History of Sorts

Act I, Scene I

Enter Chorus.

Chorus:
Hark! Attend, good people, to a tale most dire,
Of conflagration fierce and lute’s sweet lyre.
Beside fair Geneva’s tranquil lake it fell,
A tragedy where smoke and water tell.

Enter noble musicians: Lord Ritchie, Sir Ian, Sir Roger, and Sir Jon.

Lord Ritchie:
Upon the glassy shore we’d planned our art,
A hall to host the minstrels’ fiery heart.
Yet fate, with cruel hand, would intervene,
And set ablaze our hopes, our noble scene.

Sir Ian:
’Twas at the inn where Claude’s mad genius lay,
Did spark the flames that turned the night to day.
With cannon’s roar and fiery breath, it came,
The Devil’s own hand in infernal flame.

Sir Roger:
Alas, the hall consumed by fire’s maw,
Its beams now cinders, its beauty raw.
But lo! The lake, it bore a spectral hue,
Where smoke did rise, the water’s veil askew.

Sir Jon:
Thus cast adrift, our plans lay all in ruin,
Yet ‘twas not the end of our sweet tune.
We sought a place to weave our minstrel’s sound,
A refuge where harmony might yet be found.

Chorus:
And so the tale unfolds, of fire and song,
Where smoke on water lingered all night long.

Act II, Scene I

Enter Frank, a local baron, and the musicians.

Frank:
Come hither, noble bards, and take this hall,
A haven where thy music may yet enthrall.
Though humble be its walls and low its beams,
It shall suffice to house thy dreams.

Lord Ritchie:
Thy kindness, Frank, shall not be forgot,
In this rude chamber, we’ll weave our plot.
With string and drum, and voice most sweet,
The world shall marvel at our feat.

Sir Ian:
Let fire not consume our hearts with woe,
For music’s flame shall brighter glow.
Though lakes may smoke and buildings fall,
The spirit of song shall conquer all.

They prepare their instruments and begin to play.

Chorus:
Thus did they rise, from ash and flame,
To forge a tune of lasting fame.
For though the night was dark and fraught,
Their art endured, their passion sought.