Thaddeus Pringle's lost Masterpiece

A few fun facts about Thaddeus Pringle, reputed to be the absolute worst poet and playwright of the English Renaissance. Born the 13th child of a blacksmith and a fishwife in Warwickshire England (around 1564-1565 A.D.~the records are unclear about this) and having been found stone dead (of syphilis they say) in 1603 A.D. in a sheep pasture outside of Paris, France, it is fair to say that Pringle was quite a prolific writer in his (approximately) 38 years of life. Although many of his poems and sonnets have survived to this day (see the Pringle's Poetry Place entries in this Blog), only one of his plays still exists. As the legend goes, most of his work was destroyed by various angry mobs, but a copy of this play was found clutched in the hands of a blind madman in Bedlam asylum in 1652 and kept as an oddity by the English Royal Family. It should be noted that this play received sponsorship by none other than Master Arthur Curdly, the famed cheese baron of Warwick. And now here, printed for the first time in America, is that very play...

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The Tragedy of Nigel & the Frog
A Tragedy
by
Thaddeus Pringle: Traveling Poet
(A cautionary tale concerning the dangers of inter-species romance)

ACT THE FIRST (AND ONLY): ENTER NIGEL, A FINE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN FROM WARWICKSHIRE, ENGLAND.

Nigel: Dierdre! Where for art thou, Dierdre?

ENTER DIERDRE; A BULL FROG.

Dierdre: Croak!

Nigel: Oh Dierdre... My sun... My moon... My amphibious amour. My love for thee is as pure as cheese. Fine Warwick cheese, not that Shrapshire offal. For one sweet kiss from thy emerald froggie mouth, I would gladly forswear cheese. Aye, sweet cheese which I love as no other victual, and I would toss it into the fiery pits of Hell! All for one brief taste of that sticky frog tongue.

Dierdre: Croak!

Nigel: Oh, Dierdre, dost thou really mean it? Sweet, sweet, Dierdre... My joy is as cheese! Dripping, sticky, cheese! Fermented in the famed cheese vats of Warwickshire! Kiss me, Dierdre!

ENTER LARRY; NIGEL'S FATHER. A VERY BAD MAN.

Larry: What in the name of the Ragman's befouled chamber pot transpires hither?

Nigel: I love her, father! I love Dierdre and we are to be wed. Though I be but a humble dung shoveler, and she a frog, our love will prevail! For true love is stronger than cheese, father... Stronger than delicious, delicious cheese!

Larry: Beshrew me! My boy and a French woman! Not in this lifetime!

Nigel: Nay, father! Unstuff thy wax-pots! Not a French woman! A frog! I have love for a frog!!

Larry: WHAT!?!

IN A FIT OF PIQUE, LARRY TRODS UPON DIERDRE. THERE IS A RESOUNDING "SQUISH!"

Nigel: DIERDRE!!!!!

Larry: Well now, that takes care of that.

EXIT LARRY. NIGEL RUSHES TO THE SIDE OF HIS BELOVED DEAD FROG.

Nigel: Speak to me, Dierdre!

Dierdre: "..."

NIGEL WEEPS (LIKE UNTO A GIRLY-MAN), GNASHES HIS TEETH, AND BEATS HIS BREASTS.

Nigel: Howl! Howl! Howl! Oh fie fie fie on my black deceased soul! Oh lamentable day! Lamentable, lamentable, lamentable day! Woe woe woe is me! Dierdre is a dead frog now... And I shall ne're eat cheese again.

~THE LAMENTABLE END~

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This is an original Thaddeus Pringle (AKA John Michael Decker) play.
Please be aware that this is copyrighted material
and not to be used for sale or publication without my express written permission.
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"And I'd have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for those meddling kids!"
John Michael Decker