18th Century Hangover Redux

(a play in two acts)

In light of it being post-St. Patty's (and i'm also just lazy), here is a revamped version of an earlier post for those who don't attend the love seminars on saucymonklight.

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18th Century Hangover Redux

Act One,
Scene One:

Why doth mine head feel like a scraped out pumpkin?
The seeds to be roasted upon an open fire.
Thine eyes are like triangles, but alas no candle to light upon the inside of thee empty vessel.
Could it be the libations of the night previous?

Alas, me thinks it could sadly be.

O, bright lights.
Casting pain upon the eyes.
And the pounding of the keyboard is deafening upon the ears.

I shall go hither upon my steed to pay a few shillings to the apothecary for the courtesy of an Advil.

But i fear my efforts will be in vain.

Act Two,
Scene One:

Woe is me.

I hath but not enough to purchase my relief.
Therefore, I shall suffer in silence and seek salvation in thine black coffee cup instead.

The end.