The Lady's not for Burning [antikvár]

Act One The Scene (the house of hebble Tyson, the Mayor of the little markét town of Cool Clary) and the affearance of the characters are as much fifteenth century as anything. richárd, a young cofying-clerky stands working at a desk. thomas mendip, less youngy in his late twenties ferhafsy and less resfectabley looks in through a great window from the garden. thomas. Soul! richard. -and the plasterer, that's fifteen groatsthomas. Hey, soul! richard.-for stopping the draught in the privythomas.Body! You calculating piece of clay! richard.Damnation. thomas. Don't mention it. I've never seen a world So festering with damnation. I have left Rings of beer on every alehouse table From the salt sea-coast across half a dozen counties, But each time I thought I was on the way To a faintly festive hiccup The sight of the damned world sobered me up again. Where is the Mayor? I've business with His Worship. richard. Where have you come from? thomas.Straight from your local Damnation's pretty active there this afternoon, Licking her lips over gossip of murder and witchcraft; There's mischief brewing for someone. Where's the Mayor? richard. Fm the mayor's clerk. [3]