Act I, scene v
A rose-garden beneath a tower of Timon. Enter Rangoon and three maidservants.
My gentle maids, I prithee now make haste
To prepare in great anticipation for
Th'arrival of my distant kin; my lord
The brave Antipodes, my cousin's twin
And bearer of the seal of regal love
Unto most distant climes; would he were here
To see a virgin 'most unmanned by fright.
Make haste, make haste!
                           Fair mistress, this we do,
Though we were long since past that lonely state
Wherein you have encompassed by our names'
Strange harmony of doleful melodies
Passed by.
                Indeed we shall depart.
                                      In haste
Lest impetigo spoil our whitened cheeks
And vertigo make green our laundered scarves.
Exeunt maidservants.
Rangoon sits down before a mirror.
Oh, what strange feelings whelm within my breast,
Within these fleshy lumps of mammal's drink,
These pulpy paps that groan beneath the weight,
That flop unsightly – bitten and besmirched
By raging palsy. Unromantic domes!
Unkennelled yet by whalebone halter stiff
My daughters illegitimate forget
Their father, from the whirlpool long since sucked
By sage Aeolus' might. O, would I woot
The glory of the King, my fearsome thane
Uncloud the sky of unwed marriages,
Where beaks proclaim the incest of the throne
And fierce contagion rages through the land.
(off stage) What bloody man is this? Ud's feet and hands!
His trews in disarray.
Megalitha screams
                           What? Who goes where?
Usquebaugh rushes in, screaming.
My lady, 'tis a Chinaman most queer,
Who shows us why we live so ill-informed
And kept from all things int'resting or nice
That may delight us. Leave we now this place.
Shun they the ort.
What things may do whenas the weakest fail
Exit Rangoon.
A trolley is wheeled on, with tea-fare aboard.
Comestibles I bring of rancid ilk,
The foetid bun, the most unpleasant milk.
The nauseous delights of our canteen
That turn all men an ochrish shade of green
Yet leave them not unglutted; in my care
Is every coelocanth that feeds on air.
A siren is heard offstage, followed by a dismal gloomy silence in which the occasional dripping of water cannot be heard. Then, a bang. Enter Rangoon, tearing at her hair.
Ye gods!
She faints. Enter the Chinaman.
                My porcelanity conceals –
My deeper thoughts.
Exit Chinaman.
Enter the three maidservants in violent disarray.
                           Look, our mistress faints!
Her eyes are swollen. See her rancid breasts,
Diseas'd. with vile and horrid germs, pulsate
In rhythm with the coyote up the road
Who wails just as Rangoon did for her love
Enchanted in the wood which used to grow
Hard by. But now her feet are decomposed
And two fat bags of haggis hang around
As if to tell us that our selfsame fate
Doth soon await us. O, these breasts, these breasts,
I wish they were elsewhere – among the clouds,
Where women's faults are all forgiv'n, where some
Young lover takes her tea alone, and sits
Unchastened by the mysteries of love.
O, would these awful hemispheres were hence
In igloos dire, or unfrequented tents.
Exeunt the maidservants, weeping profusely at their plight, carrying Rangoon in their arms.

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