Continued from elsewhere......

[thunderous pounding is heard from stage left ..... the wooden door bursts open, shattering into a million splinters – ooooh goodie thinks the playwright, kindling! – a buxom country wench pants breathlessly, rips off her bodice]

She: Oi’ll crush yo, moi lover!






Improvisation in this thread is encouraged

A gentleman dressed entirely in tweed saunters on from stage right. He takes a posey from his top pocket and looks at the wench nonchelantly


He: Pray be still wench, stop your catawauling and smell thine nosegay. As for crushing, thou best remove thine bustle post haste.....

There is a crash off stage and loud voice bellows from the rafters

Pedro: My darling Petunia, where are you? It is your husband Pedro returned from the war. I have missed you so much.

The sound of heavy steps lead up to the stage

[Second He, the tweeded scoundrel, trembles]

Oh dear!

But I have nothing to fear from this Pedro chap, for I am promised to the Cute Curly Constable yonder (points to the audience).

She/Petunia looks in horror at him with tears welling in her eyes

Petunia: You wot????

She strides across the stage to him with purpose, coming nose to nose with him. He steps back slightly in surprise

Petunia bellows: You are moi luvver and if you leave me oi will CRUSH you!

The gentleman in tweed wrings his hand nervously. He looks frantically off stage and stammers:

He: Petunia, darling, there is another I am betrothed to. I thought that this crushing business was just a crush. I blush when you talk of the crush. I must rush. Fare thee well. Till we meet again my blushing, rushing, crushing wench. Fare thee well.

Gent departs stage right

Just before he leaves the stage he runs into Pedro, who is a big and heavy as his foot steps standing a seven feet tall. Pedro looks down as the gent cowers.

Pedro: Petunia? What is the meaning of this? Have you been fluttering your eyelashes as another whilst I have been risking my life for King and country?

Just before Petunia could open her lips to speak this time, the Gent backs off a bit and starts tapping his feet.

The gent: I've gotta gal, oh what a pal
The apple of my eye
With something rare, a peach of a pear
But her dad won't let us meet and I could die

I love Petunia the gardener's daughter
Oooh how that gal can kiss
Her eyes are blue as bluebells
Each cheek a rose to see
How I dance when she plants her two lips on me
I'm as daffy as a daffodil
I long to kiss her all the time
Tonight I'll steal into her garden
And make Petunia's two lips mine
_________________

on jogs a young paper boy from stage left

He: PAPER! PAPER! GET YER DAILY NOOSPAPER!

he sidles up to petunia

he: 'ere miss, wanna noospaper? I does them cheap i does. Only tuppence!

Petunia looks at the paperboy in horror

She: Tuppence? TUPPENCE? Damn your impudence urchin, you'll have a penny and no more. Pedro, pay the boy. I want to see if the paper has published my advert in the classifieds.

Pedro walks to the paperboy begrudgingly opening his coin purse.

Pedro presses the coin into the boy's sweaty palm as the boy passes him the paper. Once the coins are safely in one hand and the paper had left the other, the boy sprints off, stopping at the edge of stage left.


Boy: Ya boo! That's last week's edition you stupid bunch. Also I'm gonna tell everyone that I saw Petunia is standing in her bedroom with her bodice open and two men leering on. I'll make more money on admittance then I would selling these crappy old papers I will!!

The boy slips away into the darkness of back stage laughing

the disgruntle paperboy shoves the paper into pedros hands,recieves his money and exits stage right

pedro smooths out the crinkled paper and in doing so glances at the front page...

He:[confused]what....what is the meaning of this?!

he opens the aper to page three and gasps then looks at petunia

He: my darling sweetest one, what is this?......is this you?

[the sound of 2 pistachio nut shells being banged together is heard at stage left – one assumes it is a horse approaching – a large Roman centurion enters through the shattered door, cuffs the unkempt newspaper boy around the head and sends him on his way]

Centurion: Mellita, domi adsum! [stares in disblief] I say, I say, what is this? I find men in the chamber of my mistress Petunia? And what is this in the tabloid? Fama nihil est celeries!

Petunia: Amicule, deliciae! Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?

Petunia looking shame-faced

She: Indulgeo mihi. Ego volo meus pectus futurus blandior per ventus.