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: The rivers, lakes and ocean. The tides were in their grave. The moon their mistress, had expired before. The winds were withered in the stagnant air... why are you limping Polidori? John Polidori
: I have twisted my ankle, my Lord. Lord Byron
: Well, congratulations. At last you've managed to be like me. Although, in precisely the way I would least liker to be like Lord Byron. Vanity leads men to imitate other men, and poetry to imitate itself. Do you know what the finest poem would be? It would be the poem that gave life to matter, by force of imagination alone. Mary Shelley
: It would be horrible! Percy Bysshe Shelley
: Do you know that the best our scientists can do, is to make a dead worm wriggle in a glass jar. Claire Clairmont
: And what does our doctor think about all this? John Polidori
: That the imagination only creates things that are dead, although they may sometimes be beautiful. And that science only discovers new ways of killing. Claire Clairmont
: Good heavens, my Lord! Where did you find your bedside doctor? Lord Byron
: Queen of England recommended him to me. John Polidori
: My dramatic works had a certain curative effect on her, but my medical prescriptions made her vomit.
: Alright Shelley, it's all right. Calm down. The mind can sometimes play tricks on us. It was just a nightmare. Percy Bysshe Shelley
: But I'm awake! John Polidori
: We are never awake Mr. Shelley. As a poet, you know that better than I. Percy Bysshe Shelley
: I am confused and tried Mr. Polidori. I'm not rich. I have debts. Godwin wants nothing to do with me, but he always needs more money. He no longer asks, he demands. He has no interest in me or Mary or Claire; only in my checks. And my friends look upon me as a banker too. And what is more they, they , they all want Mary. I know it. I know that's what they're after. John Polidori
: As if life did not offer enough obstacles, we sometimes fall over ourselves. Happy Birthday, Mr. Shelley.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
: But it is only a castle. The horror is in the minds of men that make it a symbol of oppression. Lord Byron
] Do you really believe that men invented horror? I believe it is rather that men are a horrifying invention. What existed before men? Horror. What will still exist when men are gone? Horror. Believe me, my dear Shelley; horror is the only reality which sustains our existence.
] Lord Byron
[Lord Byron looking out the window at a thunderstorm
] Lord Byron
: How beautifully dramatic! The cruelest savage exhibition of nature at her worst without.
[turns to face Mary and Percy Shelley, both seated
] Lord Byron
: And we three. We elegant three within. I should like to think that an irate Jehovah was pointing those arrows of lightning directly at my head. The unbowed head of George Gordon, Lord Byron. England's greatest sinner. But I cannot flatter myself to that extent. Possibly those thunders are for our dear Shelley. Heavens applause for England's greatest poet. Percy Shelley
: What of my Mary? Lord Byron
: She's an angel. Mary Shelley
: You think so?