FOREPLAY

[An acacia grove in the foothills of Parnassus. A silver threading stream leaps playfully over mossy rocks and onyx-like pebbles, its merry conversation redolent of the energetic bustle of the central concourse of Athen’s merry railway station. Bluebells and hyacinths spread haphazardly down the slope, tossing their gold and purple heads gracefully in the gentle breeze, their little voices trilling shrilly in the sunlight, with words that only the fairies can understand: "Whee-ee Wheee-eee wap-a-daisy! Walla-pixit! Fleeda fleeda-yip Yip Yip Yip, Today’s today! What a thrilly, frilly frangible day! Wallawoopid wallawoopid wallalay wallalay, etc." (Hyacinths are not the most profound of plants). The muses CLIO, THALIA, MELPOMENE and URANIA sit variously on the grass, but EUTERPE, ERATO, POLYHYMNIA and CALLIOPE sit on a golden couch swathed with myrtle and ivy. They comprise the chorus, and when they speak, they speak in unison. They all in deep thought when TERPSICHORE suddenly appears.]

TERPSICHORE: Hee-ee-ey, Kids! What’s happ’nin’? What’s the sce-ene? How ya doin’, chicks?
THALIA: [Rising and slapping her hand] Terpsy, baby! Hey, kid, you are one mother of a cool vixen! Where have you been groovin’, babe?
TERPSICHORE Eng-land, honey. Ah wuz inspirin’ dis poetical dude name Marriott
CHORUS Poetical inspiration?
That’s our occupation!
You shouldn’t be doing it!
Get back to your break-dancing shit
TERPSICHORE C’mon, kids, what about deregulation, an’ this "big bang" shit that th’ ol’ man’s been goin’ on about?
CHORUS Up your ass, honey
That’s about money
In the arts, we muses nine
Can our separate roles define;
And a poetical muse is a poetical muse
And would always your lowly art refuse!
TERPSICHORE Hee-e-ey! — you uptight chicks are really bad vibes! An’ anyway, didn’ I see yoo kids lookin’ at th’ Proceedings of the Byron Society th’ other day?
CHORUS Ha Ha! [Attempted carefree laughter]
We can’t conceive a notion that’s dafter;
Such a shameless and dreadful book
Should be thrown away in Charon’s brook;
We wouldn’t touch it with a stick
That was ten times longer than a titan’s prick
TERPSICHORE Hey, look, I saw it. You gals wuz readin’ th’ Proceedings of the Byron Society. Don’t bullshit me, kids!
CHORUS Well alright, so what if we were?
Should this reading be an eternal slur
On our good names for evermore?
How can we be sure it’s piss-poor
Unless we read it in detail, in full;
Such an incomparable pile of bull.
Is a warning to all poetical souls
Never to forget their artistic goals;
Thus it has its validity
And should be read with avidity
TERPSICHORE Well, man, thass rea-al cool after this [mimicking] ‘Eauh, we peauetical Muses deaun’t geau neeyah this common vulgar rhyme’ shit that yoo keep givin’ us. Rea-al cool. An’ let me tell ya somethin’ else girls. Ah jis’ found out that they’re gonna have another Byron Society dinner!

[Exeunt all, shrieking and fleeing, except TERPSICHORE and the HYACINTHS]

THE HYACINTHS Willawoo willaramba rooraramba nirrafrillith wheee! Whee! Whee! Whee! Mirrinim! Fillinim! Firrafrim! A woozy, rusey, floosie day! A newsy choosy, boozy day! Wirrim wirrim wirrim wirrim [etc., etc., ad maxima nauseam]