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by W'm Shaksperre (See? Even he spelled it wrong!)
ACT the First, Scene I
Enter Zoom and a Bagger of Verona.
Zoom: Hie, 'tis verily a met proposition that our lives themselves depend 'pon the transactions of those most foul, to make the purse cringe with bad-temper'd coinage! But soft, chance furthers our patronage.
Enter a Customer from Padua.
Zoom: Well met! How goeth the day?
Customer: It goeth, methinks, as round as the day is long.
Zoom: I vouchsafe the length of the day this midwinter to err on the side of caution.
Customer: Ah, then the world must be square, and I were more the fool who expected your establishment to cut corners.
Zoom: Hast thou the King's Pass, that thou may command a much-diminish'd price on our redolent goods?
Customer: Here 'tis. I would swear 'pon my much-abrogated journey I had lost it, but perchance for thoughts of distraction was I to recall the very pit of its source.
Zoom: A fine survey. (takes the card and gestures with it) And were thou considering our better foodstuffs placed on our frontal display?
Customer: I was not. But for the mountainous height of the expense did I not find my purse wanting? Far too long in our service do your councilmen bleed us dry, nay, not with blood of crimson hue, but of emerald! 'Twas only meant to be existence fair or unfair, we have paid for it with a lease of a thousand years, to toil e'en as we rest!
Zoom: I have finished. The cost has been counted, and the amount due certain.
Customer: (looks at the total mark'd on the scroll) Fie on't! A bad star has fallen on my house. Will thou accept a writ of payment?
Zoom: Aye, for all that script entails; for its author must write great works to embody such sums.
Customer: Now unto the temper'd page I strike with my pen.
Bagger of Verona: If not the fickle finance, the goods are at least contained. I bid thee farewell. (Exits.)
Customer: It is done. The ink is iron in my blood, and none the wounds fewer for all its calamities.
Zoom: One thing remains. The establishment requests you bequeath your number of telephony on the writ.
Customer: Odd's blood! Were there no limits unto Croesus' travails? What matters this? And 'pon when was the proclamation issued?
Zoom: 'Twas but a fortnight ago, that this matter became implemented, and sorry to see that day was I.
Customer: Have none complained in their misery since?
Zoom: Nay, and there's the mischance. I fully expect'd quite the number.
Customer: A number thou didst ask for; a number wilt thou receive. (writes upon the paper)
Zoom: Many thanks on your house.
Customer: And upon yours. (Exits.)
Zoom: (Aside) Now is the winter, and of the discontent there is much grumbling amongst the enemy camp. That they may starve, were they to address their concerns with the action of a thousand blows in mortal strike, should be of concern even to the least reluctant of Time's bulwarks. Yet a gnawing grows within my mind, that to allow misfortune to overturn their liberty will stink of apathy most insincere. But time will tell. (Exeunt.)
ACT the First, Scene I
Enter Zoom and a Bagger of Verona.
Zoom: Hie, 'tis verily a met proposition that our lives themselves depend 'pon the transactions of those most foul, to make the purse cringe with bad-temper'd coinage! But soft, chance furthers our patronage.
Enter a Customer from Padua.
Zoom: Well met! How goeth the day?
Customer: It goeth, methinks, as round as the day is long.
Zoom: I vouchsafe the length of the day this midwinter to err on the side of caution.
Customer: Ah, then the world must be square, and I were more the fool who expected your establishment to cut corners.
Zoom: Hast thou the King's Pass, that thou may command a much-diminish'd price on our redolent goods?
Customer: Here 'tis. I would swear 'pon my much-abrogated journey I had lost it, but perchance for thoughts of distraction was I to recall the very pit of its source.
Zoom: A fine survey. (takes the card and gestures with it) And were thou considering our better foodstuffs placed on our frontal display?
Customer: I was not. But for the mountainous height of the expense did I not find my purse wanting? Far too long in our service do your councilmen bleed us dry, nay, not with blood of crimson hue, but of emerald! 'Twas only meant to be existence fair or unfair, we have paid for it with a lease of a thousand years, to toil e'en as we rest!
Zoom: I have finished. The cost has been counted, and the amount due certain.
Customer: (looks at the total mark'd on the scroll) Fie on't! A bad star has fallen on my house. Will thou accept a writ of payment?
Zoom: Aye, for all that script entails; for its author must write great works to embody such sums.
Customer: Now unto the temper'd page I strike with my pen.
Bagger of Verona: If not the fickle finance, the goods are at least contained. I bid thee farewell. (Exits.)
Customer: It is done. The ink is iron in my blood, and none the wounds fewer for all its calamities.
Zoom: One thing remains. The establishment requests you bequeath your number of telephony on the writ.
Customer: Odd's blood! Were there no limits unto Croesus' travails? What matters this? And 'pon when was the proclamation issued?
Zoom: 'Twas but a fortnight ago, that this matter became implemented, and sorry to see that day was I.
Customer: Have none complained in their misery since?
Zoom: Nay, and there's the mischance. I fully expect'd quite the number.
Customer: A number thou didst ask for; a number wilt thou receive. (writes upon the paper)
Zoom: Many thanks on your house.
Customer: And upon yours. (Exits.)
Zoom: (Aside) Now is the winter, and of the discontent there is much grumbling amongst the enemy camp. That they may starve, were they to address their concerns with the action of a thousand blows in mortal strike, should be of concern even to the least reluctant of Time's bulwarks. Yet a gnawing grows within my mind, that to allow misfortune to overturn their liberty will stink of apathy most insincere. But time will tell. (Exeunt.)
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