Dramatis Personae _Francos_ . . . . _Governor General of a Province._ _Quezox_ . . . . _Resident Delegate of the Province._ _Seldonskip:_ . . _Secretary to the Governor General._ _Capt of the Ship:_ _Scene: On shipboard_ _(Quezox, slowly walking the deck, soliloquizes.)_ I feel a mighty task doth bear me down. When distance held the burden in its hand, It seemed, that, like a vessel on the stock, 'Twould easy, when the holding blocks were moved, Slip gently down into the sea of states; But now that nearness stares me in the face, Wearing prophetic grin, methinks, I see Deep obstacles which bar the slippery ways, On which the ship must glide to waters deep. A ship to safely sail in troubled seas, Must boast a captain skilled in wat'ry lore. But he were helpless, if the vessel's crew Have not the cunning which of years is born. Alas, from out the black and threat'ning sky, One star alone of all the eyes of Night Doth faintly pierce the gloom and light our way To safe solution of the knotty point. If but the Captain wear a stately mien And walketh deck with slow and kingly tread, Lieutenants skilled, by filthy lucre bribed, May box the compass and so save the ship. But who shall Captain be? Ah there's the rub. There many be who fain would walk the deck, Though he who bears the burdens of day Forsooth should then be decked with laurel crown. But there be schemers, working in the dark, Who ready stand to grasp the hanging fruit While he who plants and watereth the tree With itching jaws may ne'er its fruitage taste. Caesar hath said that Francos aid will lend, To further us in working our designs, And yet fear whispers to mine anxious mind Honor hath made his soul its dwelling place. Hence "graft," even to aid his upward climb To higher honors, findeth not his ear. As he hath gold, methinks the chink of coin Charmeth him not; belike 'twould poorer men. As skilled musician fingereth the harp, So must I play upon his prejudice, Which finds no virtue in politic foes, And thus shall shrewdness do its perfect work. But Seldonskip? I love this hombre not. He looketh on our race with proud disdain, Hence I with poison must sour Francos' mind, That he but vileness in this boor shall see. Some men, I ween, would tread in virtue's path, Unless strong passion, born of love intense, Should goad them to stretch out a greedy hand,