Omar and oh Ma from Mister Punch's Dramatic Sequels by sin John Hankin. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. The Rubayat of Omar Khayam. When it was announced recently in an English daily paper that a drama founded upon Fitzgerald's version of the Ruba'yat of Omar Khayam had been compounded in the United States and would shortly be seen on the stage,
many people may have wondered how it was done. It was done as follows. Dramatis personi Lion read by Loveday Lizard M. Liddon, Wild Ass read by Elizabeth Klatt.
Omar rid by Algie pag.
Crowd read by Bev Stephens, Nightingale read by Karen Savage.
Rose read by Charlotte Duckett, Saki read by Beev Stephens.
First Pot read by Ruth Golding, Second part read by Elisabeth Klatt, Third.
Part read by Charlotte Duckett, Fourth.
Pot read by Allan Mapstone. Potter read by Kapricia Page Narrator read by Ruth golding scene courtyard of the deserted palace of jam Sheed, canopied by that inverted bowl commonly called the sky. To write a tavern not deserted to left a potter's house at back the grave of bah Rahm. Whence a sound of sing proceeds. A wild ass stamps fitfully upon it. It is four o'clock in the morning,
and the false storm shows in the sky. In the center of the stage stand a lion and a lizard, eyeing each other mistrustfully.
Look here, do you keep these courts? Or do I?
Lizard resentfully?
I don't know.
I believe we both keep them.
Lion sarcastically.
Do you, then I venture to differ from you?
Perhaps you rather turns?
Oh, no, I wouldn't. I mean to have this job to myself.
He and the lizard close in mortal combat. After a gallant struggle, the latter is killed and the lion proceeds to eat him. Suddenly, a shadowy form issues from the grave at back of stage.
Bahrah By jove confound that.
Jackass boats remains a lizard and then bolts himself. Pursued by shadowy form.
They said I couldn't wake him, but I knew better.
He exit in triumph. A sound in revelry becomes noticeable from the tavern. A crowd gathers outside. The voice of Omar rather tipsy is.
Heard when all the temple in prepare within. Why nods? A lady worship outside?
A cock crows, and the sun rises. Crowd shouting in unison. You know how little.
While I have to stay, and once departed.
We shall get back again.
Opening the door and appearing unsteadily on the threshold.
You goddamn, it's.
Close his door again? I say, what rot excient depressed nightingale jubilantly from tree wine wine, red wine rose from neighboring bush. Much shocked, my dear.
You don't know how your passion for alcohol shocks me.
Oh yes I do. But every morning brings a thousand roses. After all, you're cheap, drum sheet, and I like our liquor, and plenty of it.
Shaking her head, did disapproval?
I heard? He drank deep?
Of course he did. You should have seen him when her team caught to supper. He simply went for it.
Blushing crimson, how dreadful, contemptuously, I.
Dare say, But you wouldn't be so red yourself. If some buried Caesar didn't fertilize your roots, why even the hyacinth's past isn't altogether creditable. And as for the grass, why I could tell you things about the grass that would scare the soul out.
Of a vegetable. Annoyed, I'm not a vegetable.
Well, well, I can't stay to argue with you. I've but a little time to flutter myself.
Exit on the wing, Enter Omar from tavern. He is by this time magnificently intoxicated, and is leaning on the arm of a fascinating Saki. He has a jug of wine in his hand, trying to kiss her.
Ah, my belabborn, fill the cap that clears to die of past regrets and future fears. To morrow?
Why to morrow, I might be interrupting.
I know what you're going to say. Tomorrow you'll be sober, but you won't. I know you go home, home, Eh?
What do I want with home? Book of verses underneath the bear, or a jag of wine, a life of bread? No, no bread, two jags of wine.
And there puts arm round her waist.
Beside me, singing like a bull.
Bull sings uproariously.
Well then it will Marybally for her tonight.
Fine, an old man like you.
Old, Thank goodness, I am old. When I was young, I went to school and heard the sages. Didn't learn much there, They said, I came like water and went like wind. Horrid, chilly bend a hype sort of doctrine.
Oh no better now jinks from the jug in his hand, watching him anxiously.
Take care, you'll spill it.
Never mind, it won't be all goes to quinch some poor biggest thirst.
Dawn there points below, They.
Say he needs it.
HM shocked, How can you talk so growing argumentative in his cups.
I must obdure the balm of life, I must. I must give up wine for fear of hurt. What is it I'm to fear? Giup? I suppose not.
I takes another drink, trying to take jug from him. There there, you've had enough, fast losing coherence in his extreme intoxication.
I want to talk to you about THEE and me. That's why I want to talk.
About counting on his fingers.
You see, there's the THEE in me, and there's a me in THEE. That's mysticism that he is you've forgot word to say. Miss must light lamp and see if I can't find it, rast be somewhere.
Robert, you're drunk, That's what you are, disgracefully drunk.
Of course I'm drunk. I am today what I was yesterday and tomorrow. I shall not be less kiss.
Me boxing his ears.
I won't have it. I tell you I'm a respectable Saki, and you are not to take liberties, or I'll leave you to find your way home alone, becoming Maudlin.
Don't levy by rose by bulfich of a bullbull. You know how my road is but st with pitfall and with gin.
Disgusted, plenty of gin. I know you never can pass a public house.
Struck with the splendor of the idea.
I say, let's fling the dust aside and naked on the ear of heaven ride. It's shame not to do it.
Flings off hat and stamps on it by way of preliminary scandalized.
If you take anything else off, I shall call the police.
Exit hurriedly terrified.
Here Saki, you go back Whomon Divide by way without you a pause? What's come to the girl? I only spoke meta fory Kelly. Difficult word to say, meta fory.
Kelly, longer pause to get home.
Can't go alone, must wait for someone to come along.
Peers tipsilly about him.
Strange isn't it that there are lots of people go along here every day? Not one returns to tell me of the road. Very strange. Spurs a sleep here, spurs.
Rolls into ditch and falls asleep. The curtain falls for a moment. When it rises again. Day is departing and it is growing dark. Omar is still in his ditch. The door of the potter's house to the left of the stage is open, the potter having betaken himself to the tavern opposite, and the pots within are arguing fiercely. Don't tell me I was only made to be broken. I know better. Even a peevish boy wouldn't break me.
The potter would whack him if he did.
Third part of a more ungainly make depends.
On what he drank out of you. What's that you say, you lopsided object?
That's right?
Sneer at me? 'TI isn't my fault. If the potter's hand shook when he made me, he was not sober.
Fourth part, I think at Sufi pipkin.
It's all very well to talk about pot and Potter.
What I want to know is what did the pot call the kettle grumbling?
I believe my clothes too dry. That's the matter with me.
The moon rises, a step is heard without creaking. Enter Potter from tavern Crossley.
Shut up and there I'll break some of you.
The pots tremble, and a silent seeing omar.
Hello, come out of that. You're in my ditch.
Lifts him into sitting posture by the collar, rubbing his eyes.
Eh, what's that? Oh? My head, my head.
Clasps it between his hands.
Get up.
You've been drying, thinking, dazed at his penetration.
I won day. He guessed that.
It's plain enough. You've been providing your fading life with liquor. I can see that with half an eye.
I have, I have, I've drew on my glory in a shallow cup, and my head's very bad.
You should take the pledge.
Oh, I've sworn to give up drink.
Lots of times, doubtfully, but was.
I sober when I swore?
Tell me that scratching his head, don't know, staggering to his feet, what.
But the desert of the fountain. Heeled one glimpse in more prosaic language, could you get me something to drink? I'm rather star scattered myself, and the grass is wet.
Potter goes to house and takes up third part at random. Third part delighted.
Now he's going to fill me with the old familiar juice.
Potter fills him with water and returns to Omar. Third part disgusted water.
Well, I'm dashed, many thinks, Oh Saki, here's.
The yo Jane speaker.
Ugh, I don't think MATCHI your liquor. I wish the moon wouldn't look at me like that. She's a basically color. Why doesn't she look the other way?
Sarcastically wants to see you, I suppose darkly.
Well, someday she won't. That's all fair will, o'm shaki. Yours is a joyous errand but I wish you had put something stronger in the.
Glass, handing it back to him.
Turn it down. There's a good fellow.
Exit the end. End of Omar and Oh My, and of mister Punchure's Dramatic Sequels by St. John Hankin