THE TRUNCH NIGHTSOILMAN'S PLAY

THE TRUNCH NIGHTSOILMAN'S PLAY

(enter George and Bold Aroma)

They sing:

Both Here we come this morning, or afternoon or night -

Delete as appropriate - to bring to you delight.

We are jolly mummers, so pay to us good heed,

While we with our mumming do merrily proceed:

Mum mum mum mum etc

Geo My name it is George and I am a bold Knight,

I come here today for to look for a fight.

I'm no good at cooking or at cricket or at chess,

But at killing and maiming I am simply the best.

Both Mum mum mum mum etc

B.A. My name is Bold Aroma, the Turkish Nightsoilman,

I travel far, I travel wide, just for to fill my can.

Good fresh fertiliser is always in great need,

And any contributions will be gratefully received.

Both Mum mum mum mum etc

Geo In comes I, George is my name,

A hero bold of famous fame.

My fame is famous - I'm not just braggin' -

I've killed the damsel and rescued the dragon!

I've met the Frog, the Turk, the Hun,

And massacred each and every one.

So to anyone it's plain as paint

That I should be a holy saint.

But when I sent off to apply

They said that first I have to die!

To be Saint George is my desire

So quickly now I must expire.

But seeing as suicide won't do,

I'll pick a fight, and bravely lose.

Come on then - who'll fight George of famous fame - whose fame is famous?

B.A. In comes I, Bold Aroma,

My smell is known from York to Cromer.

My trade is vital to women and men,

But somehow I've not made many friends.

I'm not bitter, I'm stout, but mild,

Fighting is by me reviled.

Peace and love are my delight -

I never, ever, ever fight.

Nothing was ever settled by fighting.

Geo What about the wars in France?

B.A. Well, apart from them.

Geo And the wars in Germany?

B.A. And those, I suppose.

Geo And boxing matches?

B.A. Don't think I don't know your desire;

You hope this way to raise my fire.

But that won't work at all, I fear -

It's not been raised in many's the year.

We two are brothers beneath the skin;

Bob's your Auntie, and mine's a gin.

Do what you will, 'twill not avail,

To make me fight you'll surely fail.

Geo What if I was just to attack you?

B.A. Oh well, that's different. Go on then, try it.

Geo Oh yeah?

B.A. Yeah!

(they grapple - B.A. pushes George back with his stomach)

Geo No - I've gone off the idea

(George turns away, and B.A. fells him from behind)

B.A. He who lives by the sword shall die by the brush

Geo Out goes I, Saint George.

B.A. Is there a doctor in the house?

(George rises and becomes the doctor)

Doc In comes I, a doctor most able,

I've studied my books and learned all my tables

I can square the hypotenuse and decline the verb -

In fact my credentials are quite superb.

B.A. Doctor, this man ..........!

Geo Is there a body in the house?

(They recruit a body from the audience))

B.A. Doctor, this man has the gout and the ague,

The pox and the palsy, the pester and plague you;

He has ingrowing toe-nails and outgrowing toes;

A frog in his throat and a pea up his nose.

In fact, he is an ex George; he has turned up his toes; he has gone to meet his maker; he is pining for the fjords ...

(Doc interrupts)

Doc If all the facts are as you have said.,

It's my firm opinion - he's probably dead.

B.A. Your diagnosis is quick and sure;

Come then - be as deft with the cure.

Doc The cure? It's no good you asking me.

I am a doctor of philosophy.

But this is a riddle - when we say George is dead,

What do we mean by what we have said?

Some would say that his mind isn't present -

He doesn't think, therefore he isn't.

But here he is, large as life, on the floor;

And besides, he didn't think much before.

Others might argue that his soul has departed,

But his soles and his heels are just where they started,,

To clear up this riddle is clearly my duty;

Ipso facto and et tu Bruté.

If the difference between life and death we can't name,

Then quid pro quo rata, they must both be the same.

B.A. If that's the conclusion at which you arrive,

Then it seems to me he must still be alive!

Doc Arise - you are late no longer!

(The body rises from the dead)

Doc A miracle - who said philosophy's no practical use.

George So George will fight again. I fear

We'll have to do this all again next year.

B.A. So our play is ended, there's just one more thing -

To prove it's all over, the fat man must sing.

George I thought I was singing?

B.A. You are!

Both Here we go this morning, or afternoon or night -

Delete as appropriate - we hope we brought delight.

We are jolly mummers, we've done for you our play,

And no you must pay us so we will go away.