bronze across the fields Telling of labor done. Let drop the scythe, The sickle and the fork; the sturdy plow Lie where it falls, hid in the shadowy ground. Let those whose legs are young dance through the night And at the husking bee kiss sweaty lovers. Their steps shall be like velvet to my ears, And all their mirth shall not invade my slumber, Wrapped in the silent mold where no dreams are. [He reclines slowly.] Who that is old would not lie down with me, And give his hard bones to the yielding moss. The world fades, and the trees are sunk in mist ; The paths that late I trod are swallowed up, [28] And all the sounds of Earth grow indistinct — The cries of children, the lament of love, The voice of passion, the alarm of war, The stir of men, the clash of hostile arms. The shouts for help, the cries of frightened women, Laughter and widows' woe, love, hate, fear, strife — As though they sounded centuries ago Come faintly on the ear — I heed them not. I have no wish but only to lie here. Twilight, a purple flower, its bloom unfold. And when night comes — let it take — what it will. Girl Dead! Poet Asleep ? Which ? Girl Who knows? Poet He is gone, that once was youngest of the earth. Farewell — I follow. The appointed hour Will come when I who am both young and strong And all on fire with love, will plod like him, And on some destined plot will fling me down Weary of earth, and these same lips shall say: [29] I have no wish but only to lie here ; And when night comes — let it take — what it will. Tramp [ Waking. ] What, is the old man dead? Poet Aye, he is dead. Tramp Oh woe. Oh woe. Ain't that too bad. Oh that's pitiful. It'll get me yet. It's terrible. I don't want to die. Poet Sir, by your leave, I saw this old man die, And took much courage from it. If this be death, To sink into the moss when we are done. And draw the blanket of the leaves above us, While blades of grass do whisper all around us, And nodding violets tangle in our beards. Then why dread death? Time with his graving tool. Wherewith he scars our high and stubborn fore- heads, Hath laid his blunted instrument aside And with a soothing finger left this message : These years have rolled above Ijhy head, and now, They leave soft silver on a serene brow. [30] SOME OLD FASHIONED LYRICS HARK, HOW JUBILANT THE MORN Hark, how jubilant the mom Blows upon his yellow horn! Hear, ye hills and valleys wide, Hear, you far-flung countryside. While the pale moon paler grows And the day star fainter shows — Waken to the lusty horn Blown by jubilating morn! [33] FOUNTAIN OF REMEMBRANCE Flow, flow, salt tears, In hollow vale where sorrow stoops alone; Till, dropping, dropping, through the patient years. Ye wear away the stone. Come frost, come snow. Come summer drought and wind and lashing rain. Still shall these faithful drops in cadence flow Again, and yet again. Majestic woe, In meditative marble bend thy head, From sculptured grief these drops again shall flow. Long years when thou art dead. [34] A WOODLAND IDYLL When the brook was a fiddler And fiddled of glee, And the breeze, that old peddler, Brought perfumes to me; The mouse and the lion Were married, I'm told, While the guests drank red wine From buttercups gold, From cups tall and gold! [35] FALLEN PETALS Red rose upon the bough, Ah, you must pluck it now, For tomorrow its perfume is fled; Beware, beware, Thorns guard the fair, Perils protect each lovely head. Come dew, come dropping dew. Fall softly neath the yew. On the blossom whose glory is gone; Unplucked, unwed, Withered and dead, Poor petals that fall one by one! [361 IN APRIL TIME When Aprirs kirtle first is seen And plashy footprint on the green, Hullo Let's follow Through field And hollow. Who seeks for her and finds her not, Hath read too much, too deeply thought. For see 'Tis she. Agog With glee Calling to those who tumble after, Filling the woods with girlish laughter ! Tomorrow For sorrow While April We follow! [37] SADNESS WITH A VEIL GOES BY Sadness with a veil goes by, Slow of step and deep of sigh, Oh, me, Oh my, A heavy sigh That would wet an old crone's eye, Seeing such a fair maid die. Oh fe. Oh fi, A deep-drawn sigh, Draw it from a well hard by; Hear the waters wash below. Faint and slow, Far below, Yet some sorrows deeper go, For an old crone told me so. Oh me, Oh my, The deepest sigh Will be forgotten by and by; The deepest well will yet go dry, — So may the anguish In thine eye. [38] LITTLE GOOD NIGHT Good night, by candle light, Under the bed clothes creep ; Silver and gold, so I've been told, Aren't worth so much as sleep. [39] LOVE'S JAIL In the donjon of my heart, Slave and prisoner thou art. Languish there. And no other food shall eat But the breath of kisses sweet; Such thy fare. In these arms enchained be, While thy jailer watches thee; Linger long. Freedom wears a gaudy coat; Captives sound a sweeter note; Ends my song. [40] THE BROKEN VOW So he pledged me his love In a goblet of wine; And by Jesus above He swore to be mine. But he wedded a lass That lives down by the sea; So alas and alas For a lassie called me — For a lassie called me. [41 THE NYMPH AND THE BROOK First here, then there, Then lightly through the air! Oh, how hard it is to stop Balanced on a pebble's top! Then to stoop and lightly drink Level with the water's brink. Ouch, you chilly brook, let go; Sprites and fairies have my toe. My white skirts are not for you, Nor my ankles bathed in dew. If you let me not alone I will seek some stepping stone, And one finger I will shake At the prattle that you make. Boy that tries to be a man, Come and catch me if you can! [42] DEPRESSION The rain beating down, ever downward. The earth with sad waters opprest; A gray abyss that was skyward, And a dull black ache in my breast. Out there the grave of my comrade, And the soimd of the sod in my ear — And my heart is the heart of yon storm cloud That broods low o*er the sodden moor! [431 LOVE'S WOUND Cupid, with thy golden quiver. Boy that bends thy bow in glee; Mischief maker, trouble giver, Oh, hast thou let fly at me? Why, ah, why This leaden sigh, When Corinthus is not nigh. Crimsoned is the white goose feather, That did guide thy nimble dart; For thy twanging cord of leather Hath clean driven through my heart. Wounded I ! Oh, me. Oh my. Of such wounds do young maids die? [44] HYMN TO PHOEBUS APOLLO Out of the gates of morning, Into the vale of song, Voices that come from heaven Carol in chorus strong: Hail, hail, hail, hail! Hail to the Sun's great glory, Hail to his robes of light, There on the eastern mountain Stands he in splendor bright. Fire from his hand he hurleth, Unto the farthest plain! Wake all ye people rejoicing, Day has returned again! Hail, hail, hail, hail, Day has returned again! [45] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 394 484 8