The Archer
A Satirical Play
Author’s Note: This play was published by The Bolton Review. It satirises the rivalry between Byron and Keats, so I encourage you to look up the history between them.
London. 1999. Spring.
BRYON and SKATE are standing a few feet apart in the side room of a pub. BRYON is flipping through a document. SKATE has his hands in his pockets.
BRYON This is terrible, my friend.
SKATE We are not friends, and you’re dead wrong. This is the best thing I’ve written in years.
BRYON You’re delusional.
SKATE You’re a snob.
BRYON You’re…
(SKATE steps closer.)
SKATE Go on. Say what you want to say.
(BRYON pauses for a moment.)
BRYON Not worth thy breath.
SKATE Thy breath?! You really are a snob.
BRYON Should I call you a turd instead?
SKATE I would like that. It makes you normal.
BRYON Fine. You are a massive, great, stinking turd.
(SKATE smiles.)
SKATE Thank you. Truly.
BRYON You’re welcome.
SKATE Why don’t you like it?
BRYON It’s clichéd. You should push yourself a bit more.
SKATE What’s that supposed to mean?
(BYRON gives SKATE the document.)
BRYON Think outside the box. Your use of metaphor is derivative and juvenile.
SKATE It might not be to your taste, but I speak for the regular folk.
BRYON It’s too cockney.
SKATE Snob.
(BRYON sighs loudly.)
BRYON Is that the only insult you know? I must remember to get you a thesaurus.
SKATE You’ve never liked me.
BRYON That isn’t true. I am quite fond of you.
SKATE Then why do you say such horrible things?
BRYON They are prescriptions, not daggers.
SKATE I don’t understand.
BRYON I am not insulting you. I am commenting on your work because I believe in the sustainability of the arts. If I don’t think something is very good, then I will say so.
SKATE So you’re a doctor now?
BRYON Of sorts.
SKATE Really. I thought you were a History teacher.
BRYON You stick in the mud.
SKATE Isn’t that too common of an insult for you?
(Air quotes.)
SKATE Too cockney.
BRYON I would never use air quotes.
SKATE Can I see what you’ve written recently?
BRYON I don’t have it.
SKATE (Pointing to a folded paper in the front pocket of BYRON.) So what’s that then?
(BRYON hides the paper.)
BRYON School work. It’s nothing.
SKATE Which is it? School work or nothing?
BRYON You want revenge.
SKATE Not true!
BRYON Come on.
SKATE Ok. Maybe a little. Are you going to show me?
BRYON Never.
SKATE That’s not fair. You tore my heart out and spat on it. Let me do the same.
BRYON I did not spit on it.
SKATE You come in here and litter your filthy ego across my work, but you won’t let me see a glimpse of yours? Not even a letter?!
BRYON You won’t understand it. It will fly right over your head.
(SKATE roars.)
SKATE Do you really think so little of me?
BRYON It’s. I—
(SKATE snatches the paper from BYRON’s pocket. BRYON tries to take it back.)
BRYON Give me that, you insolent—
SKATE That is no way for a scholarly gentleman to talk to a fellow.
(SKATE flips to a particular page. BRYON waves him on.)
SKATE ‘Bryon’s poetry is nothing that one would expect of a man of such nobility. While he believes himself to be a God of English poetry, his verse is one of poor form and utter stupidity.’
BRYON Nonsense. They have no taste.
SKATE Now I know why you didn’t want me to know.
BRYON Go on. Get it out of your system.
SKATE Do you want me to laugh?
BRYON No.
SKATE Then I won’t.
(SKATE hands the paper back to BRYON.)
BRYON I handle my critics with grace and a splash of humour. You lose your mind.
SKATE I do not!
BRYON I heard from a good friend that you called the Editor and threatened him with violence if he didn’t retract the review.
SKATE It was a moment of madness. He said some terrible things about work that means more to me than anyone will—
(SKATE clutches his heart. BRYON looks concerned.)
BRYON Are you ok?
(SKATE collapses on the floor.)
BRYON Help! We need help here!
(SKATE goes limp.)
BRYON I did it. I shot the arrow.