Democratic Underground

George II - Act 1, Scene 2
September 6, 2001
by William Shakespeare
compiled by Aaron DeTyre

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Compiler's note: Early in the summer of 2001 I was vacationing in England and had the honor of visiting the Bard's hometown of Stratford-upon-Avon. There, by means that Scotland Yard will not allow me to disclose, I stumbled across a theatrical piece from the late 1500s that is believed to have been written by Shakespeare himself.

One of his "history" plays, it is entitled "George II"; however, the play was written over a century before Britain's George II assumed the throne, and there appears to be no correlation between the historical events in this play and British history whatsoever. Do read it, however, as it has led me to believe that perhaps the Bard was a prophet as well as a poet...

You can read Act 1, Scene 1 here.

Act I, Scene 2

The court of Lord d'Arbusto

Enter Lord George d'Arbusto.
George. Father! I seek thee, Father!
For I lament in my sleep and I toil all the day
Yet still I cannot fathom the strength to defeat the Duke of Gore.
Enter the lord's brother, Jebediah of the Marshlands.
George. How now, brother? It has been so long since last I see thee!
Jebediah. Aye, my lord. I come at the request of our father.
George. My beloved Jebediah, thou hast not spoken to our father
For near four years!
Wherefore dost he call thee?
Jebediah. Our father is naught but a fool. As are you, George.
George. Thou must address me as Lord Arbusto.
Jebediah. I shall call thee what I please, brother.
George. Would that you have stayed in the Marshlands where thou belongest!
Jebediah. Lament not. 'Tis I who should be lamenting.
George. Why so?
Jebediah. Brother, if only thou knewest.
I bear the knowledge that Duke Albert of Gore shall surely slay thee
When thou may face him.
George. My dear brother Jebediah! Cannot our father do anything?
Or my avuncular Richard of Chene, or John of Ashencroft, or...
Jebediah. Fret not, thou hopeless, miserable, son of a barnyard swine.
George. Then thou wouldst be the son of a barnyard swine as well.
Jebediah. I beg thee to stitch thy mouth closed.
George. I haven't a needle.
Jebediah. Our father implores me to help thee, George.
'Tis no intention of mine that come the seventh day of the eleventh month
The Duke of Gore shall pass through the Marshlands.
George. Tell me 'tis the truth, Jebediah!
For I jump in delight and I gambol in ecstasy
As I listen to thy words.
Tell me, brother, canst thou kill him for my sake?
Jebediah. Nay, nay, idiot, I cannot slay the Duke of Gore.
George. Wherefore be it so?
Jebediah. 'Twas near four years ago, when I first set eyes on the Marshlands
And before claiming them as mine own,
I encountered a man by the shores of the marshes, a Prophet
Near-wallowing in his own lard.
I called out to him, 'Brother! What seekest thou?'
And to me he turned his head and replied, 'Whose voice do I hear?
Surely thy voice I have heard before, in a dream!'
'Thou must be mistaken, sire!' I exclaimed with a laugh.
'I am but the forsaken second son of the First Lord d'Arbusto.'
'Aye, tis the truth,' the glutton said to me. 'And 'tis thy destiny.'
'Say 'tis not so!' I shouted in agony. 'For I have left my home,
And my family, and my life, solely seeking greatness, and now thou
Tellest me I am doomed to failure!'
Noticing my agony, he said this to me:
'Young Jebediah, son of Lord d'Arbusto, I sense thy distress.
And for thy sake I shall grant thee a favor.
Thou mayst have the power thou seekest, boy,
But in return thou must swear on thy life,
Thou never willst hurt a man of Liberalism.'
And so I agreed to the pact, and since that day I have risen to power
That before I had only dreamed of.
George. A satisfying story, but what comes of it?
Jebediah. My foolish sibling, surely thou knowest
That the Duke of Gore himself
Is a proclaimed man of Liberalism.
So, therefore, it matters not how evil I may be,
Fate hath sworn me with her bloody plume to this agreement.
George. Jebediah, my prodigal brother, thou hast made
A foolish decision.
Jebediah. Nay, brother. For though I cannot kill the Duke of Gore,
Lady Katherine of Harrismeade hath sworn to no such treaty.
George. That actress, that painted woman!
Surely thou sayest this in folly!
Jebediah. Ridicule not the Lady Katherine,
For 'tis she who has made me who I am.
George. Perhaps, brother, but this plot sounds too fantastic.
Surely some clever soul would notice the Duke's slaying.
Jebediah. My dear George, 'tis where our father may aid us.
Thou knowest his influence, 'tis true?
George. Aye, my humble cousin. Still I do not comprehend.
Jebediah. George, how stupid canst thou be?
Our dear aged father shall take any boils of the tongue
And cure them like a man of Physick.
George. But what of the men of the Marshlands? There exist many
Who do swear in blood that they will defend the Duke of Gore.
The Moors, the Spaniards, they all will fight to their deaths!
And they are men of Liberalism! Alas, thou canst not harm them.
Jebediah. Aye, brother. I realize thy concern. Allow the Lady Katherine
To take her many-colored aura
And silence each Moor and each Spaniard.
George. Jebediah, my dear brother! Thou hast made life sweet for me.
But, cousin, I ask thee, what shall the Lady Katherine receive
In return for her favors? 'Tis a great burden that thou placest
Upon her fragile frame.
Jebediah. Ask not, my lord, for that shall only be known
To myself, and the Lady Katherine, and the lustful Venus.
Who hath stricken her rosy poison in mine heart.
George. Nay, I do not comprehend, brother. But I shall ask no more.
Away with thee, for I cannot appear crafty or sly.
Jebediah. Thou never wouldst appear crafty or sly. Fear not.
George. So, brother, adieu and farewell. I shall see thee tonight
When the splinters of midnight fall through the secret glade
Where we would meet as boys.
Jebediah. Aye, my lord. I shall see thee then.

Stay tuned for Act I, Scene 3, featuring Bill Clinton in drag!