etting  to take into
account the fact that one  is <i>dead ...</i>  which should make a  difference  ...
shouldn't it? I mean, you'd never  <i>know</i> you  were in  a  box, would  you? It
would  be just  like being <i>asleep</i>  in a box. Not that I'd like to sleep in a
box,  mind you, not  without any air -  you'd wake  up dead, for a start and
then where  would you be? Apart from  inside a box. That's the bit  I  don't
like, frankly. That's why I don't think of it....
     (GUIL <i>stirs restlessly, pulling his cloak round him</i>.)
     Because you'd be helpless, wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box  like that, I
mean you'd  be  in  there  for ever. Even  taking into account the fact that
you're dead,  really ... <i>ask</i>  yourself, if  I asked you  straight off  - I'm
going to stuff you in  this box  now,  would you  rather  be alive  or dead?
Naturally, you'd prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at
all. I expect. You'd have a chance at least. You could lie there  thinking -
well, at  least I'm not dead! In a minute someone's going to bang on the lid
and tell  me  to come out. (<i>Banging on the floor with his fists.</i>)  "Hey you,
whatsyername! Come out of there!"
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>jumps up savagely</i>)<i>:</i> You don't have to flog it to death!
     (<i>Pause.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>:  I  wouldn't  think  about  it, if  I were  you.  You'd  only  get
depressed. (<i>Pause.</i>) Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean, where's it going
to  end?  (<i>Pause, then brightly.</i>)  Two early  Christians chanced to  meet in
Heaven. "Saul of  Tarsus yet!" cried  one. "What are <i>you</i> doing  here?!"  ...
"Tarsus-Schmarsus", replied the other, "I'm Paul already."
     (ROS <i>stands up restlessly and flaps his arms.</i>)
     They  don't care.  We count for nothing.  We could  remain  silent till
we're green in the face, they wouldn't come.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Blue, red.
     <B>ROS</B>: A  Christian,  a  Moslem and a Jew  chanced to meet  in  a  closed
carriage....  "Silverstein!"  cried the Jew, "Who's  your  friend?" ... "His
name's Abdullah", replied  the Moslem, "but he's no friend of  mine since he
became a convert." (<i>He leaps up again, stamps his  foot and shouts  into the
wings.</i>) All right, we know  you're in there! Come out  talking! (<i>Pause.</i>)  We
have no control. None at all.... (<i>He paces.</i>) Whatever  became of  the moment
when one  first knew  about  death? There must  have  been one, a moment, in
childhood when  it first  occurred to you that you don't go on for  ever. It
must  have  been  shattering  - stamped into one's memory. And  yet  I can't
remember it. It never occurred to me at all. What does one  make of that? We
must be  born with an intuition of mortality. Before we  know the words  for
it, before we know that there are words, out we come, bloodied and squalling
with the knowledge that for all the compasses in the world, there's only one
direction, and  time  is  its  only  measure.  (<i>He  reflects,  getting  more
desperate and rapid.</i>) A Hindu, a Buddhist  and a lion-tamer chanced to meet,
in a circus on  the Indo-Chinese border. (<i>He  breaks out.</i>) They're taking us
for granted! Well,  I won't stand for it!  In future, notice will be  taken.
(<i>He wheels again to face into the wings.</i>) Keep out, then! I forbid anyone to
enter! (<i>No one comes - Breathing heavily.</i>) That's better....
     (<i>Immediately,  behind  him   a  grand  procession  enters,  principally</i>
CLAUDIUS, GERTRUDE,  POLONIUS <i>and</i> OPHELIA. CLAUDIUS <i>takes</i>  ROS's <i>elbow as he
passes and is immediately deep in  conversation: the  context is Shakespeare
Act  III,  Scene  i</i>. GUIL  <i>still  faces front as</i>  CLAUDIUS,  ROS, <i>etc., pass
upstage and turn.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Death followed by eternity ... the worst of both worlds. It <i>is</i>  a
terrible thought.
     (<i>He turns upstage in time  to take over the conversation with</i> CLAUDIUS.
GERTRUDE <i>and</i> ROS <i>head downstage.</i>)
     <B>GERTRUDE</B>: Did he receive you well?
     <B>ROS</B>: Most like a gentleman.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>returning  in time  to  take it up</i>)<i>:</i> But with much forcing of his
disposition.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>a flat lie and  he  knows it and shows it, perhaps catching</i> GUIL's
<i>eye</i>)<i>:</i> Niggard of question, but of our demands most free in his reply.
     <B>GERTRUDE</B>: Did you assay him to any pastime?
     <B>ROS</B>: Madam, it so fell out that certain players
     We o'erraught on the way: of these we told him
     And there did seem in him a kind of joy
     To hear of it. They are here about the court,
     And, as I think, they have already order
     This night to play before him.
     <B>POLONIUS</B>: 'Tis most true
     And he beseeched me to entreat your Majesties
     To hear and see the matter.
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: With all my heart, and it doth content me
     To hear him so inclined.
     Good gentlemen, give him a further edge
     And drive his purpose into these delights.
     <B>ROS</B>: We shall, my lord.
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B> (<i>leading out procession</i>)<i>:</i>
     Sweet Gertrude, leave us, too,
     For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
     That he, as t'were by accident, may here
     Affront Ophelia....
     (<i>Exeunt</i> CLAUDIUS <i>and</i> GERTRUDE.)
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>peevish</i>)<i>:</i> Never a moment's peace! In and out, on and off, they're
coming at us from all sides.
     <B>GUIL</B>: You're never satisfied.
     <B>ROS</B>: Catching us on the trot.... Why can't <i>we</i> go by <i>them!</i>
     <B>GUIL</B>: What's the difference?
     <B>ROS</B>: I'm going.
     (ROS  <i>pulls his cloak round him.</i> GUIL <i>ignores  him.  Without confidence</i>
ROS <i>heads upstage. He looks out and comes back quickly.</i>)
     He's coming.
     <B>GUIL</B>: What's he doing?
     <B>ROS</B>: Nothing.
     <B>GUIL</B>: He must be doing something.
     <B>ROS</B>: Walking.
     <B>GUIL</B>: On his hands?
     <B>ROS</B>: No, on his feet.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Stark naked?
     <B>ROS</B>: Fully dressed.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Selling toffee apples?
     <B>ROS</B>: Not that I noticed.
     <B>GUIL</B>: You could be wrong?
     <B>ROS</B>: I don't think so.
     (<i>Pause.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>:  I  can't for the life  of me  see how  we're  going to  get into
conversation.
     (HAMLET <i>enters  upstage, and pauses, weighing  up the pros  and cons of
making his quietus.</i>)
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>watch him.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>:  Nevertheless,  I suppose one might say that this was a chance....
One might well ... accost him.... Yes, it definitely looks like a chance  to
me.... Something on  the  lines of a direct informal approach ... man to man
... straight from the shoulder.... Now look here,  what's it  all  about ...
sort of thing. Yes. Yes, this looks like one to be  grabbed with both hands,
I  should  say ... if I were asked.... No  point in looking at a gift  horse
till you see the whites of its eyes, etcetera. (<i>He has moved towards</i>  HAMLET
<i>but his nerve fails. He returns.</i>) We're overawed, that's  our  trouble. When
it comes to the point we succumb to their personality....
     (OPHELIA <i>enters, with prayerbook, a religious procession of one.</i>)
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.
     (<i>At his voice she has stopped for him, he catches her up.</i>)
     <B>OPHELIA</B>: Good my lord, how does your honour for this many a day?
     <B>HAMLET</B>: I humbly thank you - well, well, well.
     (<i>They disappear talking into the wing.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: It's like living in a public park!
     <B>GUIL</B>: Very impressive. Yes, I thought your direct informal approach was
going  to  stop this thing  dead  in  its tracks there.  If I  might make  a
suggestion - shut up and sit down. Stop being perverse.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>near tears</i>)<i>:</i> I'm not going to stand for it!
     (<I>A</I> FEMALE FIGURE, <i>ostensibly  the</i> QUEEN, <i>enters.</i> ROS <i>marches  up behind
her, puts his hands over her eyes and says with a desperate frivolity.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Guess who?!
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>having appeared in a downstage corner</i>)<i>:</i> Alfred!
     (ROS <i>lets go, spins around. He had been holding</i> ALFRED, <i>in his robe and
blonde wig.</i> PLAYER <i>is in the downstage  corner still.</i> ROS <i>comes down to that
exit. The</i> PLAYER <i>does not budge. He and</i> ROS <i>stand toe to toe.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Excuse me.
     (<i>The</i>  PLAYER <i>lifts his downstage foot.</i> ROS <i>bends to put his hand on the
floor. The</i> PLAYER <i>lowers his foot.</i> ROS <i>screams and leaps away.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>gravely</i>): I beg your pardon.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>to</i> ROS): What did he do?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: I put my foot down.
     <B>ROS</B>: My hand was on the floor!
     <B>GUIL</B>: You put your hand under his foot?
     <B>ROS</B>: I - -
     <B>GUIL</B>: What for?
     <B>ROS</B>: I thought - - (<i>Grabs</i> GUIL.)
     Don't leave me!
     (<i>He makes a break for  an exit. A</i> TRAGEDIAN <i>dressed  as</i> a king  <i>enters,</i>
ROS <i>recoils, breaks for the opposite wing. Two cloaked</i> tragedians <i>enter.</i> ROS
<i>tries again</i>  but <i>another</i>  tragedian <i>enters, and</i> ROS <i>retires to midstage. The</i>
PLAYER <i>claps his hands matter-of-factly.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Right! We haven't got much time.
     <B>GUIL</B>: What are you doing?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Dress  rehearsal. Now  if you  two  wouldn't  mind just  moving
back... there ... good.... (<i>To</i> TRAGEDIANS.) Everyone ready? And for goodness
sake,  remember what we're doing.  (<i>To</i> ROS <i>and</i> GUIL.) We always use the same
costumes more or less, and they forget what they are supposed  to  be <i>in</i> you
see.... Stop picking your nose,  Alfred. When Queens have to they do it by a
cerebral process passed down in the blood.... Good. Silence! Off we go!
     <B>PLAYER</B>-<B>KING</B>: Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart - -
     (PLAYER <i>jumps up angrily.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  No,  no, no! Dumbshow first, your confounded  majesty! (<i>To</i> ROS
<i>and</i>  GUIL.)  They're  a  bit  out  of  practice,  but  they  always  pick up
wonderfully for the deaths - it brings out the poetry in them.
     <B>GUIL</B>: How nice.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: There's nothing more unconvincing than an, unconvincing death.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I'm sure.
     (PLAYER <i>claps his hands.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Act One - moves now.
     (<i>The  mime. Soft  music from a recorder.</i> PLAYER-KING  <i>and</i>  PLAYER-QUEEN
<i>embrace. She kneels and makes  a  show of protestation to him. He  takes her
up, declining his head upon her neck. He lies down. She, seeing  him asleep,
leaves him.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: What is the dumbshow for?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Well, it's a device, really - it makes the action  that follows
more or less comprehensible; you understand, we  are tied down to a language
which makes up in obscurity what it lacks in style.
     (<i>The  mime</i>  (<i>continued</i>) <i>-  enter another. He takes  off  the</i>  SLEEPER<i>'s
crown, kisses it. He had brought in a small bottle  of liquid.  He pours the
poison  in  the</i>  SLEEPER<i>'s  ear,  and  leaves  him.  The</i>  sleeper  <i>convulses
heroically, dying.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Who was that?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: The King's brother and uncle to the Prince.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Not exactly fraternal.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Not exactly avuncular, as time goes on.
     (<i>The</i> QUEEN <i>returns, makes passionate action, finding the</i> KING <i>dead. The</i>
POISONER <i>comes in  again, attended  by two  others</i> (<i>the two in cloaks</i>)<i>.  The</i>
POISONER  <i>seems  to  console  with  her. The dead body  is carried away. The</i>
POISONER  <i>woos the</i>  QUEEN <i>with  gifts. She seems harsh awhile but in the end
accepts  his love.  End of  mime,  at which  point,  the  wail of a woman in
torment  and</i>  OPHELIA  <i>appears,  wailing,  closely  followed by</i> HAMLET <i>in  a
hysterical state, shouting at her, circling her, both midstage.</i>)
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad!
     (<i>She falls on her knees weeping.</i>)
     I say we  will have no more marriage!  (<i>His voice drops  to include the</i>
TRAGEDIANS, <i>who have frozen.</i>) Those that are married already (<i>he leans close
to the</i> PLAYER-QUEEN <i>and</i>  POISONER, <i>speaking  with quiet  edge</i>) all  but  one
shall live. (<i>He  smiles briefly at them without mirth,  and starts  to  back
out, his parting shot rising again.</i>) The rest shall keep as they are. (<i>As he
leaves,</i> OPHELIA <i>tottering upstage,  he speaks into her  ear  a quick clipped
sentence.</i>) To a nunnery, go.
     (<i>He  goes out.</i>  OPHELIA <i>falls  on  her knees  upstage, her  sobs barely
audible. A slight silence.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER-KING</B>: Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart - -
     (CLAUDIUS <i>enters  with</i> POLONIUS <i>and goes  over to</i> OPHELIA <i>and lifts her
to her feet. The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>jump back with heads inclined.</i>)
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: Love? His affections do not that way tend,
     Or what he spake, though it lacked form a little,
     Was not like madness. There's something
     in his soul o'er which his melancholy sits on
     brood, and I do doubt the hatch and the
     disclose will be some danger; which for to
     prevent I have in quick determination thus set
     it down: he shall with speed to England....
     (<i>Which carries the three of them -</i> CLAUDIUS, POLONIUS, OPHELIA - <i>out of
sight. The</i> PLAYER <i>moves, clapping his hands for attention.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Gentlemen! (<i>They look at him.</i>) It doesn't seem to be coming. We
are not getting it at all. (<i>To</i> GUIL.) What did you think?
     <B>GUIL</B>: What was I supposed to think?
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>to</i> TRAGEDIANS): You're not getting across!
     (ROS <i>had gone halfway up to</i> OPHELIA; <i>he returns.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: That didn't look like love to me.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Starting from scratch again....
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>to</i> TRAGEDIANS): It was a <i>mess.</i>
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>to</i> GUIL): It's going to be chaos on the night.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Keep back - we're spectators.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Act two! Positions!
     <B>GUIL</B>: Wasn't that the end?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Do you call that an ending? - with  practically everyone on his
feet? My goodness no - over your dead body.
     <B>GUIL</B>: How am I supposed to take that?
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  Lying down.  (<i>He laughs  briefly  and  in  a second has  never
laughed in his life.</i>) There's a design at work in  all art - surely you know
that?  Events must  play  themselves out  to  aesthetic, moral  and  logical
conclusion.
     <B>GUIL</B>: And what's that, in this case?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: It  never  varies  - we aim  at the point where everyone who is
marked for death dies.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Marked?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Between "just desserts" and "tragic irony" we are given quite a
lot of scope for our particular talent. Generally speaking, things have gone
about as far as  they can possibly go when  things have  got about as bad as
they reasonably get. (<i>He switches on a smile.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Who decides?
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>switching off his smile</i>)<i>: Decides?</i>  It  is <i>written.</i>  (<i>He  turns
away.</i>  GUIL  <i>grabs him and spins him back  violently.</i>) (<i>Unflustered.</i>) Now if
you're going to be subtle, we'll miss each  other in the dark. I'm referring
to oral tradition. So to speak.
     (GUIL <i>releases him.</i>)
     We're  tragedians,  you see.  We  follow directions-there  is no <i>choice</i>
involved. The bad end unhappily, the  good unluckily. That is  what  tragedy
means. (<i>Calling.</i>)
     Positions!
     (<i>The</i> TRAGEDIANS  <i>have taken up  positions for  the  continuation of the
mime: which  in this case means a love scene, sexual and passionate, between
the</i> QUEEN <i>and the</i> POISONER/KING.)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Go!
     (<i>The lovers begin. The</i> PLAYER <i>contributes a breathless  commentary  for</i>
ROS <i>and</i> GUIL.)
     Having murdered his brother and wooed the widow-the poisoner mounts the
throne! Here we see him and his queen give rein to their  unbridled passion!
She little knowing that the man she holds in her arms--!
     <B>ROS</B>: Oh, I say-here-really! You can't do that!
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Why not?
     <B>ROS</B>: Well, really-I mean, people want to be <i>entertained</i>-they don't come
expecting sordid and gratuitous filth.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: You're wrong  - they do! Murder, seduction and incest - what do
you want -<i>jokes?</i>
     <B>ROS</B>: I want a good story, with a beginning, middle and end.
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>to</i> GUIL): And you?
     <B>GUIL</B>: I'd prefer art to mirror life, if it's all the same to you.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: It's all the same to me, sir. (<i>To the grappling</i> LOVERS.)
     All right, no need to indulge yourselves. (<i>They get up</i>-<i>To</i> GUIL.) I come
on  in a minute. Lucianus, nephew to  the king! (<i>Turns his attention  to the</i>
TRAGEDIANS.) Next<b>!</b>
     (<i>They  disport themselves to accommodate the next piece of mime,  which
consists   of  the</i>   PLAYER  <i>himself   exhibiting   an   excitable   anguish</i>
(<i>choreographed, stylized</i>) <i>leading  to an  impassioned scene with  the</i>  QUEEN
(<i>cf. "The Closet Scene", Shakespeare Act III, Scene iv</i>) <i>and  a very stylized
reconstruction  of  a</i> POLONIUS  <i>figure being stabbed behind  the  arras</i> (<i>the
murdered</i> KING <i>to  stand in for</i> POLONIUS) <i>while the</i> PLAYER <i>himself  continues
his breathless commentary for the benefit of</i> ROS <i>and</i> GUIL.)
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  Lucianus, nephew to  the  king ... usurped  by his  uncle  and
shattered  by  his mother's incestuous  marriage ...  loses  his  reason ...
throwing the court into turmoil and disarray as he alternates between bitter
melancholy and unrestricted lunacy ... staggering from the suicidal (<i>a pose</i>)
to the homicidal (<i>here he  kills</i> "POLONIUS"). ... he at  last  confronts his
mother and in a scene of provocative  ambiguity-(<i>a somewhat oedipal embrace</i>)
begs her to repent and recant--
     (<i>He  springs  up,  still talking.</i>)  The  King-(<i>he  pushes  forward  the</i>
POISONER/KING)  tormented by guilt-haunted  by fear-decides  to despatch his
nephew  to  England-and   entrusts   this   undertaking   to   two   smiling
accomplices-friends-courtiers-to two spies-
     (<i>He has  swung  round to bring together  the</i> POISONER/KING <i>and the  two
cloaked</i> TRAGEDIANS; <i>the latter kneel and accept a scroll from the</i> KING.)
     -giving them a letter to present to the English court--!
     And so they depart-on board ship--
     (<i>The two</i> SPIES <i>position  themselves on either side of  the</i> PLAYER,  <i>and
the three of them sway gently in unison, the motion of  a boat; and then the</i>
PLAYER <i>detaches himself.</i>)
     -and they arrive-
     (<i>One</i> SPY <i>shades his eyes at the horizon.</i>)
     -and  disembark-and present  themselves  before  the  English  king-(<i>He
wheels round.</i>)  The  English king--  (<i>An exchange of  headgear  creates  the</i>
ENGLISH KING <i>from  the  remaining player-that is, the</i> PLAYER <i>who  played the
original murdered king.</i>)
     But where  is the Prince?  Where indeed? The plot has thickened-a twist
of  fate and cunning has put into their hands  a  letter  that  seals  their
deaths!
     (<i>The two</i>  SPIES <i>present  their  letter; the</i> ENGLISH KING <i>reads  it  and
orders  their  deaths. They  stand up  as the</i> PLAYER <i>whips off  their cloaks
preparatory to execution.</i>)
     Traitors  hoist by  their own petard?-or  victims of the gods?-we shall
never know!
     (<i>The whole mime has been fluid and continuous but now</i> ROS <i>moves forward
and brings it  to a  pause.  What brings</i>  ROS <i>forward is the fact that under
their  cloaks the two</i> SPIES <i>are wearing coats identical to those worn by</i> ROS
<i>and</i> GUIL, <i>whose coats are now covered by their cloaks.</i> ROS <i>approaches "his''</i>
SPY <i>doubtfully. He does not quite understand why the coats are familiar.</i> ROS
<i>stands close, touches the coat, thoughtfully...</i>.)
     <B>ROS</B>: Well, if it isn't--! No, wait a  minute, don't tell me-it's a long
time since-where was it? Ah, this is  taking  me back to-when was it? I know
you, don't I? I never forget a face-(<i>he looks into the</i> SPY'S <i>face</i>)<i>.</i> not that
I know yours that is. For a  moment  I thought- no, I don't know you,  do I?
Yes, I'm afraid you're  quite  wrong. You must have mistaken me  for someone
else.
     (GUIL <i>meanwhile has approached the other</i> SPY, <i>brow creased in thought.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>to</i> GUIL): Are you familiar with this play?
     <B>GUIL</B>: No.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: A slaughterhouse-eight corpses all told. It brings out the best
in us.
     <B>GUIL</B>   (<i>tense,  progressively  rattled   during  the  whole   mime  and
commentary</i>)<i>:</i> You!-What do <i>you</i> know about <i>death</i>?
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  It's what the actors do  best. They have  to  exploit whatever
talent is given to them, and their talent is dying. They can die heroically,
comically, ironically, slowly, suddenly, disgustingly, charmingly, or from a
great  height. My own  talent  is more general. I  extract significance from
melodrama,   a  significance  which  it  does   not  in  fact  contain;  but
occasionally, from  out  of this  matter, there escapes a thin beam of light
that, seen at the right angle, can crack the shell of mortality.
     <B>ROS</B>: Is that all they can do-die?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No, no-they kill beautifully. In fact  some  of them kill  even
better than they die. The rest die better than they kill. They're a team.
     <B>ROS</B>: Which ones are which?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: There's not much in it.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>fear, derision</i>)<i>:</i> Actors!  The mechanics of cheap  melodrama! That
isn't <i>death</i>! (<i>More quietly.</i>) You scream  and choke  and  sink to your knees,
but it doesn't bring death home to anyone-it doesn't catch them unawares and
start the whisper in their skulls that says-"One day  you are going to die."
(<i>He straightens  up.</i>) You  die so many  times;  how  can you expect them  to
believe in your death?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: On  the contrary, it's the only kind  they do  believe. They're
conditioned  to  it.  I had an  actor once  who was  condemned  to hang  for
stealing  a sheep-or a lamb, I forget which-so I got permission to have  him
hanged in the middle of a play-had to change the plot a bit but I thought it
would be effective, you  know-and you wouldn't  believe  it, he just  <i>wasn't</i>
convincing! It was  impossible to suspend one's, disbelief-and what with the
audience jeering and throwing  peanuts, the whole thing  was  a <i>disaster</i>!<i>-</i>he
did nothing but cry all the time-right out of character-just stood there and
cried... Never again.
     (<i>In good humour  he has already  turned back to the mime: the two</i> SPIES
<i>awaiting  execution  at the  hands of the</i>  PLAYER.)  Audiences  know what to
expect,  and that is  all that  they  are prepared  to believe  in.  (<i>To the</i>
SPIES.)
     Show!
     (<i>The</i> SPIES <i>die at some length, rather well.</i>)
     (<i>The  light has begun to  go,  and  it  fades as they die,  and as</i> GUIL
<i>speaks.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: No, no, no... you've got it all wrong... you can't act death. The
<i>fact</i> of it is nothing to do with seeing it happen - it's not gasps and blood
and falling about  - that isn't what makes it death. It's just a man failing
to reappear, that's all - now you  see him,  now you  don't that's  the only
thing that's real: here one minute and gone the next and never coming back -
an exit, unobtrusive and unannounced, a disappearance gathering weight as it
goes on, until, finally, it is heavy with death.
     (<i>The two</i> SPIES <i>lie still, barely visible.  The</i> PLAYER <i>comes forward and
throws the</i> SPIES' <i>cloaks over their bodies.</i> ROS <i>starts to clap, slowly.</i>)
     BLACKOUT.
     (A second of silence, then much noise. Shouts ... "The <i>King rises!" ...
"Give o'er the play!"... and cries for "Lights, lights, lights!"</i>)
     (<i>When the light comes, after a few seconds, it comes as a sunrise.</i>)
     (<i>The stage is empty save for two cloaked</i> FIGURES <i>sprawled on the ground
in  the  approximate positions  last  held by  the dead</i> SPIES.  <i>As the light
grows,  they  are  seen to  be</i>  ROS  <i>and</i>  GUIL,  <i>and  to  be  resting  quite
comfortably.</i>  ROS <i>raises himself on his  elbows  and shades  his eyes  as he
stares into the auditorium. Finally:</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: That must be east, then. I think we can assume that.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I'm assuming nothing.
     <B>ROS</B>: No, it's all right. That's the sun. East.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>looks up</i>)<i>:</i> Where?
     <B>ROS</B>: I watched it come up.
     <B>GUIL</B>: No...  it was  light all the time, you  see, and you  opened your
eyes  very, very slowly. If you'd  been facing back there you'd be  swearing
<i>that</i> was east.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>standing up</i>)<i>:</i> You're a mass of prejudice.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I've been taken in before.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>looks out over the audience</i>)<i>:</i> Rings a bell.
     <B>GUIL</B>: They're waiting to see what we're going to do.
     <B>ROS</B>: Good old east.
     <B>GUIL</B>:  As soon  as  we make a move  they'll come pouring  in from every
side, shouting obscure instructions, confusing  us with ridiculous  remarks,
messing us about from here to breakfast and getting our names wrong.
     (ROS <i>starts to protest but he has hardly opened his mouth before:</i>)
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B> (<i>off-stage - with urgency</i>)<i>:</i> Ho, Guildenstern!
     (GUIL <i>is still prone. Small pause.</i>)
     <B>ROS AND GUIL</B>: You're wanted...
     (GUIL <i>furiously leaps to his feet as</i> CLAUDIUS <i>and</i>  GERTRUDE <i>enter. They
are in some desperation.</i>)
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: Friends both, go join  you  with  some further aid: Hamlet in
madness  hath  Polonius slain, and from his mother's  closet hath he dragged
him. Go seek him out;  speak fair and bring the body into the chapel. I pray
you haste in this.  (<i>As  he and</i> GERTRUDE  <i>are  hurrying out.</i>) Come Gertrude,
we'll  call up our wisest  friends and let  them  know both what  we mean to
do...
     (<i>They've gone.</i>)
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>remain quite still.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well....
     <B>ROS</B>: Quite....
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well, well.
     <B>ROS</B>: Quite; quite. (<i>Nods with spurious confidence.</i>) Seek him out.
     (<i>Pause.</i>) Etcetera.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Quite.
     <B>ROS</B>: Well. (<i>Small pause.</i>) Well, that's a step in the right direction.
     <B>GUIL:</B> You didn't like him?
     <b>ROS</b>: Who?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Good God, I hope more tears are shed for <i>us</i>! ...
     <B>ROS</B>: Well,  <i>it's progress</i>, isn't it? Something positive.  Seek him out.
(<i>Looks round  without moving his  feet</i>) Where does one begin... ? (<i>Takes one
step towards the wings and halts</i>.)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well, that's a step in the right direction.
     <B>ROS</B>: You think so? He could be anywhere.
     <B>GUIL</B>: All right-you go that way, I'll go this way.
     <B>ROS</B>: Right.
     (<i>They walk towards opposite wings.</i> ROS <i>halts</i>.)
     No.
     (GUIL <i>halts</i>.)
     <i>You</i> go this way-I'll go that way.
     <B>GUIL</B>: All right.
     (<i>They march towards each other, cross.</i> ROS <i>halts</i>.)
     <B>ROS</B>: Wait a minute.
     (GUIL <i>halts.</i>)
     I think we should stick together. He might be violent.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Good point. I'll come with you.
     (GUIL <i>marches across to</i> ROS. <i>They turn to leave.</i> ROS <i>halts.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: No, I'll come with <i>you</i>...
     <B>GUIL</B>: Right.
     (<i>They turn, march across to the opposite wing.</i> ROS <i>halts.</i> GUIL <i>halts</i>.)
     <B>ROS</B>: I'll come with <i>you</i>, <i>my</i> way.
     <B>GUIL</B>: All right.
     (<i>They turn again and march across.</i> ROS <i>halts.</i> GUIL <i>halts</i>.)
     <B>ROS</B>: I've  just thought. If we both go, he could come <i>here</i>. That  would
be stupid, wouldn't it?
     <B>GUIL</B>: All right-I'll stay, you go.
     <B>ROS</B>: Right.
     (GUIL <i>marches to midstage.</i>)
     I say.
     (GUIL  <i>wheels  and  carries on marching  back  towards</i> ROS  <i>who  starts
marching downstage. They cross.</i> ROS <i>halts</i>.)
     I've just thought.
     (<B>GUIL</B> <i>halts</i>.)
     We ought to stick together; he might be violent.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Good point.
     (GUIL <i>marches down to join</i> ROS. <i>They stand  still for a moment in their
original positions</i>.)
     Well, at last we're getting somewhere.
     (<i>Pause</i>.)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Of course, he might not come.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>airily</i>): Oh, he'll come.
     <B>GUIL</B>: We'd have some explaining to do.
     <B>ROS</B>: He'll come. (<i>Airily wanders upstage</i>.) Don't worry-take my word for
it-(<i>looks out-is appalled</i>.) He's coming!
     <B>GUIL</B>: What's he doing?
     <B>ROS</B>: Walking.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Alone?
     <B>ROS</B>: No.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Who's with him?
     <B>ROS</B>: The old man.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Walking?
     <B>ROS</B>: No.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Not walking?
     <B>ROS</B>: No.
     <B>GUIL</B>:  Ah.  That's an opening  if ever  there was one. (<i>And is suddenly
galvanized into action</i>.) Let him walk into the trap!
     <B>ROS</B>: What trap?
     <B>GUIL</B>: You stand there! Don't let him pass!
     (<i>He positions</i> ROS <i>with his back to one wing, facing</i> HAMLET'<i>s entrance</i>.)
     (GUIL <i>positions himself next to</i> ROS, <i>a few feet away, so that  they are
covering one side of the stage, facing the opposite side.</i> GUIL <i>unfastens his
belt.</i> ROS <i>does the same. They join the two belts, and hold them taut between
them.</i> ROS'<i>s trousers slide slowly down</i>.)
     (HAMLET <i>enters opposite, slowly,  dragging</i>  POLONIUS'<i>s</i>  BODY. <i>He enters
upstage,  makes  a  small  arc  and  leaves  by  the same  side, a few  feet
downstage.</i>)
     (ROS  <i>and</i>  GUIL,  <i>holding  the  belts   taut,  stare  at  him  in  some
bewilderment.</i>)
     (HAMLET <i>leaves, dragging the</i> BODY. <i>They relax the strain on the belts.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: That was close.
     <B>GUIL</B>: There's a limit to what two people can do.
     (<i>They undo the belts:</i> ROS <i>pulls up his trousers.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>worriedly</i>-<i>he walks  a few  paces towards</i>  HAMLET'<i>s exit</i>)<i>:</i> He  <i>was</i>
dead.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Of course he's dead!
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>turns to</i> GUIL): Properly.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>angrily</i>): Death's death, isn't it?
     (ROS <i>falls silent. Pause.</i>)
     Perhaps he'll come back this way.
     (ROS <i>starts to take off his belt.</i>)
     No, no, no!-if we can't learn by experience, what else have we got?
     (ROS <i>desists.</i>)
     (<i>Pause.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Give him a shout.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I thought we'd been into all that.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>shouts</i>)<i>:</i> Hamlet!
     <B>GUIL</B>: Don't be absurd.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>shouts</i>)<i>:</i> Lord Hamlet!
     (HAMLET <i>enters.</i> ROS <i>is a little dismayed.</i>)
     What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
     <B>ROS</B>: Tell  us where 'tis, that we may take it thence and bear it to the
chapel.
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Do not believe it.
     <B>ROS</B>: Believe what?
     <B>HAMLET</B>:  That I can keep your counsel and not mine own. Besides,  to be
demanded of a sponge, what replication should be made by the son of a king?
     <B>ROS</B>: Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's countenance, his rewards, his
authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end. He keeps
them, like  an  ape,  in the corner  of  his jaw,  first mouthed, to be last
swallowed. When he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you and,
sponge, you shall be dry again.
     <B>ROS</B>: I understand you not, my lord.
     <B>HAMLET</B>: I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.
     <B>ROS</B>: My lord, you must tell  us where the body is and go with us to the
King.
     <B>HAMLET</B>:  The body is with the King, but the  King is not with the body.
The King is a thing-
     <B>GUIL</B>: A thing, my lord -?
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Of nothing. Bring me to him.
     (HAMLET  <i>moves  resolutely  towards  one  wing.  They  move  with  him,
shepherding.  Just  before  they reach the  exit,</i>  HAMLET, <i>apparently seeing</i>
CLAUDIUS <i>approaching from off  stage, bends low in  a  sweeping bow.</i> ROS <i>and</i>
GUIL, <i>cued by</i> HAMLET<i>,  also  bow deeply-a sweeping ceremonial bow with their
cloaks swept  round  them.</i> HAMLET,  <i>however, continues the movement  into an
about-turn and walks off in the opposite direction.</i> ROS <i>and</i> GUIL, <i>with their
heads low, do not notice. No one comes on.</i> ROS  <i>and</i> GUIL  <i>squint upwards and
find that they are bowing to nothing.</i>
     CLAUDIUS <i>enters behind  them. At his  first words they leap up and do a
double-take.</i>)
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: How now? What hath befallen?
     <B>ROS</B>: Where the body is bestowed, my lord, we cannot get from him.
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: But where is he?
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>fractional  hesitation</i>)<i>:</i>  Without, my lord; guarded to know  your
pleasure.
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B> (<i>moves</i>)<i>:</i> Bring him before us.
     (<i>This hits</i> ROS  <i>between the eyes but only his eyes  show it.  Again his
hesitation  is  fractional. And  then  with  great deliberation he turns  to</i>
GUIL.)
     <B>ROS</B>: Ho! Bring in the lord.
     (<i>Again  there is  a fractional  moment  in which</i> ROS <i>is  smug,</i> CUIL  <i>is
trapped and betrayed.</i> GUIL <i>opens his mouth and closes it.</i>)
     (<i>The situation is saved;</i>)
     (HAMLET, <i>escorted, is  marched in just  as</i> CLAUDIUS  <i>leaves.</i> HAMLET <i>and
his</i> ESCORT <i>cross the stage and go out, following</i> CLAUDIUS.)
     (<i>Lighting changes to Exterior.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>moves to go</i>)<i>:</i> All right, then?
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>does not move: thoughtfully</i>)<i>:</i> And yet it doesn't seem  enough; to
have breathed such significance. Can that be ail? And why  us?-anybody would
have done. And we have contributed nothing.
     <B>ROS</B>: It was a trying episode  while it lasted, but they've done with us
now.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Done what?
     <B>ROS</B>:  I  don't  pretend  to  have  understood. Frankly,  I'm  not  very
interested.  If they won't tell us, that's their affair. (<i>He wanders upstage
towards  the  exit.</i>) For my part, I'm  only glad that  that's the last we've
seen  of him-  (<i>And he glances offstage and turns front,  his face betraying
the fact that</i> HAMLET <i>is there.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: I knew it wasn't the end....
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>high</i>)<i>:</i> What else?!
     <B>GUIL</B>: We're taking him to England. What's he doing?
     (ROS <i>goes upstage and returns.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Talking.
     <B>GUIL</B>: To himself?
     (ROS <i>makes to go,</i> GUIL <i>cuts him off.</i>)
     Is he alone?
     <B>ROS</B>: No, he's with a soldier,
     <B>GUIL</B>: Then he's not talking to himself, is he?
     <B>ROS</B>: Not <i>by</i> himself... Should we go?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Where?
     <B>ROS</B>: Anywhere.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Why?
     (ROS <i>puts up his head listening.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: There it is again. (<i>In anguish.</i>) All I ask is a change of ground!
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>coda</i>)<i>:</i> Give us this day our daily round...
     (HAMLET <i>enters  behind them, talking with  a soldier in arms.</i>  ROS  <i>and</i>
GUIL <i>don't look round.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: They'll have us hanging about till  we're dead.  At least. And the
weather will change. (<i>Looks up.</i>) The spring can't last for ever.
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Good sir, whose powers are these?
     <B>SOLDIER</B>: They are of Norway, sir.
     <B>HAMLET</B>: How purposed, sir, I pray you?
     <B>SOLDIER</B>: Against some part of Poland.
     <B>HAMLET</B>: Who commands them, sir?
     <B>SOLDIER</B>: The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.
     <B>ROS</B>: We'll be cold. The summer won't last.
     <B>GUIL</B>: It's autumnal.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>examining the ground</i>)<i>:</i> No leaves.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Autumnal-nothing  to  do with  leaves. It is to do with a certain
brownness  at the edges of the  day... Brown is creeping  up  on us, take my
word for it... Russets and tangerine shades  of old  gold flushing the  very
outside  edge  of  the  senses...  deep  shining  ochres,  burnt  umber  and
parchments of baked earth-reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering
the light. At such  times, perhaps, coincidentally,  the  leaves might fall,
somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>head up, listening</i>)<i>:</i> I got it again then.
     (<i>They listen-faintest sound of</i> TRAGEDIANS' <i>band.</i>)
     <B>HAMLET</B>: I humbly thank you, sir.
     <B>SOLDIER</B>: God by you, sir. (<i>Exit.</i>)
     (ROS <i>gets up quickly and goes to</i> <B>HAMLET</B>.)
     <B>ROS</B>: Will it please you go, my lord?
     <B>HAMLET</B>: I'll be with you straight. Go you a little before.
     (HAMLET  <i>turns  to  face upstage.</i> ROS <i>returns down.</i> GUIL  <i>faces  front,
doesn't turn.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Is he there?
     <B>ROS</B>: Yes.
     <B>GUIL</B>: What's he doing?
     (ROS <i>looks over his shoulder.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Talking.
     <B>GUIL</B>: To himself?
     <B>ROS</B>: Yes.
     (<i>Pause.</i> ROS <i>makes to leave.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: He <i>said</i> we can go. Cross my heart.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I  like to know where I am.  Even if I don't  know  where I am, I
like to know <i>that.</i> If we go there's no knowing.
     <B>ROS</B>: No knowing what?
     <B>GUIL</B>: If we'll ever come back.
     <B>ROS</B>: We don't want to come back.
     <B>GUIL</B>: That may very well be true, but do we want to go?
     <B>ROS</B>: We'll be free.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I don't know. It's the same sky.
     <B>ROS</B>: We've come this far.
     (<i>He moves towards exit.</i> GUIL <i>follows him.</i>)
     And besides, anything could happen yet.

     (<i>They go.</i>)


     BLACKOUT
     <u>
     <i><b>Act three</u></i>
     </b><i>Opens in pitch darkness.
     Soft sea sounds.
     After several seconds of nothing, a voice from the dark .</i>

     <B>GUIL</B>: Are you there?
     <B>ROS</B>: Where?
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>bitterly</i>)<i>:</i> A flying start....
     (<i>Pause.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Is that you?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes.
     <B>ROS</B>: How do you know?
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>explosion</i>)<i>:</i> Oh-for-God's-sake!
     <B>ROS</B>: We're not finished, then?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well, we're here, aren't we?
     <B>ROS</B>: Are we? I can't see a thing.
     <B>GUIL</B>: You can still <i>think,</i> can't you?
     <B>ROS</B>: I think so.
     <B>GUIL</B>: You can still <i>talk.</i>
     <B>ROS</B>: What should I say?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Don't bother. You <i>can feel,</i> can't you?
     <B>ROS</B>: Ah! There's life in me yet!
     <B>GUIL</B>: What are you feeling?
     <B>ROS</B>: A leg. Yes, it feels like my leg.
     <B>GUIL</B>: How does it feel?
     <B>ROS</B>: Dead.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Dead?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>panic</i>)<i>:</i> I can't feel a thing!
     <B>GUIL</B>: Give it a pinch! (<i>Immediately he yelps.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Sorry.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well, that's cleared that up.
     (<i>Longer pause: the sound builds a little and identifies itself-the sea.
Ship  timbers, wind  in  the rigging,  and then  shouts  of sailors  calling
obscure but inescapably  nautical instructions from all  directions, far and
near: A short list:</i>
     Hard a larboard!
     Let go the stays!
     Reef down me hearties!
     Is that you, cox'n?
     Hel-llo! Is that you?
     Hard a port!
     Easy as she goes!
     Keep her steady on the lee!
     Haul away, lads!
     SNATCHES OF SEA SHANTY MAYBE
     Fly the jib!
     Tops'I up, me maties!)
     (<i>When the p