EXCERPT:

SCENE 1

RUSSELL:
Here it is, Theo, Edmond Burke’s heavy blow. Listen. “We have

consecrated the state that no man should approach to look into its defects or corruptions…” –are you listening, Mr. Tone?

No.

TONE: (O.S.)

Did you hear–

RUSSELL: (CONT’D)

Early summer, 1791. The parlor of a seaside cottage. THOMAS RUSSELL sits alone, reading. Presently, he calls toward the kitchen.

RUSSELL:
“…should approach to look into its defects or corruptions

but with due caution; that he should never dream of beginning its reformation by its subversion; that he should approach to the faults of the state as to the wounds of a father, with pious awe and trembling solitude.” –He says this miserable government is my dear dad!

WOLFE TONE enters with a pail of potatoes and a peeling knife.

TONE:
I heard, Thomas. As did Mr. Edmund Burke himself in London.

Peel us a few spuds. With pious awe and trembling solicitude and vocal decrescendo. The baby’s asleep.

RUSSELL: What do you make of Burke?

TONE:
He dislikes the French Revolution.

RUSSELL: (Scoffs)

The government’s my blessed dad. My arse.

TONE: Where is your blessed dad?

RUSSELL:

He went for the mail.
He’s to prepare the secret stew ingredients.

TONE:

RUSSELL:

TONE:

RUSSELL: I’ll beat him severely.

TONE:
But with awe and solicitude, mind. He fears that men will

become “little better than…”

RUSSELL: …than the flies of summer.”

I’ll do it myself.
We all have assignments.

Does he, your dad?

TONE:

RUSSELL:
Does Edmund Burke. Theo, pay attention. If we change the

government, says he, we’re temporary, like the flies of summer. Divorced from a glorious past.

He has a point.

TONE:

RUSSELL:
He has bugger-all when it comes to Ireland. If we don’t

change the government, we’re like the dung of summer where the parliamentary flies swarm and feed.

TONE
Well done. Well done. Give him his bloody metaphor back with

interest. You ought to write a reply.

RUSSELL
Me? A pamphleteer? You’re talking to Tom Russell, not Tom

Paine.

TONE
Then Paine. I’d be willing to argue the man invented America.

RUSSELL
You’d get no argument here. Yours truly, a pamphleteer? More

likely you.

TONE (Pause)

I lack a point of view.

RUSSELL
You’re welcome to mine ’til you find your own. –Well,

someone’s got to answer Burke.

2.

TONE
I beg you, Tom, put Burke aside and consider the nettle soup

now brewing in the kitchen. Matilda knows her nettle soup.

RUSSELL
She does, and you your mussel chowder. We eat like lords out

here in Irishtown. Salmon, cod, coddle, colcannon, soda bread and chocolate whiskey cake. And it all tastes better beside the sea, though but a tinker’s spit from Dublin town.

TONE
It all tastes better apart from the dreary work of the law.

RUSSELL Another chorus of the same tune.

TONE
I know. But, a barrister’s vocation –writs, bills, deeds,

wills and testaments — they spark no appetite. You come home with dust on your tongue.

RUSSELL
So huzzah for a summer of food with family and friends.

TONE
Just so. The comforts of life, point of view or none. You’ve

hit the mark, Tom Russell.

RUSSELL
And maybe a jar within reach. To lubricate it all.

MATILDA TONE enters with onions and a cutting board.

MATILDA (Calling off)

Praise God they’re still here, Mary! –I feared you’d sailed for the Sandwich Islands and left us no one to chop onions.

RUSSELL:
Come here, my girl, and sit on your true love’s knee.

(She does)
What do you ladies do in the kitchen when all the work’s done

out here?

MATILDA:
Well, Mary is up to her calves in cabbage, and I’ve just put

in a ginger cake.

TONE:
You might give a thought to the baby’s supper.

MATILDA
Not ’til he begs for it. I’ve a double portion prepared.

(Cups her breasts)

3.

TONE:
Matilda’s more proper in Dublin, Tom. Out here she becomes

rather rude. Thank the Lord.

RUSSELL:
Did you take the waters today, dear?

MATILDA: ‘Til I was bright blue.

TONE:
It’s our physician’s cure for every ailment. If you survive

sea bathing, you’re alive. If you die from it, you’re no longer ill.

MATILDA:
I’ve survived six-weeks of sea-bathing plus six years of

wedlock to this one. I survive.

RUSSELL:
Six years. 1791, minus –Dear heaven, a girl of fifteen she

was. You’re a rotten old man, Theo. And a lucky one beyond computation.

TONE:
Old? I was but twenty-two on the day of elopement. A mere

college boy.
Nevertheless, dear heaven.

The baby cries.

MATILDA:
Young William the Beggar craves a dug.

(Heaves her breast) Peel and chop; lads.

She exits.

RUSSELL: (Quietly)

Theo, if our scheme for the Sandwich Islands should come about, how could you part from her?

TONE:
I couldn’t for long. Everyone would come in due time. Your

old dad included.

RUSSELL:
Leave Ireland for Hawaii? The man’s a lake-trout, not the sea

variety. I lured him here, only with the bait of your wife and children.

RUSSELL:

4.

They adore him.

TONE:

RUSSELL:
Oh, it’s adoration all around in this place. Your sister,

Mary, up to her calves in cabbage in the kitchen, adores my dad, and he her. And he adores Matty. She, in turn adores you and me, and I, of course, adore everyone.

TONE:
God bless everyone in general! And why not?

RUSSELL:
Why not? Because a man can’t adore and God bless properly

with only onions in hand. I’d adore a God blessed pint, you bad host.

TONE: You drank us dry an hour ago.

JOSEPH RUSSELL enters with the mail and a bucket of beer.

TONE: (CONT’D) We haven’t a drop on the property.

JOSEPH: We do. Calm your small self.

TONE:
God bless everyone in general, and old Joseph Russell in

specific! He’s answered your prayers, Tom. Approach him with awe and solicitude and a ladle.

Cups are fetched and beer served.

Nettle soup.

JOSEPH: (Sniffing)

RUSSELL:
Seventy years old next week and still the nose of a terrier.

TONE:
Will you sail with us to the Sandwich Islands, Mr. Russell?

JOSEPH:
I suppose I’ll not. Where are they?

TONE:
Along the Tropic of Cancer, of a latitude with Egypt, Mexico,

and Central India, but out in the belly of the Pacific Ocean.

5.

RUSSELL:
Tone submitted a plan to Prime Minster Pitt himself to

colonize Hawaii for the British Crown. A sturdy American I know, named Thomas Digges, is interested in the project.

TONE:
Undercut the Spanish, liberate the poor devils of South

America, install ourselves…

JOSEPH: Fatten the British Empire?

TONE: Well, in a manner of…

RUSSELL: Digges is of the opinion that…

JOSEPH:
I suppose I’ll not. And what says William Pitt?

RUSSELL:
His restraint on the subject has been downright stoical to

date.

TONE:
But I’ve written to other men of influence.

RUSSELL: Models of reticence also.

TONE:
They may yet respond with a go-ahead. No doubt it’s in the

post. Give us the mail, you dear angel.

JOSEPH:
Not so damned fast. I was two hours collecting it; I’ll

parcel it out as I please.

TONE:
Two hours? It’s a ten minute walk.

JOSEPH:
The postal clerk is a papist. I recited the gospel at him.

RUSSELL:
There’s another five minutes, for all the gospel you know.

And then?

JOSEPH:
And then he recited Ireland at me. He’s roamed all over the

country. A lovely man. And generous with his tears. We cried outright when he conjured up Achill Island, and the view from atop old Croaghaun.

6.

Now there’s a sight. You’ve been there?
I mean…

TONE: JOSEPH: TONE:

JOSEPH:
(Handing letters to TONE)

You owe these fellows some money. –Do you know any Catholics, Theo?

Not one.

TONE:

JOSEPH:
A great pity. Three million of them; not half a million of

us. Yet we run all the show. My gospel got thin on that

point.
This gent begs you to dinner in Dublin.

He’s opened it all.

RUSSELL:

(Another letter)

JOSEPH:
Not all. He says in the west of the land they’re resigned.

That was his word: resigned. Is it not an awful word, son? Young and old alike, resigned. I led the cryin’ on that word, Theo. “Too long beat down and dumb,” he said.

RUSSELL:
I know you did not evangelize the man.

JOSEPH
I did not. But, we did speak of Jesus a bit. We cried on that

word as well. Our mutual Redeemer. And there, in Ireland, the mutuality ends.

TONE:
Mr. Russell, when I was at Middle Temple in London, avoiding

the study of law, I saw the great Sarah Siddons on stage at Drury Lane. From the balcony.

RUSSELL: Not to change the subject.

TONE:
No. I fell instantly in love with the lady. I’d strutted a

bit on the stage myself. In amateur theatricals.

7.

RUSSELL: Not that story, please.

TONE:
No. So, I thought I’d go round and meet her. But, I didn’t. I

feared I’d not love her up close. I must confess I don’t know Ireland. As I don’t know Sarah Siddons.

JOSEPH:
With a lovely lady, the least you can do is pay your

respects.

RUSSELL:
Our dear friend is too timid, Dad. He fears that if he looks

at Ireland up close he’ll develop a point of view, God forbid.

JOSEPH: Mind your manners, son.

RUSSELL:
I say it’s a waste. The man has a talent for political

thought. But, he won’t let it come to the boil.

TONE: You know I favor reform.

RUSSELL:
I do. But, reform is a simmering business. A bubble here, a

bubble there, and nothing ever gets cooked.

In time it does.

TONE:

RUSSELL:
Maybe it does in time. But who’s time? You sound like Burke.

“Now is the time,” says Paine!

TONE:
And it was. Then. For the Americans. But, who’d support an

upheaval in Ireland? The Catholics? “Resigned. Too long beat down and dumb,” I’ve heard it said.

RUSSELL:
And so we sit and wait forever, under the thumb of the Brits

and divided by religion because that’s the way they want it.

TONE:
If the Catholics can’t and the Protestants won’t, you’ve not

so much as a ditch to piss in.

8.

RUSSELL:
You’ve not if you make your way to the ditch with pious awe

and trembling solicitude. You water your small clothes instead, compliments of Edmund Burke!

TONE:
Burke supported Catholic emancipation.

To no avail.

RUSSELL:

TONE:
And now he wants to prevent bloodshed.

RUSSELL:
I find him selective just there. Only the spilt blood of

monarchs makes him squeamish.

Unfair.

TONE:

RUSSELL:
The man’s a pure snot! And the Irish Parliament is controlled

by snots! John Fitzgibbon is an Irish snot! And William Pitt is a London snot! King George himself is…

TONE:
Stop it! You serve in his army and wear his uniform!

RUSSELL:
For the love of God don’t remind me!

(Pause. Then, to JOSEPH)
I hate it when he goes all mature on me. For stage effect

alone. In his heart he’s not a drop more moderate than I am.

–I seek a ditch. Snot.

Snot yourself.

(Goes to door) TONE:

RUSSELL exits.

TONE: (CONT’D) The beer bloats and heats him.

JOSEPH:
He’ll return singing hymns when he’s emptied his wanker.

TONE:
It’s a frustrating business, old gentleman. Where do you

stand?

9.

JOSEPH:
Ah. I walked to the postal station, browsed at the book

stall, and wept with a lovely man. That’s all I know.

MATILDA enters.

JOSEPH: (CONT’D) Now there’s a better sight for us all.

MATILDA:
Have you finished our stew, my darling?

JOSEPH:
I’ve not. But, you see I’ve peeled and chopped my secret

ingredients. Give us a hand to the cook stove. (JOSEPH and MATILDA prepare to

go to the kitchen) Ah, one other parcel.

Hands package to TONE, then exits with MATILDA. TONE pours two beers, then sits to open the package. RUSSELL re-enters, singing softly.

RUSSELL:
If you vow to behave, I’ll bless your domain with my

presence.

(Without looking up, TONE hands him his beer. RUSSELL sits)

What have we there?

TONE: God love the old Whig. He bought stall and wrapped it. It’s never

RUSSELL: Must I rip it from your hands?

this himself at the book seen a postal stamp.

TONE:
Settle back. Fresh from the printer. The Rights of Man, by

your gallant Thomas Paine. 1791. Part One.

Lights come up on THOMAS PAINE addressing the audience.

PAINE
“Among the incivilities by which nations or individuals

provoke and irritate each other, Mr. Burke’s pamphlet on the French Revolution is an extraordinary example. There is scarcely an epithet of abuse to be found in the English language, with which Mr. Burke has not loaded the French Nation and the National Assembly. Everything which rancor, prejudice, ignorance or knowledge could suggest, is poured forth in the copious fury of near four hundred pages.”

10.

Lights down on PAINE.

---

The drum-roll fades. TONE enters, in chains, with a BRITISH OFFICER.

TONE:
I am a commissioned Adjutant-General in the army of the

French Republic! I’ll not be paraded to Dublin in irons!

OFFICER:
You are a renegade subject of the Kingdom of Ireland! You’ll

be paraded to Dublin and through Dublin as His Majesty pleases!

Drum-roll ends. TONE is brought across stage.

OWENSBY:
He’s here, sir. The prisoner Tone is here.

Have him brought to me. Before his trial?

FITZGIBBON: OWENSBY: FITZGIBBON:

Before, during, after. This drama has gone beyond when, where and whether, Owensby.

OWENSBY: So it has. –Theobald Wolfe Tone.

(TONE steps into the area) FITZGIBBON:

You, in chains. You, in charge.

FITZGIBBON:
As though wind-blown into alignment. Yes. Well. Your French

Humbert gave us a fright, I must admit. A damned good run. Bit of a stumble at Ballinamuck, but, all in all, a good run.

TONE:
At Ballinamuck, where we stumbled a bit, did any fourteen

year old Irish boys die?

Tone.
Fitzgibbon. Well, here we are.

TONE: FITZGIBBON: TONE:

67.

Owensby?
Oh, yes. And younger.
Would you have a list of the names?

Not a complete…
Goodness, no. Ruffians.
You’re a mighty man, Fitzgibbon.

Owensby, make notation.

FITZGIBBON:

FITZGIBBON: OWENSBY: TONE:

OWENSBY: FITZGIBBON: TONE:

TONE: Are you pleased with yourself?

FITZGIBBON dons on a Peruke (judge’s wig).

FITZGIBBON:
Does the question smack of impertinence to the dignity of the

court, Owensby?

OWENSBY:
(As OWENSBY puts a judge’s

robe over FITZGIBBON’s

shoulders) If you say so, m’lord.

TONE now stands in the “court room” accused.

TONE:
So now you become my prosecutor and judge…

JUDGE FITZGIBBON:
The Court Martial before which you stand was appointed by

General Cornwallis, Lord Lieutenant of the Kingdom, to try whether you have or have not acted traitorously and hostilely against his Majesty, to whom, as a natural born subject, you owe all your allegiance. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?

TONE:
I mean not to give the court any useless trouble. I admit all

the facts alleged, and only request leave to read an address, which I have prepared for this occasion.

68.

FITZGIBBON:
I must warn the prisoner that, in acknowledging those facts,

he admits, to his prejudice, that he has acted traitorously against his Majesty. Is such his intention?

TONE:
Stripping this charge of the technicality of its terms, it

means, I presume, by the word “traitorously,” that I have been found in arms against the soldiers of the King in my native country. I admit this accusation in its most extended sense, and request to explain to the Court the reasons and motives of my conduct.

FITZGIBBON:
Provided you confine yourself within the bounds of

moderation, we will hear your address.

TONE:
(Turns to the audience/jury)

Mr. President, and Gentlemen of the Court Martial. From my earliest youth, I have regarded the connection between Ireland and Great Britain as the curse of the Irish nation.

RUSSELL:
(From the gallery/audience)

Forgive him, Lord, for lying under oath! (To TONE)

We were headed to Hawaii for King George and William Pitt!

FITZGIBBON: (Aside)

Owensby, who is that man?

TONE: (TO RUSSELL)

I’ll thank you not to mar the force of my presentation, Tom. This is my testimony alone.

(To the Court)
…as I was saying: Britain remains the curse of the Irish

nation, and I am convinced that whilst the connection lasts, this country will never be free or happy. In consequence, I am determined to apply all the powers which my individual efforts could move, in order to separate the two countries. I sought in the French Republic an ally to rescue three millions of my countrymen from…

FITZGIBBON:
This language is neither relevant to the charge nor ought to

be delivered in a public court!

69.

Three millions!

TONE:

FITZGIBBON: It is calculated to inflame…

TONE: Three million Catholics!

FITZGIBBON:
To inflame the minds of a certain description of people…

TONE: United Irishmen, you mean?

FITZGIBBON: Many of whom might probably be present!

I shall urge…

TONE:

FITZGIBBON:
If the prisoner offers these words in way of extenuation, it

must have a quite contrary effect!

TONE:
I shall urge this topic no further, since it seems

disagreeable to the Court; but shall proceed to read the few words that remain.

FITZGIBBON:
If the remainder of your address, Mr. Tone, is of the same

complexion with what you have already read, will you not hesitate for a moment, since you have learned the opinion of the Court?

TONE:
I mean to express my feelings and gratitude towards the

Catholic body, in whose cause I was engaged.

FITZGIBBON:
No! That has nothing to say to the charges against you. If

you have anything to offer in defense or extenuation of that charge, the Court will hear you. Confine yourself to that subject.

TONE:
I beg the Court’s indulgence. Will you not let me present my

reasons.

FITZGIBBON:
I’ll not let you preach Catholic propaganda. Quite right, eh

Owensby?

70.

OWENSBY:
Actually, Mr. Arthur Wolfe, the Attorney-General, denies the

authority of the Military Court. The King’s Bench is presently sitting. He wants a civil trial.

FITZGIBBON:
Wolfe to the rescue of Wolfe Tone again? He’s related to you,

is he not? He is not.

TONE:

FITZGIBBON:
He’s related! Somehow. –What difference would it make? Your

plea is guilty.

OWENSBY:
With respect, sir, the difference would be in time. Time for

the French to intervene, claim their prisoner of war. It’s quite regular in the law.

FITZGIBBON:
Great God! I’m being instructed in points of military law by

— Write it, Owensby! –I am being instructed…

OWENSBY:
My pen is off; the point has spread.

TONE: Bring it to me, Mr. Owensby.

TONE sharpens the quill with his penknife.

FITZGIBBON: They’ve left you a weapon?

TONE:
A weapon? It’s a wonder I’ve not slashed the King’s guards to

ribbons. Penknife and pitchfork and pike against cannon: the story of Ireland and Britain. Good Christ, Fitzgibbon, how could you be pleased with yourself?

FITZGIBBON: What I have done for my country…

TONE:
What you have done stands before you! I am the fruit of

Fitzgibbonism.

FITZGIBBON: The man is cracked, Owensby.

OWENSBY: I understand him quite well, sir.

71.

TONE:
Suppose you had not resisted history tooth and nail. I would

have remained unmade. An ordinary barrister. A trifle bored, but generally content with my Ireland and my hearth. Great Christ, man, you’re going to hang a weekend gardener.

FITZGIBBON:
You credit me too much, sir. I had no hand in your creation.

You are the natural offspring of Voltaire and Paine. Yes. Itching for an issue. Finding offenses where none exist. Inflating those that do. Disturbing the peace of the realm for the hell of it, yes. You are only a deviant — at any time, under any rule.

You threw in with the Irish papists, then threw in again with the French atheists. You gravitate toward any extreme. He delights not in Ireland, his hearth, or his God, Owensby. He’s abandoned all three for novelty. And I say he’s cracked!

TONE begins his summation. He uses the full stage and such characters as may appear on it for the speech, finishing in the Court area.

TONE:
I shall then confine myself to some points relative to my

connection with the French army. Under the flag of the French Republic, I originally engaged with a view to save and liberate my own country. For that purpose, I have encountered the chances of war among strangers.

For that purpose I have repeatedly braved the terrors of the ocean, covered as I knew it to be with the triumphant fleet of that Power which it was my glory and my duty to oppose. I have sacrificed all my vistas in life; I have courted poverty; I have left a beloved wife unprotected, and children whom I adored, fatherless.

After such sacrifices, it is no great effort at this day to add the sacrifice of my life. In a cause like this, success is everything. Success, in the eyes of the vulgar, fixes its merits.

Washington and the French succeeded in their revolutions. As inspired by the words of Thomas Paine and his Rights of Man, I have spoken and acted with reflection and on principle, and am ready to meet the consequences. Whatever the sentence of this Court, I am prepared for it. Its members will surely discharge their duty; I shall take care not to be wanting in mine.

FITZGIBBON:
Is the prisoner prepared to receive sentence?

TONE:
No! I wish to speak to the coachwoman!

72.

FITZGIBBON:
I tell you he’s cracked Owensby! A coachwoman! Indeed!

TONE:
And a catholic, about the future of her boy! You’ll not stop

me, sir. This drama goes far beyond me, to hundreds of thousands of my countrymen.

The drum-roll begins strongly, but soon becomes faint and faltering, as KATY BOYLAN is brought into the court by the OFFICER. TONE approaches her. All others are in tableau. Drum out.

TONE: (CONT’D)
Ms. Boylan, would you carry a message to your son?

BOYLAN:
Mr. Tone, I will carry the message and yourself back to

Kildare, God willing.

TONE:
I’ll not be travelling with you by coach, my good woman. But

I will be with you in spirit. This for the boy, tell him: Since our journey to Dublin in the coach, we’ve covered a bit of ground. I know many of your mates were lost playing soldier. But don’t lose heart. Now, I want you to grow up. Promise me that. And don’t let the bastards shove you about, but don’t take to shovin’ either. The island’s as big as ever it was, and big as it ever’ll be. And this island is just big enough for the Irish, and I leave it to you to learn what that means.

BOYLAN
Mr. Tone, that’s a mouthful, I’ll have to write that down.

OWENSBY I have it for you here, m’am.

FITZGIBBON So now your pen is sharp again, is

it, Owensby?

out on a faint drum-roll.

It will suffice.

OWENSBY (Nods)

Remove this woman.

FITZGIBBON

The OFFICER escorts BOYLAN

BOYLAN God bless, you Mr. Tone.

73.

FITZGIBBON:
Is the prisoner prepared to receive sentence?

TONE:
Good God! Is the Court prepared to deliver it at once?

The Court is prepared.

FITZGIBBON:

TONE: Then the prisoner is prepared.

FITZGIBBON:
The Court Martial do find the prisoner, Theobald Wolfe Tone,

guilty of the crimes alleged against him, and do therefore adjudge him to be hanged, his head struck off, fixed on a pike, and placed in the most conspicuous part of this city. Sentence to be executed two days hence, Twelve, November, 1798. John Fitzgibbon, Lord High Chancellor.

RUSSELL:
(From the gallery/audience,

approaching the stage)
If you’re going to hang him, you’ll damn well have to hang me

too! And the whole nation before you’re through.

TONE:
Don’t tempt them, Tom. And don’t worry yourself about me,

take care of Matty and the children. I don’t give a hang if they hang me, and they are welcome to do with my head as they please. I’ll not be anywhere near it.

FITZGIBBON:
Silence! I’ll not hear any more from this rabble rouser. Get

him out, and take the prisoner away.

RUSSELL:
‘Tis in vain for soldiers to complain. Permit me to take my

leave from Ireland.

Lights fade on the courtroom as everyone on stage exits, with TONE being escorted by the OFFICER.

SCENE 9

TONE:
Dearest Love. The hour is at last come when we must part. As

no words can express what I feel for you and our children…

Lights up on TONE’s prison cell. He sits on a stool at a table. TONE avails himself of the paper, pen and ink on the table. He sharpens the quill with his penknife and lays it on the table. He speaks as he writes.

74.

MATILDA:
(Lights up across the stage)

…I shall not attempt it; complaint of any kind would be beneath your courage and mine; be assured I will die as I have lived…

TONE:
…and that you will have no cause to blush for me. I have

written on your behalf to the French Government. In Ireland I have written to your brother Harry, and of course to Tom, and to all our friends who are about to go into exile and who, I am sure, will not abandon you. Adieu, dearest love.

Adieu, dearest love.

MATILDA:

TONE:
I find it impossible to finish this letter.

MATILDA:
I find it impossible to finish this letter. Give my love to

all. And above all things take care of yourself, as you are now the only parent of our dearest children.

TONE:
My mind is as tranquil this moment as at any period of my

life. Cherish my memory…

MATILDA:
…And especially preserve your health and spirits for the

sake of our dearest children. Yours ever.

TONE: Yours ever. T. W. Tone.

He folds the letter and sets it aside. He sees the penknife, picks it up and cherishes it for a moment, opens it, tests its edge, sits back in the chair and suddenly slashes his throat. Blood spills as he collapses on the table. A drum-roll commences as the lights fade. Blackout.

SCENE 10

Lights up on FITZGIBBON’s study.

OWENSBY I’ve come from his cell…

What did he say?

FITZGIBBON:

75.

OWENSBY:
“I am sorry to have been so bad an anatomist.”…He’ll not be

hanged. He slit his own throat with the penknife.

Is he alive?

FITZGIBBON

OWENSBY
He was. Barely. When I entered the cell. I told him I was

sorry for his undeserved fate and soon his suffering would be ended.

What did he say?

FITZGIBBON

OWENSBY
He said, “thank you, it’s the most welcome news you could

give me.”

FITZGIBBON:
I’d sew up his neck and finish the business.

OWENSBY:
You bloody, disgusting, traitorous bastard!

OWENSBY exits. Lights down on FITZGIBBONS. Light up on PAINE.

PAINE:
Were I to take a turn into the country, the trees would

present a leafless, wintery appearance. Yet people might by chance might observe that a single bud on a twig had begun to swell. I should reason very unnaturally to suppose this was the only bud in England which had this appearance. It is, however, not difficult to perceive that the spring is begun.

Blackout.

–END ACT TWO– –FINIS–