Act the First

Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this toasted cheese will do it.

-William Shakespeare, King Lear



~ 1.1 ~

A field, on a farm in Lancaster

	[Enter Brisby]
Brisby:	Mr. Ages, I have come to you with a matter of some import to discuss. Come, what is this? I know you are here.
	[Enter Ages]
Ages:	I've known thee, Brisby, long enough to see The tiring sun sway sulk'ly toward the south, And since before the frost of winter last; This is unlike thee yet, this quiet blast! Dost thou not know, that tho' thy faithful friend I'd not be bothered by thy pleading voice, Nor let thee interrupt my burdensome tasks, The time is heavy, but the weather warms, There's much to do in spring. Conceit no wrong, I'm not displeased that thou hast ventured here, Yet I ask, aye, contest the seeing skies, What matter of grave import do you bring? Think'st thou I do not carefully observe The slightest oscillation of the spheres, That I do not foreknow the slightest mall Which thee or me to task puts; yea, this had Have crushing weight, or, by Ptolemy's heavens! My crotchety wrath, upon thee, shall be.
Brisby:	Your speech is mean, old friend. I know you have Important duties to attend, and thy Divinities to read; I prithee, first, But hear me! I would ne'er dishonour that Bond friendly which my husband took with thee, Nor could I let unvoiced thy graces stand The favour thou'st, in thy bonds, shown to me: For Timmy's spider welt was bound by thee. I'd rather Sistine ceil or Atlas climb, Than in the slightest that Phrygian badge Betray, to be thy friend... speak'st thou to me From a clean breast. It is a cause appropriate; For it, indeed, is Timothy again Who ushers me to beg now at thy step, For he's not crank to common spider's venom, But eaten, methinks, by an affliction Of worser name; my soul doth qualm with fear. Spring has thee bound again, please, hear my voice But ne'er yoke off responsibility - Thy nostrum art's no meet for many miles - Thou lov'st my son, e'en as I love my son, Thou hast done him a vital favor once, As good repeated accentuates th'one, Byhap, thou mightst repeat the performance.
Ages:	Timmy, indeed? He promise shows, I'm bound And for his sake and yours, I must now help. But think me wonderful not, nor gi'en To Miracle - I can do no such thing; I say in sooth, he will be healed by spring. Tell me now, what signs does he give?
Brisby:	His forehead is hot to the touch.
Ages:	Yes.
Brisby:	He wheezes by day an' by night;
Ages:	O!
Brisby:	His heart's near stop, and I can't hear his words When realized; I tell myself he speaks In tongues of angels, who his prayers attest. His life's encurtained, and in death ensconced; No mortal's privy to his secret thoughts.
Ages:	I ha' thought it over already, thy son Timmy is afflicted with pneumonia - I'm sad to say it.
Brisby:	Is it beyond repair?
Ages:	Not to those who care. Keep away all chills, let him sleep warm and snug; watch him whene'er thou canst, and he'll answer thine earnest plea.
Brisby:	Oh, bless you!
Ages:	None of that, for those who need blessing most Can bless themselves - or so I say. Come; I Shall take a pestle, and a powder grind; Of virtues such, they ease his pain, e'en though 'Tis not by much. Sit! Though it's little, it's All I'm afraid I have authority to do; 'Tis not a cookbook case; no method's set, He cannot slay the sickness with one swallow, The ancient's felled by time. I grind it thus; Smell! Herbs of these ilk, with their odour rare, Officinal, efficient, pure and whole, Are not to be found by divining instinct, They take a pinch of power. The colour does My medicine justice, but the texture is Too coarse and grainy, and I fear the taste Is most convulsive: best this balm entrust To tea. For, what is often not to palate, Is the very thing that helps the most. I wrap 't! Now take 't! Away, thy hopeful soul Requests a blessing; I wish thee Godspeed.
Brisby:	I am indebted to you forever.
Ages:	No, you're not; be off! [Exit Brisby] Such a sad visit! I wonder why I leave an open door For such a one. But, would I visits disdain To frivols given, and if also I Would one to gravity dedicated, Who would I admit? Would I be a friend? Perhaps, albeit a strange one. But, given The history, 'tis how I'll be: strange, for The matter's strange, and veiled, by mists concealed In mystery, in redirection's shrouds, I'd know. I see; for I'm the medium. But not by virtues of my alchemy, Not by my arts, nor by the cunning stars, I've weight and wisdom from some other means. Alack! Poor widow, I'd not have it so, But I ken much more than thou'lt ever know. [Exit.]

~ 1.2 ~

A nook amongst the grasses on the field

	[Enter Jeremy, thoroughly tied]
Jeremy:	How rightly is the fool in tangles caught; Though love's a sticky web, I say! No sage Should ever seek to understand such love Without becoming first a fool, with error In vest, the folly! Deep's my heart enwelled! These fetters which I'd fain present my love And seek to bind her with my soul for aught Are tricky tools to wield - who may fence love? - One only who may fence me onto love; Alack, I've not the skill! Hey, parry must I; These cords inhibiting of love, I'd take, And I'd have bound the parcel of the dear Of my mind's eye in ribbons, in which I now Am inexorably bound, more corporeally. [Enter Brisby]
Brisby:	How, now? It is a daw before me, tho' not as black as soot, But pink and green and pastel rouge, and tied from head to foot.
Jeremy:	O, cruel rhyme! O, thou jester merciless! Has Fate appointed torments immodest To peck at me, who is in nature Peck? Leave me strait, if you cannot but tease me!
Brisby:	Excuse me if I kid. I'm naught to fear, Though, yea, I might leap back in my surprise; And I was made for troubles such as this: A liberator 'm I, for in my mouth I am your most lenient and fair friend.
Jeremy:	'Tis but a mouse! Amen, fair lady, amen! Set me free of my bonds, if you but will! Set your rodental gnaws at my chains, if there be any trace of mercy or Christian charity in you!
Brisby:	An agreeable yoke, a task I will take to presently... but first, may I inquire, how came you in such a flaxen prison so helplessly entwined?
Jeremy:	You state my problem well, Madame Mouse, and with much ease, I wish I could with similar readiness explain how I came into it.
Brisby:	Do best in reason with the time that's gi'en; 'twill take the better of an hour to extricate thy copious self from these hopeless tangles. [aside] O, what glorious post shall I gain, this Gordian knot to loose?
Jeremy:	I shall begin with fervently held dreams Of childhood. I've always longed and pined For mine own nest, with mine own nestlings lined, And round about patrolled by me an' my other. And I have oft collected bright bits of Such string would fit my cause, and yarn and twine: To make me a love-nest, an I e'er find My one true love.
Brisby:	‘Tis fair enough so far, Though unexplained's that which you came to be Enwrapped in the dear objects so collected.
Jeremy:	Ah, that I shall tell you of next. An embarrassing saga, how shall I relate? I tripped over the yarn that I held in my maw, And over and under the stuff did I fall, Tumbling down through the wet, soddy grass, I landed, was hung, and I'm stuck here quite fast!
Brisby:	Occluded was he by his courtierly grace, He fell to his bobs, and then fell on his face.
Jeremy:	Ha, ha, he, ho, ho!
Brisby:	O, you're but a fool.
Jeremy:	No, I'm but a Jeremy. That is who my friends know me as. How do they call you?
Brisby:	Those friends e'en I know should call me but seldom, I see little profit to put words to the scene, And as the sun shines on the dew of the morning, I'm too struck with wonder to ask what I mean.
Jeremy:	He, he, ho, ha, ho!
Brisby:	If you must know, I am Mrs. Brisby. And do stay your hyenas; I fear the cat is nearby.
Jeremy:	How, ho, what's that?
Brisby:	The menace, the predator! The sharp teeth, the pouncing weight - that is all I worry for. All of civilization's charms cannot take the lion out of a cat, who has but once taken notice of easy prey.
Jeremy:	O, then, hurry quickly, for in my encumbrance I am a sitting duck, and putting both our lives in foulest jeopardy!
Brisby:	As I've but to do, as the friendly soul doth; And hurry, but how? Should I fail my friend Were't better the pursuant catch me. I, take me off? It bestial'd make me, or hurry to free You from this ribbon's hold? That, quickly, clean; To franchise you again is now my goal - I'd keep my freedom - from the nadir of Subservience to death my friends would e'er Deliver me, so I'll deliver you, Though once you're caught, then who's the friendly soul Should free you? Openly, I deal you back As has been dealt to me by other souls, And, see, for nothing you are benefit, Go, then, and help your neighbor sim'larly. Excuse have you for now, but not for long.
Jeremy:	How fair! A perfect pox upon your kind, This vessel's set to sea, and she is caught Upon her cleverness, yea, she is shoaled Upon her beneficence, and the wretched Daemons stir below, and Neptune's wrath Is instigated on these friendly words - For who so deep may dredge a meetly friend? They cannot help but notice, and are bound To sink her. So, they come, and they indeed Shall hear us. I have spoken you of me, Now likewise can you not tell me of you?
Brisby:	What would you know of me?
Jeremy:	Who is your husband?
Brisby:	O, that's the horror! He's the cat, you see, He were eaten by it, and lost to me. The hellion foul has stolen the lonely flame From my life, and without this lovely lume, I'm left a dying wick, and so resigned I stand still and await the breath of Doom, To silence me, or coax my love to grow. But his noble and constant, steadied flame, Which never false nor cruèl burned, flares on, Is not extinguished, but - the fellest fate! - Now to the fiery furnace contributes Within the dragon's stenchèd, foul rumen.
Jeremy:	That I am sad to hear, and most grieved. What is your errand, that you are now here?
Brisby:	Why, anon, it is to free you from these ribbons and bows, which are your iron bars and claps - such a darling stock! And what a job it is - but this is not, I am sure, what you ask. 'Tis a personal matter, but as I have already revealed pains of my soul, and of my heart open leaves made, I shall inform thee, as a friend.
Jeremy:	And a great honor it is, to be thy friend. May I prove as faithful to thee as thou hast already been to me, having given thee no cause.
Brisby:	Cause have I, thou breath'st! I've come of late From Ages', the apothecarist and Alchemist, and what else, is of all 'A's'. He has a medicine me bestowed, towards My little Jonathan, the smaller spark, Who gives me great joy in his model's stead. I'm very lucky, four such sparks have I, Remembrances of the one who has Embarked ahead, but Timothy's the brightest Of all, and so is likely as to burn Voraciously - yet kindly - as my dear.
Jeremy:	Living, breathing remembrances! O, such is my dream! Tell, I beg thee, what is wrong with thy treasured ling - Can I, at all, help preserve thine offspring?
Brisby:	Ages stuck a name on it - he said, 'Pneumonia' - I remember to myself. As for what help thou canst... O, it is all undone!
Jeremy:	What? Hast thou no hope, good lady? Surely it is...
Brisby:	No, the tangles, the knots... they are undone! Thou art free, and can go about thy whim.
Jeremy:	Ah, 'tis so! Wondrous! Wonderful wondrous! And yet - accept this bow, if thou wilt - I am somewhat sorry for't. For now I am to go on my way - I would have conversed on, 'till the moon its beamèd glow, cast upon the millpond yon. But I would not weary thee with blustery speech of my dreams, nor detain thee from the urgent errand that thou set upon. Take this bow also, and this - why, take the courteous cords - and I am off! [Exit]
Brisby:	A curious soul! Well, off I must go. For every breeze I hear amongst the grass Does mind me of the rasping of my boy And my resolve, like tempered iron, casts. O, how I chide myself, I hear him now! In every mournful song amidst the birds, The sickly lowing of my son resounds, A suff'ring soul too pitiful for words. The dormant chill doth stab me through and through, The memory of Jonathan, my sweet, The swiftest kites find crow watching my steps, At Hermes' pace, wings set upon my feet. [Noises offstage] Hark, what? O, I will not now slack nor stay; In such observance, devils don't delay.
	[Exit.]

~ 1.3 ~

Mrs. Brisby's house, elsewhere on the field

	[Enter Martin, Teresa, Cynthia and the shrew]
Shrew:	[to Martin] I stead myself, lest in my imbalance I fall to such a tetchy thing as thee! Hold strait thy tongue, it will do thee much grief! Although a friendly target I provide, There is no warranty in foreign minds. I do not return blows, by any means, My witticisms, tit-for-tat, besides. Placated and relaxed I make myself, In the eye of disrupting tempest's blasts, I sanctuary me in quiet pause; For whilst I speak, thy sharp tongue can't advance.
Teresa:	[to shrew] Heed not his pressed-meted insults! What good can come of order and of rhyme, when it is to injury and infamy applied?
Shrew:	[to Teresa] If his is the best order that does come Of the name Brisby, I'll have no more of't; Be thankful I've a mind wont to forgive, And which cannot turn tail to Jonathan's kin. [to Martin] Now please have mercy, I have a weak heart, Given to morbid palpitations grim; I do not venture that my halting meek Or else my timorous constitution can Withstand the onslaught of thy vicious slings, Nor quaff thy base bane, without falling dead. 'Tis no great wonder that poor Timmy, who Has lived with thee, and breathed thy reekish fumes, Now doth lie in bed in pathetic throes. The marvel is how he has stayed so long With thee, and not until now has succumbed! Good day! [She turns to leave]
Martin:	'Tis no good day that your complexion mars, Your tow'ring foulness eclipses the sun, Thy vomitous speech all civility bars, And mellows joys and light of noon, to dun. [The shrew turns back]
Shrew:	My complexion mars, thou sayest? Then I must in reply say Mars ha' no better woodpecker than thee! I eclipse the sun, accordest thou? Thou art the moon, that passes twixt that glorious lamp and me.
Martin:	Thou cosmic nuisance! Surely thou wouldst fain Appeal the weighty planets thy cause stead. For, by the virtue of your massive girth, They are, iwis, the company you keep.
Shrew:	Incontinent brat!
Martin:	If I am incontinent, surely thou art Continent! Oughtst not thou be listed in the astrologies? I must bid my mother speak Ages of it.
Shrew:	Thy mother!
Martin:	Blame not my mother, in this she's no part; Even if I had not a single spark Of sage fire, of Prometheus' fame, Had no one taught me speech in English phrase, Thy mere presence would marshal words from me, Like water from a stone, curses would flow, My void voice the entire globe would hear And marvel at thy prodigy profane.
Shrew:	Harumph! [She turns, again, to leave.]
Cynthia:	Martin, why do you treat her so?
Martin:	She is of good nature, and doth take my abuse in sport. Heed not her storied infirmities, she plays the game as well as I.
Teresa:	A game? 'Tis not for spectators, I guess. [Enter Brisby]
Martin:	Observe the swift succession of the state, When once, a tyrant falls in our disgrace, Another tyrant rises in his place!
Teresa:	Martin!
Brisby:	Does duty's prompting govern absolute? To unjust despot, wouldst thou fall prostrate? I have returned to beating of the drums, And my drum pounds at thy flourish irate.
Shrew:	Well, they have wearied me enough today, When next a day a'rambling you must make, Consider it again, before you call, For I know not how much more I can take. But, heed ye not the noises in the field? The frost is melting quickly from the ground, Avaunt! You realize not how close we are, The sowers are at hand as are to sound.
Brisby:	But, Timmy...
Shrew:	Their roaring, you can hear, if hard you list, The noises that they grunt precipitate The fleeing of you all from Danger's hand, Or spinning, once, the chancèd wheel of Fate. Spring early comes, and we are caught asleep, Over our lives, drastic designs do loom, And what would save our dear and hopeful cause, Is now reliance uncertain on Doom.
Brisby:	Fate and Doom? The repetition puzzles me; I cannot well distinguish one from the other.
Shrew:	In parity can Doom's grim face be found, Death's toothsome grin and Fate's thick-gilded crown. I am excused. [Exit]
Teresa:	I know not why Martin is in such fulsome humour.
Martin:	[to Brisby] What means this pounding of these dual drums?
Brisby:	Does not thy wit reveal the obvious? 'Twere quick, I noted, when in reverie It tore down that which never did it wrong, And trampled good govern maliciously. I only left thee in the shrew's repose Pressed by necessity, on mortal urge. Think not, but that my only thoughts did dwell On thee! For I should take a day to seek That counsel, the advice to make thee whole. The only reason I am returned soon Is that the object of the present day, The herb I have procured for Timothy's sake, Was close at hand, a mere romp o'er the field. But an the drug, the edifying drought, Grew only on the hills of Malay far, No brute neglect nor any dear expense Could halt me from completion of my quest. And if I knew 'twould guarantee thy joy, And if the craft and power I possessed, The world to foamy chaos would degen, And I'd consign myself to nothingness. If poetry doth still bepuzzle thee, This drummish mystery yet now best thee, Then lay your hand upon my chest and feel Its rhythm, that doth prod me on for thee. This throb I speak of beats only by thee, Pray, drum it kindly, for in it is me.
Martin:	Go on! I'm sorry, I was just having my fun.
Cynthia:	[to Brisby] Speak not so - destroying yourself! I would not bid it!
Brisby:	And I am right glad of it.
Martin:	Would not bid it - why, you could not do it!
Brisby:	And glad of that also.
Teresa:	'Twould do us no boon, anyway. Unfurling the universe! I would rather just satisfy myself with supper.
Brisby:	A trebled glee! But, I check myself. My raging question, which I ha' waited and stayed only by forced temperation, must be answered now; how does Timmy?
Teresa:	Not so well, I fear.
Cynthia:	He ne'er stops his coughing, and the rattling in his chest does not bode well.
Martin:	Ay, he would not suffer me stay near, to comfort him.
Brisby:	Then perhaps all is undone, regardless. Teresa, set some water on. [She does so] If it boils still, then I might suppose, There is yet law, and to these thorns, a rose.
Martin:	What needs the water?
Brisby:	This herb I hold is of such bitter taste Were I to give it Timmy indilute, It would invoke a retching frightful fierce, And I would have two Martins, and not one.
Martin:	O, pitiful - passing pitiful! Beshrew me, were I what thou say'st.
Brisby:	Go to! I have beshrewed thee; she's out the door. Thy quillets are not lost on me.
Martin:	Thou knowest I am now recanted.
Cynthia:	Now recanted, but how the morrow?
Martin:	I shan't be fickle then, nor change this mood In passing through a single sleep's domain, The rising rays next morn shall gently fall Upon a soul resolvèd, who would fain His tongue be halted, and be held up by Fair Reticence, as an example prime.
Teresa:	Thou hold'st true for a day, perhaps, an' on two?
Martin:	A doubled day doth make no change on me, Gibraltar shall see much more wear than me, Four extra watches seem so little time, To this faithful sentry, in this charge of thine.
Brisby:	And with a week's passing?
Martin:	Ah, who can see so far? You ask too much of me.
Teresa:	The water boils.
Martin:	Chamomile, methinks.
Brisby:	How, then?
Martin:	Chamomile, for the tea. 'Twould do Timmy good, I venture.
Teresa:	Superb! I see now why we keep thee on.
Brisby:	I do not chide Martin to give thee leisure to act like him, Teresa.
Teresa:	Well, here is the water, and the flower.
Brisby:	Then I shall take them, and complete this day, Which has this one object, its lonely aim.
Cynthia:	And tomorrow?
Brisby:	Cynthia, worry'st thou? Tomorrow shall its own problems amend, Or if not, then they would to us appear, And only once we diagnose the grief, Can we then motions take to set it right. If the morn comes, it shall not us affright.
Martin:	And what of the shrew's words?
Brisby:	What of them? They may have been sore and abrasive, but were well provoked.
Martin:	No, I speak of the planting. In sooth, is it so? - and so soon?
Brisby:	I wish I wot. But then, patience avers This rumor, for veracity or no. Much like Israel's slaves in Pharaoh's day, These bitter herbs and fervent prayers prelude A hopeful passover of the worse scythe, And exodus from our shrew's fell decree. The compound's made; I must administer It readily, or I'm the hypocrite. You will excuse me, I must go to cap, But first, a stop at blessèd Timmy's bed. So harvest must, seeded in Travail's day, Bear comely, fragrant fruit, when all is said. [Exeunt.]

~ 1.4 ~

The next morning, on the field

	[Enter Brisby]
Brisby:	The calm has waked me up, and silence has Drawn me unaided from my drowsy bed. I mark, the air is still, O, gravely still! And nothing stirs this morn; the dawn is dead. [Enter the shrew]
Shrew:	The weather's warm, or I'm a pigeon!
Brisby:	[aside] Nothing stirs, but that which always stirs. How now, friend shrew?
Shrew:	For now? Secure in body and in mind - But what make you on this lonesome amble?
Brisby:	O, I am marveling at the quiet. It roused me from my slumbering just yet.
Shrew:	That surprises me not... you must have little acquaintance with it.
Brisby:	I assign weight to your planting story. Soon come the till and hoe and oxened plow, To give that which they and we value well, And then remove what only we appraise. This is, indeed, become a day of Doom.
Shrew:	'Twas twattering that revealed this to me, And silence that established it for you.
Brisby:	O, what am I to make of this dread cast?
Shrew:	Do what everybody else must do; move your family.
Brisby:	But Timothy confined to sickbed lies, Who, with the twice-warmed comforts of his home, Doth gasp for life, and lies in mournful thrall, How if he were subjected to the shock Of spring's too premature and novice chill, And February's youthful victim fell? I could not draw an account of the cost, The expense skews the balance beyond thought. But I know dead I may account the youth, If I no course of action do adopt. Far be it from me to the pragmate play Who that discards which hinders his progress, Why, even if such starting steps I took I'd want myself, and therewithal regress. I would not bear it; I would curse the frost And curse myself, allowing such fell loss.
Shrew:	What would I have you do? Move your family; in that are you charged, for their sake and yours. But, by the good graces that make me a shrew! What comes hither from the skies?
Brisby:	What? O, I see. That is my friend, the crow.
Shrew:	Your friend, the crow? Your speech is laden with esteem, such as I half expected to hear, 'my friend, the king' or 'my friend, the Pope.' Such friends, my dear - 'the crow', indeed!
Brisby:	My friend shrew, I say again, my friend shrew, He is my friend and he shall so remain Until common crows are both Popes and kings. By faith! I wonder who may be your friend, If such must wear a crown or Peter's ring.
Shrew:	I myself am ashamed - and thou art truly my friend. I only meant that no formal tone was meet, And that you should flag and flail your arms, Your faithful friend, if so he is, to greet. I shall now meet this daw you note so well. [Enter Jeremy]
Jeremy:	Halloo, and a delightful morn to thee! How make the efforts of widow Brisby?
Brisby:	I am not sure, for I am at a pass.
Shrew:	Flown you from Rome of late, good Sir?
Jeremy:	What now? I have not had the honour yet, And neither Rome nor you did I acquaint.
Brisby:	This is the field's own shrew, who calls her own The business of all who live therein. Although a weary traveling mate she makes, There's no escape at all from her, methinks.
Jeremy:	An honorary rodent I've become, When shrews and mice my whole circle consists. For yet, I must confess to thee in sooth, My lifelong aerial mate I have not met. Good lady, 'tis an honour to know thy face.
Shrew:	From me, like. Greetings I abbreviate, The time deserves not such recognition.
Jeremy:	[to Brisby] And what means she?
Brisby:	We must severe calamities, as such Do plague this troubled hour, now discuss. There is not time for friendly niceties. I mark, tho' blunt, this is all the shrew means.
Jeremy:	No time for friendly niceties? Well, then, There is not time for such explanation As her obscurèd answer did deserve. What calamities fall upon thy heads?
Shrew:	None that concern you or your kin at all.
Jeremy:	Now, now, if my friends have me one thing taught, 'Tis that a friend needs not propriet concern Of his own; theirs is just sufficient cause To prompt him to the direst designs make To free them from their troubled, tangled cords, At risk of death and cats, such motions take. A good pupil I would account myself; If I show interest in your fondest want, Think me not prisome, spookish or a hound To snap thy snarèd heels, if there they're found. I'd rather prove myself astute and true, Inquiring your inner dearest need, If it concerns me not, I'm not your friend, For friends are quick to worry friends, indeed.
Brisby:	The shrew doth not account her dear to thee, And she shows little friendliness to me. The mallish, cursèd problem that does vex Me inwardly, shall toll hard on thee next.
Jeremy:	Reveal this dread crisis to me, and thy troubled history unfold, Thy thoughts to me make music, thine untoned wishes, gold.
Brisby:	A friend, shrew! All the kings and Popes would take, Centuries dedication such to make - And what's more, all his benefits expound, He has the benefit of being found. I have mentioned my son, the spark, to thee; His kindling hath not caught, he glowers still, Unaugmented by his natural heat, And dampered 'mongst a bed of death-cold coals. And, yet, I must the poker take, and prod His hearth, and stir the uncaught ashes up, With care, but there's no means to take in full, The pains I'd tender, tindering my son. I fear to stifle his new flame before It catches, and can warm our house once more. The melt doth force us flee, and the wind's breath Might waft away his life, yea, unto death. But if we linger, if to him attend, The plow shall turn us up, and our lives end. A crushing fate doth wait us either way, I do not feel like speaking much today.
Jeremy:	And 'twere speaking and counsel that may help thee up!
Brisby:	What, to my gibbet?
Jeremy:	Thou art melancholy, but art well reprieved! Why sit there, striking foot to stone; why moan and sigh and wail, "hey, ho"? There is a way to solve this yet; so stow thy frowns, and store thy doting pose; rise up, and brave the way this story goes!
Shrew:	Methinks you have swallowed too much of the wind.
Jeremy:	Perhaps I am not wise.
Shrew:	I'll say, that's true.
Jeremy:	But I know one who is.
Brisby:	Pray, tell me, who?
Jeremy:	An owl, [he curtsies] who's spent a hundred years a'flight...
Shrew:	O, come now, how can there be such a wight?
Jeremy:	His wisdom doth encompass all there is...
Brisby:	But is he skilled at moving sickly kids?
Jeremy:	His cogent advice he doth give by day...
Shrew:	But is he known for counseling his prey?
Jeremy:	He would display his charity to mice...
Shrew:	O, go to, he would eat her in a trice!
Jeremy:	For he will dispense that which does thee good...
Shrew:	In Madame Brisby, he doth see but food!
Jeremy:	And he shall all thy troubles soon relieve!
Shrew:	When once I see it, then shall I believe.
Brisby:	Where dwells this owl, this wizened bird of prey? For if he can my Timothy relieve, Deliver him to gentle April fair, And bear him thither on his ancient wings, My coddling nature should unbounded fly, Rejoicing in his health, along I'd soar; Him overtake, and I would meet them there, Embrace him, weeping, sobbing tears of joy, I, vindicated, released from my care; And free from fear to love, forevermore. My babe and I a babel there should raise, We'd tower to the skies paeans of praise.
Shrew:	Model of pitiful hope, thou wast born under a weak and tippling star! Wouldst thou assign thyself and Timmy both to the care of this clownish jack? He bobs e'en now, like a crane more than crow, but he indeed crows fair well! He tips worse than thee, and strikes a desperate hour.
Brisby:	Stars, made for wishing, tumble 'bout the pole; And our fickle dreams doth play them well, From the first day we walked upon this knoll, Until the final moments 'fore death's knell.
Jeremy:	Thou speak'st of soaring through the air, indeed?
Brisby:	Yes, where lives this owl?
Jeremy:	That is residuary - wouldst thou soar through the air?
Shrew:	He's no more reasonable than Popes or kings. How could she fly, when she doth lack the wings?
Jeremy:	She lacks naught - I've a serviceable pair.
Shrew:	O heavens!
Jeremy:	Right you are - the vast heavens should admit us, and the gusty wind, which wafts 'way this spark's heat, may carry us to his most generous reprieve.
Brisby:	Is that the way the wind blows?
Jeremy:	Straight to a quick resolve, and we with it, if thou wilt.
Brisby:	'Tis a brave act.
Shrew:	An' one an act to end.
Brisby:	'Tis a fool act.
Jeremy:	An' thou hast thy fool, here.
Brisby:	I stand uncertain - I but wish my children well.
Jeremy:	Thou wishest thy kin well, to right a fault; To thy kin's well, the way is welkin's vault.
Shrew:	An' this is how the crow doth recompense make, to usher thee to thy doom? Does he repay a favor, another boon to make?
Brisby:	'Tis excellent, for fair, the right repaid, To have again the chance, the right reprise.
Shrew:	Be gone! I know thou shouldst be, what thou sayest; it is only right. If I do not see thee again, I know why. Custody of the whole field, and four children! I shall be busy henceforth.
Brisby:	Now, now, 'tis but a watch!
Shrew:	A watch... a watch for ruddy moon, perhaps.
Brisby:	This crow is my friend, and should well advise.
Shrew:	Be off, ye hopeful mouse, but mind yourself; Icarus were the friend of honeybees, On borrowed wings he sought his own relieve, And in the sun of his exub'rant flight, His friendships' worth was counted not a mite. Your husband's name knew David, king of old, And countless psalms were sung of their camaraderie, Did David bear his Jonathan to bears? Did he lend regal shoulders for a crutch, To lead his lifelong friend to gory death? But, lo! A fateful thought has passed my brain; A fearful motion asks, why act ye so? Can you no more bear to breathe in and out? Is it a neat and comely death you seek? Goest thou with him, a waiter to an owl? Bring'st thou a dish for our sagacious bird, On such a mourning, black platter as this? Wouldst thou in sep'rate tombs thy bones inter, And have a cat for him, an owl for her?
Brisby:	Were it that you would deafen me! If you must, do it in an hour; I need first hear the owl speak. I shall let the wind blow 'way the memory of your speech, as I go, but pray, say no more, I bleed inside.
Shrew:	And I forgot friends are forgiving, too. If thou forgiv'st me for my probing thoughts, That wander where they never should have gone, Than I forget how thou didst me bereave, One thawing day, which saw a sun too soon, And broke to a young mouseling's sickly crow, And a young widow's wak'ning to the still: A world quiet to her, which holds no more Her fire, which to Heaven wast recalled, A spring that dawned to them devoid of life, A nighted child, and unhusband'd wife. Be gone, again! And let me not thee stay, If not tomorrow, let all end today.
Jeremy:	Then, I am off, and a delighted morn again, Lady Shrew: I should see more of you, I hope.
Shrew:	There is no more to see than what stands before you.
Jeremy:	Ha, ha, he! You're right, and it should be more oft!
Shrew:	It were not so funny today.
Brisby:	Now art thou saturnine, where I was wont To mull myself in pitiful regret, And turn about in fear of mortal Doom? 'Twere slight reversed, I notice in your sighs, And tho' I do not care to keep this ill, I'd rather I'd not pass it on to thee. Until the even, I bid thee, farewell! [Exeunt manent the shrew]
Shrew:	'Tis not the office of the shades to care, Nor is it meet for spectres lost to mourn. If thou know'st not thy concerns in Sheol, Art lief to suck up gallons of the Lethe, And let thy deep care perish in thy grave, Then I am left thy memories to keep, And all thy pet designs I now must save. Farewell, shouldst thou fly forth before the noon! Thy sun were far too hot for thee, I fear; In search of denizens of the cool moon, Thou sidlest to thy enemy too near. Farewell, thou painèd mother, thou hast known A share of night and chill for sunny days; And since thy husband hath left thee alone, Thou wand'rest bout in an unsunny haze. So fly up high, and lift above thy fog: Farewell, thou victim of a thrown-off year, Slough off thy sadness, soar above thy bog, Near up to Heaven; nip thy husband's ear. Farewell to dear friends I shall see no more - 'Twere yesterday we knew our joy complete, Yet now we sorely want what came before, And sorrow for what's passed beneath our feet. Farewell, for Timmy's sake I bid thee so, I mean it hard: I would have thee return; The pups do not fare well without their doe; Pray, kindle them again, that they may burn. May in thy sapient bird be found no wrong, May thou return'st, his disclosure to tell, May April's sun break on our pinking throng, Well fair - and so I bid again, farewell! [Exit.]

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