ACT SECOND.
SCENE I.
A large Meeting Hall in Stairway, densely filled with people. The election of a member, for that district, to the House of Privilege, is over, the votes have been counted, and Vergli, to the intense surprise of the party, influenced by Sanctimonious, the Ardrigh of Saxscober, and which has hitherto been the paramount power in Stairway, has been declared to be the returned candidate. The crowded meeting is awaiting his arrival, to hear an address from him.
[Enter Vergli, Scrutus, Verita, Maxim and Members of Vergli’s Election Committee. He receives an immense ovation. The chair is taken by Verita, who, on silence being obtained, rises and introduces the new Member of Privilege for Stairway in the following speech:
Verita. “Friends; Right has triumphed. Vergli is returned. The Cause of Progress, Human love and Truth Has made another bound, and left behind The prison ground wherein it was confined. For what does Vergli’s advent here portend? Why, that the voice of Reason shall be heard, Not trembling in the slums, or whispering In muffled accents its convincing words; But ringing through the House of Privilege, Echoing in the Chamber of the Bores, Re-echoing in the press and through our land, Filling the brains of Men with new-born thought, Thought, recreated from a vanished past, Whose sombre clouds are hastening away, And with them the dark ages which they clothed. Now have the people won their voice a place, And soon that voice, falling from Vergli’s lips, Will cry aloud the human rights of Man, Which term, of course, includes the Woman too. Vergli is Woman’s friend, undoubtedly. His creed does not coerce her with its weight, No Saulite dictum soils his honest lips, To him the human rights are not controlled By that inhuman thief, Sex Privilege. His mission here is to assist the weak, To lift the suffering from out the mire, To give to all a chance of Happiness. To see appalling Contrasts shall not live, To order Labour to protect itself, And Capital to share with Labour’s toil The golden grain accruing from the two, Instead of fabricating Millionaires.”
A Voice. “Fat-stomached monsters! Greedy Cormorants!”
Verita. “You wrong the Cormorant! He fills his pouch, To satiate hunger legitimate. ‘Fat-stomached Misshapes!’ That, I grant they are, Sinners, beside which all the lordly Bores, Are saints immaculate and preferable. Toil is ennobling, ease contemptible, ‘Away with such!’ That is our Vergli’s cry. But let him speak. We’ll listen to his voice, Hearken to accents that we love so well. I yield to our new representative, One who is such in deed, as well as name.”
Vergli (rising). “Comrades, my thanks to you of either sex, My cordial gratitude for all your toil, Which has resulted in a victory. Nor can I pass from Gratitude’s fond side, Till I have bidden her seek that of one, Whose heart is with us, though it beats behind The gilded barrier of Palace walls. Ye know that dauntless spirit, nameless here, Nameless, because its mention would entail Suffering on one, whose name our hearts revere. [Murmurs of assent. And yet one other I would speak of, too. One, who since last ye fondly greeted me, Has sunk to sleep in Nature’s kind embrace; My Mother, Merani, who taught Vergli To make the Cause of all who suffer woe, His own. To save the disinherited, And preach the Gospel of Fair Play and Truth. [Murmurs of assent. The Gospel of Fair Play means equal laws, And equal opportunities to all, Women and Men, to live an honoured life, To toil, but reap the fruits of honest toil. Fair Play demands that men who sow shall reap, Not toil to bolster up a selfish Log! For instance, let us take as an example Two men of Property. One owns a mill, The other owns a coal mine. Both pay well. How should these owners work their properties? Is not the wages system a mistake? Would not Co-operation simplify And bind together owner, workman, all? Let him who owns and those who work, receive Their fair division of the profits reaped. The owner gives the land and the machines To work the raw material, yielding gain. Let this be calculated as his toil, And grain, proportionate to such, bestowed, While those, whose labour has produced the grain, Receive their fair share of the profits too. Thus all would have an interest in the work, And feel they laboured not, nor toiled in vain. Strikes and disputes would fade like restless dreams, And Brotherhood would knit the hearts of men. Fair Play demands that money for the State Shall be collected, so that all shall pay, And pay in due proportion to their means, Allowance given for the right to live. He who earns just sufficient for his needs Should not be asked to give his daily bread, But all who profit by their toil should yield Unto the State their equitable share; Commodities required in daily life, And necessary to the weal of Man, Should not be taxable, but free as air, And luxuries alone be charged upon. Fair Play demands that Squalor shall not be, That bread and wholesome food shall be Man’s due, That able-bodied persons shall not loaf, That none shall be denied the right to work, That habitations must be fit abodes, Not dens of Misery and Pestilence, That cruelty to man or to the brute Shall be a most severely punished Crime, For Cruelty to anything that feels Is Crime undoubtedly. We have no right, No right, I say, and say it solemnly, To mete out pain to any sentient thing. The Gospel of Fair Play demands this. Hark! Comrades, its far-famed tenets sound aloud ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ ‘Be merciful, be just,’ ‘Do unto others what ye would have done Unto yourselves.’ These are Fair Play’s commands. He who would reap the grain of Happiness Must sow as he would reap. He must be just. And now I would point out that Truth derides, Derides with scorn all priestly superstition. If priests would be, they must adhere to Truth, They must not seek to bolster up a lie. Truth only dwells in Nature. She abides With her sole God, the endless Universe. Go, seek her there, and not in fairy tales, Proclaim her as she is, not cloaked in sham. Truth is a meteor leading on to more, Leading to where abounding knowledge reigns. Where Truth is not, Falsehood alone can be. Comrades, I pray ye, give your hearts to Truth And let your reasoning be drilled by her. Laws or Religions founded on a lie Cannot be good, nay more, they are pernicious. Laws born of Truth must be what men should frame. I go to struggle to attain this end. Now, let me map a programme and a creed, Both of which shall be our unerring guide, And which shall ultimately Freedom win And give to all the disinherited That which is theirs, their own, their simple right, The right of all things living to enjoy And to preserve their lives in Comfort’s arms. But first take in the fact that Human Life, And much of brute creation can exist, And is intended to exist on grain, On fruit, on vegetables, likewise herbs, And not upon the bleeding, tortured flesh Of animals, bred for immoral use, As such flesh-eating is, when Nature’s laws Proclaim Man and a part of brute Creation Intended to be non-carnivorous. I urge this point upon you. All around Land bids you live upon her wholesome fruit. Throughout the world the natural food of Man Teems in unbounded wealth awaiting him. Let him put forth his hand, and pluck, and eat. Rememb’ring always also Moderation. Kill not for food, and where Necessity Demands the sacrifice of sentient life, Kill with all kindness and with due regard To Physical—and Mental—feelings. Pain Is a nerve-racking, dread experience, Especially unto the dumb Creation, Who cannot question, yet are forced to bear That dread experience, all unwillingly. Our programme then must be to fashion laws Akin to Nature for the people’s good, To overturn the thief, Sex Privilege, To make all property, when worked by toil Co-operative in the profits shared, And land, the birthright of the Human race. Wealth must remember what its duties are, And never hoard its substance greedily. Taxation must be regulated by Far juster and more equitable laws Than now prevail. Justice must reign, and though Equality can never be until All men are perfect, we must have a care That ghastly contrasts are impossible. To Woman give all reverence. Hark! ye, Men, The crime of Prostitution, is a crime In Vergli’s eyes worse than foul murder’s act. Woman and Man were born to be together, But Nature’s tie should bind the two as one. It is the marriage service, which no creed Should dare to trample on or overturn. See here I stand a disinherited, I am the Prince of Scota, yet denied By that false creed of Sanctimonious, The right to call myself legitimate. By that same creed my mother was condemned And called a Prostitute, while Isola, Who did not wish to wed my father, holds The empty title of a Consort Queen And stands by him his legal prostitute. Oh! hideous travesty of Nature’s law, Oh! hateful doctrine of a priestly creed. Call it not God’s, for Nature cries it Shame! And Nature is alone the real, true God. So now I leave ye bent on Evolution. Men have declared us Revolutionists, Not so, we are but Evolutionists, Evolving Order out of Chaos, and Creating where Creation is required. Let us be true unto our principles, Come weal, come woe, stick to them everyone, And if we work and practise what we preach, Assuredly shall Victory be ours.”
[Amidst a scene of intense enthusiasm, Vergli declares the meeting at an end and leaves the hall with his supporters.
SCENE II.
The Palace of Dreaming, in the city of Infantlonia. King Hector and Sanctimonious, Ardrigh of Saxscober, are seated alone in the King’s Audience Chamber. It is the afternoon of a June day.
Sanctimonious (earnestly). “Sire, he is dangerous to Church and State, He seeks to fling defiance at us both; He would o’erturn our laws and ancient faith, And he possesses much the rabble’s love. This last concoction, called Humanity, Dares to exalt and glorify his name, And cast opprobrium on my saintly self, Because I represent the ancient creed— The creed I learnt upon my mother’s knee, From nurse and tutor, pastor and divine, Until at length I grew to think it true. Of course between us, Sire, and these four walls, I do not now believe it honestly, Nor more than you do, Sire, or anyone, Who thinks the matter out. Ne’erless ’tis best To steadfastly proclaim its sanctity, And force its worship on our youth and men, Especially our women folk, for these Are Church’s most devoted friends. Its foes Are more amongst the men, and yet methinks Queen Isola has opened Woman’s eyes To a degree disastrous, dangerous. Sire, I would pray your august Majesty To lay your strict commands upon the Queen That she abstain and instantly from this. Her precepts are the Evolutionists’. My chief of Peerers secretly reports, That Isola devotes her privy purse To bolster up these revolutionaries. I warn you, Sire, their principles will sap The privileges of the Church and State, And tumble them about our startled forms. Though Vergli is your son, he bastard is, But strenuously resists this law of ours. And now he has a powerful ally, Who will support him in the House of Bores, Isola’s brother, Prince of Bernia.”
King Hector (starting). “What Bernia dead? What Sanctimonious?”
Sanctimonious. “So says the Chief of Peerers, Sire, to-day, He bore me secret news. Fear not, ere long It will be quite officially confirmed. Shafto is now the Prince of Bernia, An evolutionist in heart and soul, Spit of Isola and of self-same mood, Indomitable and outspoken too.”
King Hector (smiling sadly). “And honest I suppose, but as you say This is not part of your concocted creed, Whose tenets we must own, though in our hearts We scorn them and the lie they bolster up. My part is one most difficult to play, I would be honest, yet may not be so. The influence of poor, dead Merani Surrounds my soul and whispers in my heart. Merani dead? If so, her spirit lives, For day and night I hear it whispering, It tells me to be fair and to be just, To clear her name of that unjust reproach, Which falsely termed religious laws ordain Shall be hurled at the Woman who declines To take the marriage vows ordained by them. And in my heart, Ardrigh, I must confess I look on Merani as my true wife, And Vergli as the rightful, royal heir. Isola did not love me. All her heart Was given to the noble Escanior. Yet Arco, Prince of Bernia, her stern sire, Slew him and forced her to become my Queen. But in my heart, and in your own you know That she is nothing but a prostitute, A slave, leased to me by unnatural laws Whom I dishonour, calling her my wife! And now I must coerce her to obey! You call on me to bid this toy of mine, This royalized and legalized machine, This Queen in name, but not in deed, this slave! To bend her neck and bow to bearing rein, That cruel goad and foe of Nature’s form, Nature, so fair when undeformed by man. ’Tis a hard part to play, Ardrigh, indeed. My humblest subject need not envy me, I’d rather far be honest yokel man Than a false Monarch of Saxscober land.”
Sanctimonious. “Sentiment, Sire; nothing but sentiment. Monarchs must not allow so soft a thing To take possession of their hearts. You reign. You are a King, and being such, must rule And shape your conduct by Saxscober’s laws.”
King Hector. “A sorry fate to have been born a King, Or rather, I should say, ‘the shade of one!’ My dullest Bores may vote, but I am mute, The gilded Puppet of a huge machine! Isola is my slave, but I am worse, I am the slave of an Automaton. But lo! I hear Isola’s voice outside, She comes to tell me of fierce Arco’s death, And of her brother Shafto’s accession, What——”
Sanctimonious (rising hurriedly). “Excuse the interruption, Sire, the Queen Loves not the presence of the Chief Ardrigh; Her tongue is cutting, though ’tis courteous, And I would fain escape its moral sting. With your permission, Sire, I will retire Through the aperture or the secret door, Which leads from here into the private room, Where you conduct your personal affairs, And correspondence intimate. But, Sire, Remember to admonish Isola, Bear in your mind that you are still The King, And sink all individuality; Be true to Church and State, uphold their laws, And force the Queen to humbly bow to them.”
Enter Isola, saying: “Hector, I thought old Sanctimonious Filled up the Audience Chamber’s narrow space; Is he not here? Whither has he vanished? Into that Heaven, where I am denied The right of entry, being Infidel? Or has he gone to Purgatory, where Repentant souls are burning off their sins? Or—dare I say it, Hector? To that Hell, Which God, the God of Sanctimonious, Has made to torture wicked infidels, And all such carrion, though of his Creation?”
Hector (sternly): “Isola, thou art over bold. Conform, And yield respect to our religious faith. What matters it if thou art infidel, And worship Nature’s God? Thou art my Queen, My Consort, my annointed property, My Co-mate on the throne of Saxscober. Now, understand that thou art this indeed, And must, as Queen, obey the laws of Church, As well as those of State. Defy me not. By those same laws I am thy master, girl, And will enforce submission. Yield it now. Goad me not to Coercion. I would fain Reign with thee peacefully and happily.”
Isola (passionately). “Hector, by an opponent law of Truth, I am your queen and slave, a consort queen, A gilded, dressed-up slave, not reigning, Sire, But just a sort of bauble, like a crown, A State-kept mother of your progeny, Each one of whom is given right to reign According to succession, while I am Declared to be a cast off ‘Dowager’! Is this right, Hector? No, ’tis infamy. A consort’s fate is pitiable indeed, Whatever be the sex of the Misshape, But of the two, the female one is most, Because Maternal rights are not her own. Mind you not, Hector, of that male consort, Of Queen Magenta, Prince of Citron called? He would not be her gilded bauble sire, But shared with her the right to reign as King, As I should share that right with you indeed, Were I your lawful Queen and wedded wife, And you my lawful mate, which I deny, Because by Nature’s law, poor Merani, Before you stole me from my Escanior, Was your true Queen, and Vergli your true heir, She having lived with you as wife, although She would not take those church-made marriage vows, Born of the creed preached by the great Saint Saul! Nor did you ask her to, because by law E’en had she wedded you by Saint Saul’s creed, A rotten civil law denies to her The right to take the title of the Queen. Because she was not a princess before She mated with you! Out on all such laws! Fruits of a creed the child of Selfishness, Mated with ill-omened Superstition. No, Hector; Isola will not conform, She treats with scorn such laws of Church and State, Nature’s true laws alone will she obey, She will not own a creed which is a lie, She will not practise laws which are unjust; Your slave she is, but most unwillingly. She casts defiance on unnatural law, Isola is an ‘Evolutionist’—”
Hector (aside). “And I, too, in a way; for although reared And dosed with selfish and ignoble tenets, Deep in my heart I feel Isola right, And that her dauntless spirit pleads for this. She is not Man’s opponent, but his friend, His true Co-mate, loving Companion, Who only asks of him Justice and Truth. Oh! sorry fate, that I must strive with her, And force submission where ’tis now withheld. Yet must I do so. ’Tis my Kingly fate To be a tyrant and to act the Sham.”
To Isola. “Isola, cease thy sentimental moans, Our age demands not feeling, but a Show; Give it a pageant, be it royal Pomp, Or a procession of dressed-up divines, And it will cheer them lustily and long. I am a ruling Puppet, thou my Queen, Our business is to play our sep’rate roles, I as the Public’s slave, and thou as mine. It is the Law and Custom of our land; We are bound by them. Them we must obey.”
(Pauses and then continues): “Understand this. Thou must obey our laws, Both civil and ecclesiastical. Thou must not be an Evolutionist, Thou must be what thou art, my Consort Queen. And play thy part upon the royal stage. Defy me not, Isola, bear in mind I am thy King, thy Master by the law.”
Isola (defiantly). “No need to tell me, for I know it well. But I defy you, Hector, and your law. A fig for all such false authority. I never sought to be your slave, nor asked To dangle at your side a bauble toy. Do as you will, but I will not conform, Nor bow to sham conventionality. Arco is dead, Shafto is Bernia’s prince, Let me return to Bernia’s hills and dales, Give me my freedom once again, I pray— If not, I’ll take it, Hector. Ponder well. Do as I ask; if not, I warn you, King. I will not act the part of decked out slave.”
SCENE III.
A rambling Castle, situated high up on the hillside of Rostraveen Mountain, overlooking the Lakes of Killareen. It is the Castle of Killareen, the Highland home of the Princes of Bernia. Shafto, Prince of that name, is at this time occupying it, and from his eyrie stronghold has defied the orders of his liege lord and King, to yield up to the latter, Isola, who has fled from Saxa Isle and claimed the protection of her brother, in consequence of having refused to act the part of a Consort Queen to King Hector, or to acknowledge her child by him as the Prince of Scota, averring that Vergli is the rightful heir. She has refused to act the part of Queen Consort on the principle that no reigning rights are attached to the dignity making of her a mere nonentity, such a principle being contrary to the Evolutionary principles of the Evolutionist Party, of which Vergli, Member of Privilege for Stairway, is the leader, Isola being a member thereof. Divorce proceedings have, in consequence, been commenced against her.
Isola (leaning on the stone parapet of the Castle ramparts, overlooking the lakes below, sings to herself): “Is there a fate on ev’ry life Which weaves o’er each its darksome thread? Is there a bosom free from strife? Is there a heart that has not bled? There are in life some gleams of joy, But Sorrow’s darker shadows fall, And tho’ sweet moments we enjoy, Pain lays its cruel grasp on all.”
Enter Vulnar. “A sad song, Lady Isola, methinks! Come, let me cheer your heart with lighter lay. Laughter and joy should shine in eyes so clear, And smiles oblige the pearly teeth to show; It is not good to mourn, and Life is young, Laugh while you can, and cast aside despair, A sorry imp to irritate your heart; Oh! Lady Isola, chase it away. [Sings
Love the enchanter Hovers all near, Longing to cheer thee But full of fear, Fear of offending What it loves best, Pining to give thee Joy’s perfect rest. ‘Wilt thou not love me?’ Love whispers low, ‘Let my caresses, On thee bestow Dreams of allurement, Visions of bliss, May not my fond lips Give thine one kiss?’ Hearts were not made sure, To pine alone? Drive away sorrow, Mourning begone! Call up love once more, He will respond, Lady tie once more Heaven’s sweet bond.”
Isola. “Vulnar, your voice is beautiful and rare, Where is the heart to whom you sing these words? Oh! yes, the bond of love is Heaven’s tie, Yet, when ’tis snapped, Hell’s chasms yawn below. ’Tis a fair world, and all might be so gay, Laughter and song, playing with gentle love, Were it not for bad laws and customs vile, And evil teaching meted out to youth. How happy had my lot been but for these. Nature gave me a birthright passing fair, First Life, then health, the power to love and feel, The opportunity to taste of each. Had Nature had her way, my path all strewn With fragrant flow’rs, would have been smooth indeed! But human selfishness makes mock of Truth, And rules life with one endless, searing lie. Thus it swooped down upon Isola’s path And makes the way, indeed, all stones and crags. Your song is sweet, Vulnar, but mine more true, I simply sang of stern reality.”
Vulnar. “Lady Isola, Hector claims divorce, And, doubtless, will obtain it speedily. Thus will the laws which bind you as his wife, Release you from the union you abhor. Freedom will then be yours. Ah! may I hope That you will love Vulnar as he loves you? Lady Isola, I have loved you long, Loved you all secretly, more than my life, Loved you since I was but a boy in years, Loved you in silence when Escanior Found favour in your eyes and won your heart. He was my friend, and your joy my whole life. I would not try to steal your love from him. But he is gone, passed to the Great Unknown, Passed o’er the boundless Ocean of Life’s space. Whither? Who knows? Beyond our mortal ken. Will you not try to give Vulnar your love? He would not force it on you, Isola, But be content to wait and hope for it. At any rate, his whole love would be yours, His heart no other Woman’s property.”
Isola. “Kind Vulnar, Nature’s Nobleman indeed. Ah! if such as you ask for were but there, It would go forth from my poor heart to you. But, Vulnar, what you seek no longer hides Its coy head in Life’s throbbing mechanism. Isola’s heart held love for one alone, That love went roving with Escanior, When the cold dagger drove him from the side Of Isola beneath the Ocean wave. I cannot give you what is mine no more, Vulnar, ’tis gone. It is with Escanior, Wedded with his, all indissoluble, Part of his being, as his was of mine. His love lives with me, ’tis imperishable; ’Twill guide me to the Great Unknown some day, There to unite with my own love again. Vulnar, your heart so noble and so kind Will understand and feel with Isola.”
Vulnar. “Lady Isola, if the love I seek Has passed away to rove with Escanior, Will you not give Vulnar the right he craves, The right to love you and to live for you? He will not ask for that which cannot be, Nor would he steal such love from Escanior, But give him just the right to care for you, To be with you through Life’s lone Pilgrimage. Ah! do not drive me from your side, I pray, I only ask to be with you. No more.”
Isola. “No, Vulnar, ’tis impossible, I say; To mate where love is not is Hell enough, But then at least, indifference can dull And make one callous and like frigid stone. But no true Woman could treat thus, a man So noble and so kind as you, Vulnar. Men such as you are not so numerous, Hearts such as yours are jewels scarce and rare. Isola would not wrong you as you ask; No, Vulnar, seek a fitter mate than me. And yet, if you will give her Friendship’s aid, She’ll cherish it as the most precious gift Which Vulnar’s Generosity can give, The dearest treasure left to her on earth.”
Vulnar. “’Tis yours, Isola, given heart and soul, Nothing you asked of me could I refuse; At least I ask but one return for it, It is that, though you cannot love Vulnar, He may be licensed to love Isola, All silently as in the past he’s loved, Loved with a love he feels can never die, A love which, unobtrusive, yet shall stand The test of time, faithful unto the end.”
Isola. “Brave heart, so tender and so true, pure soul, If gratitude for love so infinite Will give you solace, then indeed ’tis yours, Isola’s heart is grateful to Vulnar.”
Enter the Prince of Bernia, exclaiming: “What, Vulnar here? Vulnar, news just to hand apprises me That Vergli is arrested, charged with Crime, The Crime, conspiring against Church and State. ’Twas in the House of Privilege he cast Defiance at their laws and pleaded hard For a reform of both, which he declared Must be both sweeping and far-reaching too. The overturning of his Labour Bill— Wherein Co-operation is enforced Upon employers who amass large hoards, By taking all the profits of men’s toil, Giving but wages in return, instead Of that which is the toiler’s rightful due, A share of Toil’s returns—aroused his ire. Because, I’m told when this same Bill was lost, Defeated by a large majority, The sneers and jeers, and cheers which hailed the fall Of his much-cherished infant, maddened him. He rose, and in impassioned accents, hurled The vials of his wrath on Church and State, So that men shouted ‘Treason!’ Wonder reigned, And all agape, demanded his arrest. This has been done, and Vergli is in gaol, A bad look-out for Evolutionism.”
Vulnar. “’Tis that, indeed, a cause has oft been lost By shutting up the brains that nurtured it, And closing lips that told it how to act. Vergli had power, his words were all inspired, They rose upon his lips like Heaven’s dew, And fell from them in show’rs of sparkling rain. He said they were Merani’s whisperings, A Woman’s voice, of which his was the echo; I doubt it not, believing, as I do That Woman, disinherited by laws As false as they are wrong and execrable, Has Mission, greater than to be a slave, That Mission to be Man’s true comforter By guiding him along the path of Truth, Not grovelling and fawning at his feet. Let her rise up and speak aloud that Truth, Let her assault base Superstition’s lie; ’Tis Superstition which has made her slave, The hideous lie of teachings orthodox. ’Tis they who have brought sorrow upon Man, Degrading Womanhood, in whose downfall Is swaddled up Humanity’s drear woes. [Sings.
“Behold! thy handiwork, Oh! man, The outcome of thy cursed laws, He who that wreck unmoved can scan, No friend of Woman is. Her cause Shivers and writhes within thy grasp, Thou death-importing, human asp; Thou who would’st seal her fate, I charge thee with her bitter woe, ’Tis thou who thus hast dragged her low, Hast doomed her to this state.
“Look at her in her form divine, A triumph of fair Nature’s art; Look at her in those clothes of thine Condemned to play the monkey’s part. Alas! from girlhood’s wasted days Base Superstition’s cruel ways Hold her in slavery! One aim in life consumes her soul, It is her one and only role, To grovel at thy knee.
“Where are her rights? She boasts of none, She is thy slave, by priests controlled; And as the Sculptor moulds his stone, So mouldest thou her soul. Look at that soul, caged and confined, Bound helpless where it long has pined, A dreary sight forlorn. With future empty, cramped and void, No hope to keep her spirit buoy’d, A toy which men adorn!
“Oh! Woman, wake. Behold the dawn Rising from out that bank of clouds. No longer grovel, cringe or fawn To Superstition, which enshrouds Thy liberty. Awake! Awake! I bid thee for thine own dear sake Cast off these cruel chains. Rise from thy many thousand years Of degradation. Wipe thy tears, Truth’s golden Dawn remains.”
Isola. “Vulnar, your invocation is not vain, Have I not half fulfilled it hitherto? See, I will act as you invoke, indeed. Vergli in prison! I will take his place, And carry on the War for Right and Truth. Shafto, go prove your title to be Prince, Speak out the truth unto your fellow Bores, Arouse the gilded chamber where it sleeps, And shake those dressed-up tyrants called divines. Make Sanctimonious tremble in his shoes, Shiver the awful Serpent they have raised And bid them practise Sacrilege no more. Brave Vulnar, you will stand by me, I know. Vergli in prison! Echoes of Merani! Your whisperings shall play upon my lips, I’ll shout them loudly into deafened ears, And make them ring throughout our wide wide Erth. Dear Erth, so beautiful, and yet how wronged By Superstition’s monster-featured creed.”
Shafto and Vulnar. “Agreed, agreed! Both of us are agreed!”