"Suffices that, for this our Tale, Trim Waist, ripe Lips, bright Eyes, had she ;- Her Beauty made some local Stir ;- This Shepherdess Dorine adored. . Implored, ignored, and soared, and poured(He's scrawled them here!) His fable on his second leaf. (Writes.) We'll sum in brief There, they shall know who 'twas that wrote:"L'ÉTOILE's is but a mock-bird's note." THE ABBÉ (waking). Implored's the word, I think. But where, Where is my paper? Ah! 'tis there! Eh! what? (Reads.) THE METAMORPHOSIS. (not in Ovid.) "The Shepherdess Dorine adored [Exit. Our Abbe's Aid the Pair Implored;- L'ÉTOILE,-by all the Muses! Peste! He's off, post-haste, to tell the rest. Next time 'twill be my turn to play. THE SONG OUT OF SEASON. "Point de culte sans mystère." SCENE. A Corridor in a Château, with Busts and Venice chandeliers. MONSIEUR L'ÉTOILE. Two VOICES. M. L'ÉTOILE (carrying a Rose). HIS is the place. MUTINE said here. TH "Through the Mancini room, and near The fifth Venetian chandelier. The fifth ?-She knew there were but four ;- (Humming.) Tra-la, tra-la! If BIJOU wake, She'll bark, no doubt, and spoil my shake! I'll tap, I think. One can't mistake; This surely is the door. (Sings softly.) "When Jove, the Skies' Director, First saw you sleep of yore, He cried aloud for Nectar, "The Nectar quickly pour,- (No sound. I'll tap once more.) (Sings again.) "Then came the Sire Apollo, He past you where you lay; 'Come, Dian, rise and follow The dappled Hart to slay,— The rapid Hart to slay."" (A rustling within.) (Coquette! She heard before.) (Sings again.) "And urchin Cupid after (Now comes the last. 'Tis scarcely worse, I think, than Monsieur l'ABBÉ's verse.) "So waken, waken, waken, O You, whom we adore! Poor Mortals must be more!" (That merits an encore!) "So waken, waken, waken! O YOU whom we adore!" (An energetic VOICE.) 'Tis thou, ANTOINE? Ah, Addle-pate! A thousand times! (Great agitation.) But wait,-but wait, M. L'ÉTOILE (stupefied). Just Skies! What hideous roar !— What lungs! The infamous Soubrette! To make me sing my chansonnette (Retiring slowly.) And yet, and yet,-it can't be she. (A second VOICE.) IT WAS THE ABBÉ TI-RI-LI! |