The Collected Plays of George Bernard Shaw - 60 Titles in One Edition (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

The Collected Plays of George Bernard Shaw - 60 Titles in One Edition (Illustrated Edition) - GEORGE BERNARD SHAW


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conceals a brain

       Whose powers are proven in the works of Newton

       And in the plays of the immortal Shakespear.

       There is not one of all the thousands here

       But, if you placed him naked in the desert,

       Would presently construct a steam engine,

       And lay a cable t’ th’ Antipodes.

      CETEWAYO. Have I been brought a million miles by sea

       To learn how men can lie! Know, Father Webber,

       Men become civilized through twin diseases,

       Terror and Greed to wit: these two conjoined

       Become the grisly parents of Invention.

       Why does the trembling white with frantic toil

       Of hand and brain produce the magic gun

       That slays a mile off, whilst the manly Zulu

       Dares look his foe i’ the face; fights foot to foot;

       Lives in the present; drains the Here and Now;

       Makes life a long reality, and death

       A moment only! whilst your Englishman

       Glares on his burning candle’s winding-sheets,

       Counting the steps of his approaching doom.

       And in the murky corners ever sees

       Two horrid shadows, Death and Poverty:

       In the which anguish an unnatural edge

       Comes on his frighted brain, which straight devises

       Strange frauds by which to filch unearnéd gold,

       Mad crafts by which to slay unfacéd foes,

       Until at last his agonized desire

       Makes possibility its slave. And then —

       Horrible climax! All-undoing spite! —

       Th’ importunate clutching of the coward’s hand

       From wearied Nature Devastation’s secrets

       Doth wrest; when straight the brave black-livered man

       Is blown explosively from off the globe;

       And Death and Dread, with their white-livered slaves

       O’er-run the earth, and through their chattering teeth

       Stammer the words “Survival of the Fittest.”

       Enough of this: I came not here to talk.

       Thou say’st thou hast two white-faced ones who dare

       Fight without guns, and spearless, to the death.

       Let them be brought.

      LUCIAN. They fight not to the death,

       But under strictest rules: as, for example,

       Half of their persons shall not be attacked;

       Nor shall they suffer blows when they fall down,

       Nor stroke of foot at any time. And, further,

       That frequent opportunities of rest

       With succor and refreshment be secured them.

      CETEWAYO. Ye gods, what cowards! Zululand, my Zululand:

       Personified Pusillanimity

       Hath ta’en thee from the bravest of the brave!

      LUCIAN. Lo, the rude savage whose untutored mind

       Cannot perceive self-evidence, and doubts

       That Brave and English mean the selfsame thing!

      CETEWAYO. Well, well, produce these heroes. I surmise

       They will be carried by their nurses, lest

       Some barking dog or bumbling bee should scare them.

      Cetewayo takes his state. Enter Paradise

      LYDIA. What hateful wretch is this whose mighty thews

       Presage destruction to his adversaries?

      LORD WORTHINGTON. ’Tis Paradise.

      LYDIA. He of whom Cashel spoke?

       A dreadful thought ices my heart. Oh, why

       Did Cashel leave us at the door?

      Enter Cashel

      LORD WORTHINGTON. Behold!

       The champion comes.

      LYDIA. Oh, I could kiss him now,

       Here, before all the world. His boxing things

       Render him most attractive. But I fear

       Yon villain’s fists may maul him.

      WORTHINGTON. Have no fear.

       Hark! the king speaks.

      CETEWAYO. Ye sons of the white queen:

       Tell me your names and deeds ere ye fall to.

      PARADISE. Your royal highness, you beholds a bloke

       What gets his living honest by his fists.

       I may not have the polish of some toffs

       As I could mention on; but up to now

       No man has took my number down. I scale

       Close on twelve stun; my age is twenty-three;

       And at Bill Richardson’s Blue Anchor pub

       Am to be heard of any day by such

       As likes the job. I don’t know, governor,

       As ennythink remains for me to say.

      CETEWAYO. Six wives and thirty oxen shalt thou have

       If on the sand thou leave thy foeman dead.

       Methinks he looks scornfully on thee.

       [To Cashel] Ha! dost thou not so?

      CASHEL. Sir, I do beseech you

       To name the bone, or limb, or special place

       Where you would have me hit him with this fist.

      CETEWAYO. Thou hast a noble brow; but much I fear

       Thine adversary will disfigure it.

      CASHEL. There’s a divinity that shapes our ends

       Rough hew them how we will. Give me the gloves.

      THE MASTER OF THE REVELS. Paradise, a professor.

       Cashel Byron,

       Also professor. Time! [They spar.

      LYDIA. Eternity

       It seems to me until this fight be done.

      CASHEL. Dread monarch: this is called the upper cut,

       And this a hook-hit of mine own invention.

       The hollow region where I plant this blow

       Is called the mark. My left, you will observe,

       I chiefly use for long shots: with my right

       Aiming beside the angle of the jaw

       And landing with a certain delicate screw

       I without violence knock my foeman out.

       Mark how he falls forward upon his face!

       The rules allow ten seconds to get up;

       And as the man is still quite silly, I

       Might safely finish him; but my respect

       For your most gracious majesty’s desire

       To see some further triumphs of the science

       Of self-defence postpones awhile his doom.

      PARADISE. How can


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