These Our Actors Poem by Dónall Dempsey

'Be not decieved if I have veiled my look.
I turn the trouble of my countenace merely upon my self.
Vexed I am of late with passions of some difference
conceptions only proper to myself which
give some soil perhaps to my behavious.
But let not therefore my good Friend Frieda be...'

'Donall, shut up! '
'Lay off the Shakespeare stuff! '

'I only asked if you wanted
a cup of tea or not? '

She stands there
fuming in the buff.

I too stand naked
sans everything

but my dignity.

Ah, Shakespeare
in the raw.

'To have a cup of tea or
not to have a cup of thea? '

'Ah, that is
the...'

I get a wet
dishcloth
in the face.

Exit.

Pursued by a bare
female.