Panel & Characters
The Text - introduction
[resuming the story-telling style]
Remember the Celtic legend of Dermot and Grania,
the promised bride of the old Finn Macool; also the Irish tragedy of
Tristan and Isolde, the
betrothed of old King Mark; or the romance of Sir Lancelot and
Lady Guinevere, wife of the aging King Arthur.
The young young youngest, the old old oldest [472.35-36] - the
oldest song in the wooed,
The young ones want the young ones - and don't rule out their own sisters.
But the old one wants the young one too - and doesn't rule out his own
Well she doesn't rule out her own father!
That's our Issy! a strapping modern old ancient Irish prisscess,
nothing under her hat
but red hair and solid ivory, (now you know it's true in your hardup
hearts!) and a
firstclass pair of bedroom eyes, (how weak we are, one and all!)
[lustfully] a young sourceress! [251.12]
[apologetically] Childs will be wilds. 'Twastold. And vamp, vamp,
vamp, the girls are
[teasingly] Alicious through alluring glass or alas in jumboland?
Ding dong! Think
of a maiden, Presentacion. Double her, Annupciacion. Take your first
thoughts away from her,
Immacolacion. Knock and it shall appall unto you! [528.17-25]
The desired object of her father and [pause] her warring brothers,
Shem and Shaun. [3rd
these are not on terms, they twain, since Adam Leftus and the devil took
gegifting me with his painapple. In fight to no finish, that dark deed
wellwilled wooer, Jerkoff and Eatsoup, Yem or Yan, while felix is who
culpas does and
harm's worth healing. [246.26-32]
[eyes and mouth wide open] Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
It's driving me dafft like he's so dumnb. If he'd lonely talk instead of
only gawk. Hee.
Speak, sweety bird! Mitzymitzy! [225.17-21]
[blustering] Brawn is my name and broad is my nature and I've breit
on my brow and
all's right with every feature and I'll brune this bird or Brown Bess's
Naif Cruachen! Woe on Woe. Woman will water the wild world over!
Like Eve. . .
As Anna Livia. . .
And Issy. . .
She's becoming Isolde. . .
They war loving, they love laughing, they laugh weeping, they weep
smell smiling, they smile hating, they hate thinking, they think feeling,
tempting, they tempt daring, they dare waiting, they wait taking, they
they thank seeking, as born for lorn in lore of love to live and wive by
Pity the old self Isolde was promised to. Now a younger's there. [627.6]
The hero, the
Gaelic champion the onliest one of her choice. [384.23-26]
[gushing] Tristan! My hero! my bleaueyedeal of a girl's friend,
neither bigugly nor
Meaning pretty much everything to her then, with his sinister dexterity,
light and rufthandling,
the brueburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem. That was palpably wrong
and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and kissing her, [in the style
of a fashion
show narrator] tootyfay charmaunt, in her ensemble of maidenna blue,
with an overdress of
net, tickled with goldies. [384.23-33]
[with sugary sighing reminiscence] Isolamisola, whisping and
lisping about her Trisolanisans,
how one was whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three.
[sarcastically] Luvillicit, though not too much. [385.25]
The new world presses. Where the old conk cruised now croons the yunk.
Could you blame her, we're saying, for one psocoldlogical moment? What
would Ewe do?
With that so tiresome old milkless a ram? [396.6-15]
- The Love Death from Tristan and Isolde starting softly and growing
during the following
speech and continuing a few moments after as lights fade to dark]
[solemnly] Down to death and the love embrace, [398.10] Hear, O hear,
Iseult la belle!
Tristan, sad hero, hear! [398.29]
of Scene IV]