THE BARON. Nay, 'twas a song of SAINTE-Aulaire. THE COUNTESS. Then read me one. We've time to spare: If I can catch the clock-face there, 'Tis barely eight. THE BARON. What shall it be,- A tale of woe, or perfidy? THE COUNTESS. Not woes, I beg. I doubt your woes: 666 THE BARON (reads). 'Ah, Phillis! cruel Phillis! (I heard a Shepherd say,) You hold me with your Eyes, and yet "Ah, Colin! foolish Colin! (The Maiden answered so,) If that be All, the Ill is small, I close them-You may go!' "But when her Eyes she opened, She found the Shepherd had not stirred- 66 "Ah, Cupid! wanton Cupid! 'Twas ever thus your Way: When Maids would bid you ply your Wings, THE COUNTESS. Famous! He earned whate'er he got :- THE BARON (turning the page). I think not.-No. Unless 'tis this: THE COUNTESS. Now, that's a breach! Your bond is not to make a speech. And we must start-so call JUSTINE. Give me your arm— Of sentiment, and Arcady, Where vows are hung on every tree. . . THE BARON (offering his arm, with a low bow). And no one dreams-of PERFIDY. THE METAMORPHOSIS. "On s'enrichit quand on dort." SCENE.-A high stone Seat in an Alley of clipped Lime-trees. THE ABBÉ TIRILI. "T MONSIEUR L'ÉTOILE. THE ABBÉ (writing). HIS shepherdess Dorine adored-" What rhyme is next? Implored?-ignored? Poured?-soared?-afford? That facile Dunce, L'ÉTOILE, would cap the line at once. 'Twill come in time. Meanwhile, suppose We take a meditative doze. (Sleeps. By-and-by his paper falls.) M. L'ÉTOILE (approaching from the back). Monsieur the Scholar? Sleeping too! (Picks up the fluttering paper.) More "Tales," of course. One can't refuse To chase so fugitive a Muse! Verses are public, too, that fly "Cum privilegio”—Zephyri! (Reads.) Insane ! "CLITANDER AND DORINE." (Three names for one. This passes all, "Tis "furiously" classical !) "No doubt their Purpose oft would be Some Nodus dignus Vindice'; 'On dit,' not less, these earthly Tours Were mostly matters of Amours. And woe to him whose luckless Flame Impeded that Olympic Game; Ere he could say an' Ave' o'er, They changed him-like a Louis-d'or." ("Aves," and current coinage! O!— O shade of NICHOLAS BOILEAU!) "Bird, Beast, or River he became: With Women it was much the same. In Ovid Case to Case succeeds; But Names the Reader never reads." (That is, Monsieur the Abbé feels His quantities are out at heels!) |