"Elocution of the Flowers" by Westward Ho

                        After a poem---by Racine, I think.  No, Ronsard.  (I looked it up.) 
                        Translated by somebody.

THE OROTUND

And, vaguely, like the flowers, your beauties are so slim.  The slenderness of stems thus leads to orotuning hymns.

CHORUS OF FLOWERS

Was there art?  Was there art?

THE OROTUND

The flowers gently call.

CHORUS OF FLOWERS

Was there art?

THE OROTUND

Can art disturb a thing so small?

            THE END.

"Misunderstanding"

            (Two FRIENDS stand by a window.)

THE FRIEND

Westward, I’m pregnant---

WESTWARD

Leslie, I’m so happy---!

THE FRIEND

It’s not yours.

WESTWARD

There’s a wasp caught between the screen and the pane.  Surely, it will die.

THE FRIEND

You know it can’t be yours.

WESTWARD

I see my mother coming up the path.

            (Enter MRS. HO.)

MRS. HO

The paper hasn’t arrived yet.  Westward, see to it.

            (WESTWARD exits.  MRS. HO sits.)

            THE END.

"Lazy Eye" by Westward Ho

            (Two INDIVIDUALS drift by on a barge.  They are lounging, of course.  The 
           WOMAN has her back to the audience.)

MAN

It’s funny to call it “lazy eye,” because---really---it’s not lazy.  “Wayward eye,” more like.  Constantly moving, darting this way and that.  “Active eye that moves to no end”---

WOMAN

Why would you---?

            (The WOMAN turns around.)

MAN

I didn’t mean you---

            (With effort, the WOMAN trains both eyes on him.)

WOMAN

If I could, I would shoot beams and burn you to ash.

            (She does so.  The barge continues to drift.)

            THE END 

Play Fragment IV: "Pentecost of the Wind-Blown Sea"

            (Found on a pot by Mrs. Ho.  Blue ink on masking tape.  Unlike the other fragments, this
            one has a title---and little else.)

             (A cool though shocking [. . .)]

PETER:  Vials [. . .]

"Lazy Susan" by Westward Ho

            (Two dandies hurry through winding alleys.)

MAUVE

You have to see her.  She’s a sight.

HALLWARD

Apparently.

MAUVE

You think I’m mad.  This way, Hallward.  This way.

HALLWARD

But, Mauve?  After all these years:  why her?

MAUVE

You don't know my Susan.  Her trajectory is . . . unlike another.

HALLWARD

For your sake, I hope.

MAUVE

Brace yourself.

            (Lights come up on a turntable.  SUSAN sits in the middle of it.  Her dress is
            conservative, tasteful, lovely.  But she cannot hold it together.  She goes round
            and round.)

SUSAN

Diabolicum, joram, garlicum . . .

            (She vomits profusely.)

MAUVE

’See what I mean?

HALLWARD

Madam, I congratulate you on winning my friend.

            (SUSAN goes round and round.)

            THE END

Play Fragment III: The Starfish and the Octopus

            (Found on a pot by Mrs. Ho.  Typewritten on onion skin.)

[STARFISH?]: . . . are stronger.

OCTOPUS:  I can reach long and pluck a . . .
crest of a wave.

STARFISH:  I can grind a clam to powder.

OCTOPUS:  I can wave my arms about.

STARFISH:  Your arms are easily ripped.

OCTOPUS:  I have eyes and expressions.  I am . . .

Play Fragment II: "Hanging Around Like a Garden"

            (Found on a pot by Mrs. Ho.  Typed on onion skin.)

[ATTHIS?]: . . ., it is high time that you left for your . . .

. . . till hanging around like a garden in Bab[---?] . . .

[?]: . . . leave you, Atthis?  For you are like . . .
. . . [gol]den apple that clings to a golden tree. [. . .]

[ATTHIS?]: . . .[kn]ow you don’t listen.  But what I really . . .
. . . is some lovely wool that has come o[?] . . .
. . . [?]re have dyed it a lovely shade of . . .
. . . if I could not sit here and spin [. . .]