Act 1 Scene 1
Tis a tale of shock and rage,
Written in so cursed a page,
Brendon’s vile deformation.
Born base of stock, in the good City,
Young lad, seventeen years of age,
Good of virtue, with Senecan fate,
Sought to avenge a love deflowered,
And henceforth, in blood and sin showered.
For Hephaestus did forge well,
And unhappy Aphrodite he did obtain,
Though it was with Mars with whom she mated.
Our good Ares Hephaestus did slay, and slew (vice versa)
For our Hephaestus specious may be,
And lurking ‘neath the golden fleece,
Typhon did reside. Oh! The agony!
For here, where ancient prince met the beast,
The good land of the centaurs’ feast,
A tragic story doth unfold,
With Sarah at its centerfold.
Come! Sweet death! For this lass tortured by kin!
For not related by blood, they gravely sin,
And tear the womb of the shepherdess,
The Mower did pursue.
And hence the mower they did mow (oh, he did),
Guided by an insidious hand.
Welcome! Prince of Darkness! Cast your wicked blessing
Unto this man afore named, and like in the tales of Kafka,
Change this man (he will pass),
Into the great Siccitas!
Oh! Lament my great woe, and curse sullen fate!
For ne’er a fairer lass did I see,
Than Sarah, her name precious to me
As orient pearl, and diamonds from the Ganges!
Her fingers, a snowy white,
A cage of ivory, encase my plight,
For I know, in her breast (in here)
Beats an aching heart just like mine,
And like mine own, doth reaches out,
To no avail.
Oh, blind love, temper your arrowheads!
Doth afford thee no more joy, as thou wilt,
To see lovers, suffer?
For she is the esteemed daughter of the Senator,
And I am but a poor clerk’s son,
Woe! Oh, cursed destiny,
That I should love such an unattainable lady!
I had just come downhill from the great cathedral
Where I prayed for redemption from this burning love,
To no avail.
Her father, severe as he is, will not let a prince approach her,
Let alone me. Oh, will I cry tears of my lifeblood!
For life has granted me
No less a burden than hers.
For the poor girl’s in love with me! Oh, sweet Lord!
Just yester-night she has sought me out under the blanket of darkness,
At my run-down residence in the shadow of her manor,
And brought me out to the flower-fields
Where we used to frolic in secret in our younger days
And come clean to me of her love!
Oh! Then we made a wish upon a star
For her to be born
To a willing father, and a living mother,
(For hers is dead, oh woe!) And I to be a great general
Instead of the clerk’s (my father’s) assistant,
Where I will wage great wars and bring her the trophies of my slain enemies!
Then we wished that I was a great Doctor of Sciences,
So I could give a sound reply to her queerest queries
And enlighten her of her Music of the Spheres.
Glittering jewels and gold gilded books, all
To no avail.
Oh! Thou had’st ravished me! I am but a simple boy,
Ne’er did I deserve her love.
Now! I shall quench these fires of love in a secret spring!
Oh, spring of clear water, locus amoenous,
I sin erroneous.
Brendon! No more talk! I shall ambulate,
To the secret spring of my youth, tucked away behind my humble residence.
Eden on earth, sinless paradise!
Enter DOCTOR LUCI, dressed in magic robes, with crystal ball in hand
Gazing into my crystal ball, I see,
So hastily, he retreats!
Oh Brendon, child of sin,
How will you navigate
This unforgiving labyrinth?
For even Perseus a fair lady’s thread doth have,
To guide his way in its swallowing depths.
For the beast you must slay, not by your own hand (but also),
For this Romeo is a tragic hero.
Append the wrongdoings of authority,
Learn not of sin’s polarity,
And will I grant you what you seek!
Now, my fair lass he soon will see,
In his cowardly attempt to flee,
The love which puts him ill at ease!
Bathing in the waters of the spring,
Sarah fends off summer heat.
When he chances upon our heroine,
Wherein scars run deep,
Will he take it upon himself
To venge the oath (of parental love) unkeep?
Yes, my good master?
See to the completion of the draught immediately.
Apologies, dear master.
Of all the sin, of all the pleas,
We lack magic gin and wild beast’s grease
For we are but spirits in the guise of scholars, not gatherers.
This draught, made from the torment of seventy-two grave sinners,
One for each demon of Solomon (Goetia)
Can grant power to rend the seas and summon lightning.
Yet we lack pride, the sin of our great lord,
That will unleash the true power within,
And grant true immortality to the consumer,
And demons, nay, even Michael the angel,
Will not be able to slay the drinker!
Oh! What power! Tis a pity that ingredients we lack,
For sickly fate has once again found us dumbfounded.
Foolish Mephistopheles! If you hath any faith in your lord,
You would have raised the issue to me sooner.
LUCI draws a dagger from his garments
Hereto, take my hand,
And behold the power of the Prince of Darkness!
Soon my agent on earth shall stand
Ever tall, and ne’er fall.
LUCI cuts off his right hand and gives it to MEPHISTO
Hell on earth soon encroach,
And Brendon, thy shall be my right hand,
In this God-forsaken land!
Go Mephisto, and add my hand to the draught,
And prepare the welcome, with most fanfare.
Infernus egredietur et peccatores succendent!
Exeunt DOCTOR LUCI and MEPHISTO