The Cornish Play


Mystics versus Boconnoc at Boconnoc House, 31st July 2012

SCENE II. A camp near Boconnoc.
Alarum within. Enter Peter and Rita, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding player
Rita:
What bloody man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the game
The newest state.

Peter:
This must be th' player
Who like a good and hardy player fought
'Gainst Our imminent defeat. Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the game
As the newest state.

Grumpy:
Doubtful it stood;
As two spent gymnasts, that do cling to chairs
And choke their art. The merciless Boconnoc -
Unworthy to be called a team, for to that
The multiplying villanies of batsmen
Who did swarm upon our bowlers with their bats
Of Sixes and Fours is supplied;
And Luck was with them, on our dropped catches smiling,
Show'd like a batsmen's charm: but all's too weak:
For brave Chris Squire well he deserves that name
Laughing at luck, with his brandished bowlers,
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Who carved out his passage, Till he faced the Final bat,
He brought on Joseph;
Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from middle to leg,
And fix'd his bail about 5 yards back.

Rita:
O valiant cousin! Worthy gentleman!

Grumpy:
Whence the tea break was gone
Our brave troops took to the crease,
But 'twas not as we had expected:
For our troops did soon fall to the merciless Boconnoc attack,
We lost several brave men. Mark, king of Cornwall, mark:
No sooner Matt and Duncan sent the openers
Skipping kerns to trust their heels,
But the Boconnoc lord surveying vantage,
With furbish'd balls and new supplies of bowlers
Began a fresh assault; To which Matt fell for a gallant 25.

Rita:
Dismay'd not this
Our captains, Chris and Sean?

Grumpy:
Yes;
As Hayder dogs, or Derek the spider.
If I say sooth, I must report they were.
As bats overcharged with double cracks, so they
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Duncan and myself fought with little help;
But we battled on no less;
Till I endeth the game with a six to long-on:
But now I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

Rita:
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
They smack of honour both. Go get him ice cubes.



Fraser Chave


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