The Dutch Shore's Satire

PROLOGUE (played by a distinguished actor, perhaps in a robe of deep purple and gold): The play could begin with a grand, theatrical flourish that captures the essence of the Elizabethan era while setting the stage for the satirical and historical interplay between Sir Van Wellen and Pieter. Here’s a detailed opening scene that establishes the setting, characters, and tone:

Act I, Scene I: The Prologue and Opening

The stage is set with a backdrop of a rugged Dutch coastline, where the North Sea crashes against the shore. The sky is painted with the hues of dawn, casting a golden light over the scene. A group of actors, dressed in vibrant Elizabethan attire, enter from either side of the stage, carrying props that suggest the discovery of the Americas: maps, globes, and miniature ships. They form a semicircle around the center, where a large, anachronistic telescope stands, symbolizing foresight and satire.

PROLOGUE (played by a distinguished actor, perhaps in a robe of deep purple and gold):
Gentle folk, lend us your ears, and let your eyes behold
A tale of wit and wonder, in times both new and old.
Here, where Holland's dikes defy the sea's embrace,
We spin a yarn of yore, with humor and with grace.
Mark ye well the year of grace, fourteen hundred ninety-two,
When Columbus set his sails, his destiny to pursue.
But lo, our tale doth leap beyond that voyage bold,
To futures yet unborn, where histories unfold.
Behold Sir Van Wellen, a wit of Flemish land,
Who gazes 'cross the waves with satire in his hand.
And Pieter, simple squire, who knows not tanks nor tankies,
Yet shall learn of empires, both grand and hanky-pankies.
So sit ye down, and let this play commence,
With laughter, learning, and a touch of sense.

The PROLOGUE exits, and the actors disperse, leaving the stage empty save for the telescope. A moment of silence, then the sound of waves and distant seagulls. Enter SIR VAN WELLEN, a man of middle age with a sharp wit and a twinkle in his eye, dressed in a doublet of green and red, adorned with gold embroidery. He carries a quill and a scroll, the tools of his satirical trade. Behind him trudges PIETER, a younger man in simpler attire, a mix of blue and yellow, with wooden clogs that clack against the wooden stage.

SIR VAN WELLEN (gazing through the telescope, speaking to himself):
O North Sea, thou mirror of time's relentless tide,
What secrets dost thou hold within thy briny hide?
I see not merely waves, but visions of the morrow,
Where scribes of Das Econonium wallow in their sorrow.
They yearn for days when England's might did span the globe,
When colonists were captured, and rebellion was a lobe
Of some great brain they thought to rule with iron hand.
But lo, their hearts are split, like sands upon this land.

PIETER (scratching his head, looking confused):
Master Van Wellen, what be this talk of scribes and seas?
And what of these "colonists" that dance within thy breeze?
I see but gulls and waves, and naught of future lore.
Pray tell, what vision hath thy telescope in store?

SIR VAN WELLEN (turning to PIETER with a mischievous smile):
Ah, Pieter, thou art as dense as Dutch cheese, yet ripe for learning.
Come, let us sit upon this dune, and I shall set thy mind a-turning.
For in this glass of foresight, I behold a world unborn,
Where tanks do roll like thunder, and tankies sound the horn.
But first, we must unravel threads of time, both past and new,
To grasp the jest that lies within this view.

They sit upon the dune, the telescope between them. The stage lights dim slightly, and projected images begin to appear around them: maps of the Americas, ships sailing westward, and faint outlines of future events like tanks and protesters. The dialogue continues, weaving history with satire, as the play's themes of hypocrisy, power, and resistance are introduced.

This opening sets the tone with a blend of historical context (the discovery of the Americas), anachronistic elements (the telescope and future references), and the characters' dynamic. It establishes Sir Van Wellen's role as a satirist and Pieter's as the audience's proxy, learning alongside them. The projected images serve as visual cues for the audience, hinting at the themes of military might ("tanks"), ideological conflict ("tankies"), and the satirical critique of The Economist's perceived biases (#TheEcommunist). The dialogue is rich with Elizabethan language, making it both accessible and engaging for a modern audience while staying true to the period's theatrical style.

Scene II could serve as a transitional and expository bridge between the prologue and the main conversation on the dunes, deepening the historical and satirical context while introducing key themes. It could involve a brief interaction that foreshadows the tension between past imperial ambitions and future ideological conflicts, as well as the anachronistic elements of "tanks" and "tankies." Here's a detailed proposal for Scene II:

Act I, Scene II: The Tavern of Time

The stage transforms into a bustling Elizabethan tavern, "The Hourglass Inn," where merchants, sailors, and scholars gather. The walls are adorned with maps of the known world, including the recently "discovered" Americas, and a large sandglass ticks away the minutes. The air is filled with the clink of tankards and the murmur of conversation. Enter SIR VAN WELLEN and PIETER, now in the midst of the crowd, seeking refreshment after their journey to the shore.

SIR VAN WELLEN (to the TAVERN KEEPER, a rotund man with a jolly demeanor):
Good sir, a mug of ale for me, and for my squire here,
A draught to quench his thirst, for he doth gape and stare.
This inn, "The Hourglass," doth suit our purpose well,
For time itself we seek to bend, and tales of future tell.

TAVERN KEEPER (wiping a tankard with a rag):
Welcome, good sirs, to this haven of the past,
Where sands of time do flow, and memories are vast.
But tell me, what brings ye here with such intent?
To drink of ale, or delve in history's descent?

SIR VAN WELLEN (sitting at a table, gesturing for PIETER to join him):
Both, good keeper, both! For we are bound by wit
To unravel threads of empire, where hypocrisy doth sit.
Tell me, dost thou know of England's ventures bold,
Across the seas to claim new lands, with silver and with gold?

TAVERN KEEPER (leaning in, lowering his voice conspiratorially):
Aye, sir, I know the tales of Drake and Raleigh's fame,
How they plundered Spanish gold, and staked a colonial claim.
But mark ye well, those days are but the dawn of might,
For future empires shall arise, with power's endless flight.

As the TAVERN KEEPER speaks, the stage lights flicker, and projected images appear: a montage of colonial ships, maps expanding westward, and faint outlines of modern tanks and protesters. The tavern's patrons react with curiosity and alarm, some pointing at the visions, others rubbing their eyes as if doubting their senses.

PIETER (whispering to SIR VAN WELLEN, eyes wide):
Master, what sorcery is this? These visions in the air,
Of iron beasts that roll like waves, and men in despair?
What mean these "tanks" and "tankies" that the air doth show?
Are they demons from the deep, or shadows of tomorrow?

SIR VAN WELLEN (smiling, tapping the table with his quill):
Nay, Pieter, 'tis no sorcery, but satire's sharpest tool.
These "tanks" are engines of war, born in a future school,
Where iron-clad monsters crush dissent with fearsome might,
And "tankies" are their apologists, who deem such wrongs as right.
But hark, the jest lies deeper still, in scribes of Das Econonium,
Who praise such power's rise, yet decry the West's dominion.

The TAVERN KEEPER, overhearing, interjects with a knowing nod.

TAVERN KEEPER:
Ah, Das Econonium, that future tome of trade,
Where balanced scales tip not to truth, but to a crimson blade.
They yearn for days when England ruled with iron fist,
Yet soften toward the East, where freedoms are dismissed.

SIR VAN WELLEN (rising, quill in hand):
Exactly so, good keeper! And thus our play unfolds,
With satire's edge to cut through lies, and truths to be extolled.
Come, Pieter, let us to the shore, where waves and wit entwine,
To gaze upon the future's face, and craft our grand design.

They exit the tavern, the projected images fading as the stage returns to the coastal backdrop. The TAVERN KEEPER watches them go, shaking his head with a wry smile.

TAVERN KEEPER (to the audience, as the lights dim):
Mark well their words, good folk, for time doth weave its spell,
And satire's blade cuts deep, where history's truths dwell.

Analysis of Scene II

Setting and Atmosphere: The tavern setting is a classic Elizabethan trope, a place where information is exchanged, and social commentary is made. "The Hourglass Inn" symbolizes the passage of time and the blending of past and future narratives.
Exposition and Foreshadowing: The dialogue between Sir Van Wellen, Pieter, and the Tavern Keeper introduces the audience to the historical context of colonial ambitions (Drake, Raleigh) and foreshadows the future conflicts involving "tanks" and "tankies." The Tavern Keeper's knowledge of future events (an anachronism) serves as a narrative device to bridge the gap between 1492 and the modern era.
Anachronistic Elements: The projected images of tanks and protesters are a visual representation of the anachronisms discussed. They appear as ghostly visions, unsettling the tavern's patrons and highlighting the clash between past and future ideologies.
Satirical Themes: The critique of Das Econonium is introduced here, with the Tavern Keeper's line about "a crimson blade" hinting at the publication's perceived bias toward communism. This sets up the central tension of the play: the hypocrisy of praising new forms of power while mourning lost ones.
Character Development: Sir Van Wellen's role as a satirist is reinforced, and Pieter's confusion and curiosity make him a relatable figure for the audience, learning alongside them. The Tavern Keeper acts as a chorus, providing historical context and thematic commentary.
Transition: The scene ends with Sir Van Wellen and Pieter exiting to the shore, where the main conversation will occur. This transition maintains the play's momentum, moving from the tavern's indoor setting to the outdoor coastal scene, symbolizing a shift from historical reflection to prophetic satire.

This Scene II effectively bridges the prologue's introduction and the dunes conversation, enriching the narrative with historical depth, satirical edge, and visual spectacle. It prepares the audience for the deeper exploration of "tanks," "tankies," and #TheEcommunist in the subsequent scenes.

Act I, Scene III: The Dutch Shore's Satire

The stage is set with a rugged Dutch coastline,
Where the North Sea crashes against the shore.
The sky is painted with the hues of dawn,
Casting a golden light over the scene.
A large, anachronistic telescope stands prominently,
Symbolizing foresight and satire.

Enter SIR VAN WELLEN, a man of middle age,
With a sharp wit and a twinkle in his eye,
Dressed in a doublet of green and red,
Adorned with gold embroidery.
He carries a quill and a scroll,
The tools of his satirical trade.

Behind him trudges PIETER, a younger man,
In simpler attire, a mix of blue and yellow,
With wooden clogs that clack against the wooden stage.

SIR VAN WELLEN, gazing through the telescope,
Speaks to himself,
"O North Sea, thou mirror of time's relentless tide,
What secrets dost thou hold within thy briny hide?
I see not merely waves, but visions of the morrow,
Where scribes of Das Econonium wallow in their sorrow.
They yearn for days when England's might did span the globe,
When colonists were captured, and rebellion was a lobe
Of some great brain they thought to rule with iron hand.
But lo, their hearts are split, like sands upon this land."

PIETER, scratching his head and looking confused,
Inquires,
"Master Van Wellen, what be this talk of scribes and seas?
And what of these 'colonists' that dance within thy breeze?
I see but gulls and waves, and naught of future lore.
Pray tell, what vision hath thy telescope in store?"

SIR VAN WELLEN turns to PIETER with a mischievous smile,
"Ah, Pieter, thou art as dense as Dutch cheese, yet ripe for learning.
Come, let us sit upon this dune, and I shall set thy mind a-turning.
For in this glass of foresight, I behold a world unborn,
Where tanks do roll like thunder, and tankies sound the horn.
But first, we must unravel threads of time, both past and new,
To grasp the jest that lies within this view."

They sit upon the dune, the telescope between them.
The stage lights dim slightly, and projected images begin to appear around them:
Maps of the Americas, ships sailing westward,
And faint outlines of future events like tanks and protesters.
The dialogue continues, weaving history with satire,
As the play's themes of hypocrisy, power, and resistance are introduced.

SIR VAN WELLEN explains,
"Das Econonium is a chronicle of the realm's riches,
A broadsheet birthed in future times—mark thee, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-three,
Though we jest in prophecy here—wherein learned fools opine on trade, tariffs, and the turning of the world's wheel.
'Tis helmed by centrist-liberal souls, who preach of free markets and balanced scales,
Decrying tyrants whilst sipping ale in London's taverns.
Yet behold their duplicity! They cast aspersions 'pon bold leaders like that orange-hued Trumpeter across the seas—
Nay, not the instrument, but a future lord of bluster and walls—who doth bully with tariffs as a smith hammers iron.
But soft, they whisper sweet nothings to the crimson banners of the East!"

PIETER, eyes wide with wonder, whispers,
"Crimson banners? Dost thou mean flags of bloodied battles?
And what of these 'tanks' and 'tankies' thou mutter'st under breath,
As if conjuring demons from the deep?"

SIR VAN WELLEN, smiling, taps the table with his quill,
"Nay, Pieter, 'tis no sorcery, but satire's sharpest tool.
These 'tanks' are engines of war, born in a future school,
Where iron-clad monsters crush dissent with fearsome might,
And 'tankies' are their apologists, who deem such wrongs as right.
But hark, the jest lies deeper still, in scribes of Das Econonium,
Who praise such power's rise, yet decry the West's dominion."

The projected images intensify, showing the iconic "Tank Man" standing before a column of tanks in Tiananmen Square, 1989,
A powerful symbol of defiance against authoritarianism.
SIR VAN WELLEN continues,
"Behold the satirical sigil: #TheEcommunist!
'Tis a portmanteau most cunning, blending 'The Economist' (for so Das Econonium is truly named in tongues unborn) with 'communist,'
Forging a word-weapon that skewers their bias.
The 'Econo-' speaks of their historical stance: centrist-liberal, balanced as a merchant's ledger,
Championing markets free and voices unfettered.
But wed to 'communist,' it mocks their dalliance with despotism's dance—
Soft on crimson tyrants whilst railing 'gainst Western rogues.
O, the difference is spectacular, as 'twixt a fair wind and a gale that sinks ships!
They feign neutrality, yet their ink drips red sympathy,
Yearning for lost empires while ignoring the tanks that guard new ones."

PIETER, now understanding, exclaims,
"Ha! Thy tongue twists like a tulip in the breeze, master.
But if these writers be hypocrites, what of us sturdy Dutch,
Who trade spices and freedoms without such double-dealing?"

SIR VAN WELLEN rises, quill in hand,
"Aye, Pieter, we gaze across this sea not in envy, but in jest!
Let them pine for captured colonists and crimson courts;
We'll hoist our sails to new worlds unbowed.
Come, fetch my quill—I'll pen a pamphlet to prick their pride!"

They exit, laughing, as the waves crash in applause,
The projected images fading into the dawn light.

Act II: Visions Across the Sea

The stage transforms from the Dutch shore to the deck of a spectral ship, conjured by the telescope's ethereal glow. Mists swirl around the vessel as it sails the North Sea, waves projected in shimmering blue lights. The ship is adorned with ghostly sails emblazoned with maps of old empires and faint crimson banners. SIR VAN WELLEN and PIETER stand at the prow, the telescope now mounted as a figurehead. Winds howl softly, carrying whispers of history.

SIR VAN WELLEN
Behold, Pieter, this vessel born of sight,
A spectral bark from foresight's magic light.
We cross the North Sea's foaming, restless tide,
Toward England's cliffs, where hypocrisies reside.
The telescope hath woven us this dream,
To bridge the chasms of what was and seem.

PIETER
Master, this ship doth sway like ale in cup,
Yet feels as real as wooden clogs I sup.
What apparitions wait upon this wave?
Will ghosts of conquest rise from watery grave?

Enter the GHOST OF COLUMBUS, a translucent figure in explorer's garb, holding a compass that points erratically between past and future.

GHOST OF COLUMBUS
Hail, travelers of time's capricious sea!
I am Columbus, seeker of the free,
Who charted paths to lands untamed and wild,
Where colonists were captured, meek and mild.
Yet empires built on gold and native woe,
Now echo in the winds where powers grow.

SIR VAN WELLEN
O spectral sailor, thy voyages we know,
But tell us of the yearning hearts below—
Those scribes who pine for days of captured kin,
When rebellion brewed like storms within.
Dost thou see parallels in modern sway,
Where superpowers convene in disarray?

GHOST OF COLUMBUS
Aye, in the East, where crimson banners fly,
Despots summon kings 'neath watchful sky.
Yet Westward rogues with bluster build their walls,
And tariffs clash like thunder in the halls.
The captured once, now free, revolt anew,
Against the grasp that history doth rue.

Pieter, growing bolder, steps forward, his clogs echoing on the deck.

PIETER
Good ghost, what mean these crimson banners bright?
Are they of blood, or flags that shun the light?
And who defends the iron beasts that roll,
Crushing dreams beneath their fearsome toll?

The GHOST OF COLUMBUS fades as a shadowy TRUMPETER appears, a caricature with orange hue, wielding a golden tariff scroll like a trumpet.

SHADOWY TRUMPETER
Hear ye, hear ye, from across the foam!
I am the Trumpeter, of walls and home.
With bluster bold and tariffs sharp as steel,
I bully foes till they before me kneel.
Yet scribes decry my chaos as the cause,
While praising those who break dissent's own laws.

SIR VAN WELLEN
Thou orange shade, thy voice doth echo loud,
But hypocrisy veils the scribal crowd.
They yearn for empires lost in Atlantic spray,
Yet soft on Eastern might that holds the day.

A chorus of TANKIES emerges from the mists, bumbling fools in red cloaks, carrying absurd props like toy tanks and crimson flags. They sing in ridiculous harmony, defending authoritarian might.

CHORUS OF TANKIES (in absurd song)
We tankies true, in red we stand so tall,
Defend the crush of iron over all!
No wrong in tanks that silence rebel cries,
For equality blooms 'neath iron skies.
Hail the East, where power's hand is firm,
Ignore the West, where freedoms squirm and squirm!

PIETER
Ye fools in red, your songs doth twist the ear!
What defense for beasts that breed such fear?

SIR VAN WELLEN
Enough of this! My quill shall now take flight,
To pen illusions sharp as satire's bite.

Sir Van Wellen scribbles furiously; pamphlets manifest as glowing illusions, floating around the deck, mocking Das Econonium's scribes with caricatures of them whispering to Eastern despots.

SIR VAN WELLEN
See here, ye shades, these pamphlets born of ink,
That skewer scribes who teeter on the brink.
They soft on despots clad in crimson guise,
While railing 'gainst the West with biased eyes.

The illusions dance, showing scribes hoarding red ink while decrying tariffs.

SHADOWY TRUMPETER
Ha! Thy wit doth pierce like arrow true,
But storm approaches—chaos I brew!

A storm brews: winds howl, lightning flashes, waves rise high, representing the chaos of Trump's "bullying." The ship tosses wildly, forcing it toward the misty shores of England.

PIETER
Master, the gales! They whip like tyrant's lash!
Will we survive this tempest's furious crash?

SIR VAN WELLEN
Hold fast, good Pieter! This storm of bluster's make,
Shall dock us safe in London's dreamlike wake.

The ship docks in a dreamlike London, fog-shrouded streets with Elizabethan towers mixed with modern spires. Enter the EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM, a pompous figure in scholarly robes, clutching a broadsheet, secretly pocketing a vial of red ink.

EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM
Who dares approach these shores of reasoned thought?
I am the Editor, whose words are wrought
In balance pure, no communist am I—
Though red ink flows where none can spy.

The act ends with Sir Van Wellen and Pieter stepping ashore, facing the Editor, as mists swirl and illusions linger.

Act III: The Court of Crimson Hypocrisy

The stage shifts to a grand, anachronistic hall in London, blending Elizabethan opulence with velvet drapes, golden chandeliers, and modern elements like projected newsreels flickering on the walls, showing silent footage of Tiananmen Square. Thrones and writing desks clutter the space, symbolizing power and propaganda. SIR VAN WELLEN and PIETER enter disguised as Dutch merchants, in feathered hats and cloaks, carrying bundles of "spices" that hide satirical scrolls. The EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM presides with his cadre of WRITERS, quills in hand, debating articles. Court attendants mill about, some in red sashes hinting at hidden sympathies.

SIR VAN WELLEN (whispering to PIETER)
Hush now, good Pieter, in this hall of guise,
We tread as merchants from the Lowland skies.
Our aim: confront yon Editor so proud,
And peel the layers of his biased shroud.
The portmanteau #TheEcommunist we probe,
Where centrist robes hide communist throbs.

PIETER
Master, these walls doth gleam with gold so fine,
Yet shadows lurk where crimson secrets twine.
I'll play the fool, as merchants oft must do,
To snare the truth from this hypocritical crew.

They approach the court; the EDITOR notices them, gesturing grandly.

EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM
What strangers come to grace our learned court?
Dutch traders, aye? With spices of import?
Speak quick, for we debate ideals so grand:
Free markets, balanced quills in every hand.

SIR VAN WELLEN (bowing low, with feigned humility)
O noble Editor, thy wisdom shines like sun,
We bring not spice, but questions yet undone.
Thy broadsheet champions centrist-liberal creed,
Yet whispers soft to communist's dark seed.
Let us stage trials mock, to test thy claim,
One side for balance, t'other for the flame.

The court erupts in murmurs; the WRITERS divide into two sides for the mock trial. One side, the CENTRISTS, wave banners of "Free Markets" and "Balanced Scales." The other, the EXPOSERS, hold exaggerated props: articles praising Xi's summits and caricatures of Western "rogues."

CENTRIST WRITER
We stand for trade unbound, for voices free,
No tyrants we endorse, as all can see.
Our ink flows even, 'gainst all excess bold,
Markets unshackled, stories fairly told.

EXPOSER WRITER
Yet evidence abounds, like crimson tide!
Articles praise the East where freedoms hide.
Xi's summits hailed as superpower's art,
While Western rogues are torn and rent apart.
#TheEcommunist thy name doth truly bear,
A blend of bias, hidden in thy lair!

The debate rages; meanwhile, a subplot unfolds. Enter a FAIR MAIDEN, veiled in mystery, with a red ribbon in her hair. PIETER, smitten, approaches her comically, tripping over his clogs.

PIETER (aside, blushing)
Fair maiden, thy eyes like stars in night do gleam,
What secrets hold thy heart, what hidden dream?

FAIR MAIDEN (coyly, with a tankie's edge)
Good merchant, I am drawn to causes red,
Where tanks defend the equal, so 'tis said.
But dalliance with thee might teach me new,
Of freedoms Dutch, and satires bold and true.

PIETER (comically enamored, then shocked as she reveals a toy tank prop)
O woe! A tankie in disguise thou art?
Thy beauty veils a sympathizer's heart!
Yet in this jest, I learn of dalliance sly,
Ideals that tempt, then crush beneath the sky.

Sir Van Wellen, observing, orchestrates a masque. Actors enter with puppets: iron-clad tanks on strings, and a lone figure as Tank Man, standing defiant. The performers enact the scene, highlighting resistance against authoritarianism, with dramatic music from hidden lutes.

SIR VAN WELLEN (directing the masque)
Behold the masque, where puppets dance the tale,
Of Tank Man bold, 'gainst iron beasts so pale.
Defiance stands where oppression seeks to tread,
A symbol bright 'gainst crimson banners dread.

The court watches, transfixed; the projected newsreels sync with the puppets, amplifying the irony.

EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM (in fiery soliloquy, rising to defend)
Enough of this! My stance is pure and just,
No communist leanings soil my trust.
We report the world as balance doth decree,
Free from the chains of ideology!
Xi's convenings? Mere facts we do relate,
While Trump's chaos earns our righteous hate.
No bias here, but truth in every line,
Centrist-liberal, through all of time!

SIR VAN WELLEN (revealing a "prophetic broadsheet" from his bundle, a satirical prop unfurled like a banner)
Then gaze upon this broadsheet from the stars,
Predicting US erosion, wrought by wars
Of trade and bluster, driving allies East,
Where crimson courts convene the great and least.
Thy words betray thee, Editor so grand,
Soft on the tanks that guard the tyrant's land!

The court grapples in chaos, murmurs rising. Suddenly, a MESSENGER bursts in, breathless, with news of a rebellion.

MESSENGER
Hark! Across the Atlantic, storms do brew,
Rebellious colonists rise anew!
Echoes of revolutions yet to come,
Where freedoms clash 'gainst empire's beating drum.

The act ends on a cliffhanger, lights dimming as the court freezes in tension, projections flickering with revolutionary fires.

Act IV: The Rebellion's Echo

The stage transforms to the New World, a wild expanse with exotic props: towering palm trees swaying in projected winds, vast maps unfurled like banners of destiny, and campfires flickering amid revolutionary tents. The air hums with echoes of drums and distant cannon fire, blending 1492's discovery with visions of 1776's revolt. SIR VAN WELLEN and PIETER materialize via the telescope's glow, now time-travelers in buckskin cloaks, bewildered yet bold. REBELLIOUS COLONISTS, as prophetic figures in tricorn hats and homespun garb, gather in defiance against spectral chains of empire. The TANKIES lurk in shadows, ready to suppress with illusions.

SIR VAN WELLEN
Lo, Pieter, see this New World wild and free,
Where palms do whisper secrets of the sea.
The telescope hath flung us 'cross the foam,
To witness rebels claim their rightful home.
Here, colonists prophetic rise 'gainst grasp,
Of kings and scribes whose empires now unclasp.
Juxtaposed with modern critiques keen,
Where superpowers clash in scenes unseen.

PIETER
Master, these lands doth teem with strangest sight,
Trees like giants, skies of endless light.
But hark, the rebels stir with fiery breath,
Against the old world's chains that court their death.
What role for us in this rebellious fray?
Shall we but watch, or join the freedom's play?

Enter the REBELLIOUS COLONISTS, led by a bold PATRIOT, waving flags of stars and stripes anachronistically early, chanting verses of liberty.

PATRIOT
We rise, O brothers, 'gainst imperial yoke,
From distant shores where tyrants' words provoke.
No more the capture of our souls so bold,
In this New World, our story shall be told.
Yet shadows creep from futures yet to be,
Where tanks suppress what freedoms we decree.

Themes of freedom versus control intensify; the CHORUS OF TANKIES reappears, conjuring illusory tanks from mist—grotesque puppets rolling forth to crush the rebels' fire.

CHORUS OF TANKIES (in menacing chant)
Roll forth, ye tanks of iron will so stern,
Suppress the sparks where rebel fires burn!
In crimson name, we guard the equal state,
Where dissent crumbles 'neath our heavy fate.
No freedom here, but order's iron rod,
Defy us not, lest ye incur the sod!

The illusory tanks advance, but the SPIRIT OF TANK MAN manifests—a lone, ethereal figure in simple garb, standing defiant, bags in hand, blocking the advance with unyielding poise.

SPIRIT OF TANK MAN
Stand I alone 'gainst beasts of steel and ire,
Symbol of resistance, ne'er to tire.
Eternal echo of the soul's brave stand,
'Gainst authoritarian's crushing hand.
Rebels, take heart! Your cause shall not be quelled,
For defiance lives where freedoms are upheld.

The tanks halt, illusions wavering; comic relief ensues as PIETER mishaps with satirical NATIVES—feathered figures who mock European hypocrisy, dancing in exaggerated mimicry of pompous kings and scribes.

NATIVE SATIRIST (to PIETER, with wry grin)
O clumsy Dutchman, in thy wooden shoes,
Thou com'st to "civilize" with borrowed views?
We mock thy Europe's hypocrisies grand,
Where kings claim lands with thieving, open hand.
Thy scribes pine for empires lost in mist,
While crushing natives—oh, the twisted twist!

PIETER (tripping comically, spilling "spices")
Fair native, thy jests doth prick like thorn!
I meant no harm, just awe in this new morn.
Yet learn I quick of double-dealing's art,
From Old World fools who play the tyrant's part.

Meanwhile, SIR VAN WELLEN composes verses at a makeshift desk, blending Shakespearean sonnets with tweets—short, punchy lines scrawled on leaves, "hashtagging" #TheEcommunist to rally the colonists.

SIR VAN WELLEN (reciting aloud)
In sonnet's form, with tweet's sharp, biting edge:
Shall I compare thee to a crimson lie?
Thou art more biased, soft on despot's pledge,
While railing 'gainst the West with biased eye.
#TheEcommunist, thy facade we pierce,
Centrist no more, but communist in fierce!
Rally, colonists! Let freedoms tweet and soar,
'Gainst tanks and scribes who guard oppression's door.

The colonists cheer, inspired; climax builds as the EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM is transported via magic, appearing in a whirl of red ink and broadsheets, facing the rebels in a battle of wits.

EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM
What sorcery drags me to this savage shore?
I come to debate, not to wage a war!
Tariffs and trade wars? Chaos I decry,
While convening powers in East I spy
As mere diplomacy, no bias there—
Free markets thrive where balances are fair!

PATRIOT (debating fiercely)
Thou speak'st of balance, yet thy quill doth lean,
Toward crimson courts where freedoms are unseen.
Trade wars we fight for independence true,
While thou excus'st the tanks that crush the few!

SIR VAN WELLEN (mediating, stepping forth)
Hear me, all sides, in this wit's grand affray:
Expose the difference, spectacular display!
Centrist-liberal facades, so prim and neat,
Hide communist leanings, a sly deceit.
Markets free versus chains of equal might—
One lifts the soul, the other dims the light.
Temporary truce we forge this day,
Lest empires fall in disarray.

The debate softens; a truce is struck with handshakes amid cheers. The stage fades with revolutionary fires dimming, as Sir Van Wellen and Pieter prepare to return, the telescope glowing once more.

Act V: The Satirist's Triumph

The stage returns to the Dutch shore at twilight, full circle from the dawn's first light. Waves lap gently, symbolizing time's relentless flow, as the sun dips low in hues of amber and rose. The telescope stands cracked, its magic waning. SIR VAN WELLEN and PIETER reappear, weary yet triumphant, in their original garb, reflecting on adventures past. All characters converge in a grand finale masque: the EDITOR humbled in tattered robes, TANKIES comically reformed with white flags of surrender, REBELLIOUS COLONISTS bearing torches of liberty, the SPIRIT OF TANK MAN ethereal and serene, and the CHORUS assembled as a harmonious ensemble.

SIR VAN WELLEN
Ah, Pieter, back upon this shore we stand,
Where North Sea whispers secrets of the land.
Our voyages through time and satire's art,
Have pierced the veils that shroud the biased heart.
From crimson courts to rebels' fiery call,
We've seen hypocrisy's grand rise and fall.

PIETER (enlightened, with newfound resolve)
Master, thy wit hath opened wide mine eyes,
To tanks and tankies, empires' false disguise.
No more the fool in clogs of simple make,
I vow to spread thy satire, for truth's sake.
Let pamphlets fly like gulls o'er briny deep,
Awakening souls from biased slumber's sleep.

The grand masque begins: characters dance in swirling patterns, blending Elizabethan steps with anachronistic flair—tank puppets now playful, crimson banners turned to rainbow hues of freedom. The EDITOR steps forward, humbled, head bowed.

EDITOR OF DAS ECONONIUM
O satirist sharp, thy quill hath humbled me,
I own the biases that once I could not see.
Our centrist cloak hid sympathies so red,
Soft on despots where freedoms oft have bled.
No more shall ink drip with such double guise,
We pledge to balance true, 'neath open skies.

The TANKIES, comically reformed, shed their red cloaks for garments of white, waving props of quills instead of tanks, singing in reformed harmony.

CHORUS OF TANKIES (in joyous reversal)
We tankies once, defenders of the crush,
Now advocates for speech without the hush!
No more the iron beasts to silence voice,
But freedoms ring, in satire's bold rejoice.
Hail to the wit that reforms the stern and grim,
Turning crimson chains to liberty's hymn!

The REBELLIOUS COLONISTS and SPIRIT OF TANK MAN join the dance, torches and defiant stance merging into symbols of unity.

SPIRIT OF TANK MAN
Eternal stand 'gainst tyranny's dark might,
In every age, defiance claims the right.
From New World's shores to squares of heavenly peace,
The soul's brave echo bids oppression cease.

PATRIOT (representing the colonists)
We echo forth the rebellion's clarion call,
'Gainst captured fates and empires' looming wall.
In truce we find the spectacular divide,
'Twixt liberal facade and communist tide.

Sir Van Wellen pens a final pamphlet at center stage, his quill glowing as words manifest in golden script, "publishing" the play's truths across the air like floating verses. The telescope shatters in a burst of light, dissolving anachronisms—tanks fade, projections cease.

SIR VAN WELLEN (reciting the pamphlet aloud)
Thus ends our tale, with truths now set to flight:
Hypocrisy unmasked in satire's light.
Empires yearn for days of captured thrall,
Yet soft on tanks that make the free ones fall.
#TheEcommunist, thy blend we now decry,
Centrist no more, but bias to the sky.
Let wit endure, where powers rise and wane,
And freedoms triumph o'er the tyrant's chain.

Pieter nods, enlightened, as all characters bow in unity. The CHORUS steps forward to close with a moral, voices rising in harmony.

CHORUS
Good folk, mark well this play of time and jest,
On hypocrisy, empires, wit's bequest.
From Dutch shores gazing 'cross the sea's divide,
To New World's echoes where rebellions bide.
The satirist's triumph lies in truth's own gleam,
Dissolving falsehoods like a fading dream.
Applaud the waves, time's relentless, flowing song,
Where wit prevails, and freedoms grow strong.

The curtain falls amid applause, waves crashing in rhythmic acclaim, lights fading to twilight's hush.