Puslapio vaizdai


If, in return,
Countess, I could your hand but earn !

I thought as much. This comes, you see,
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,


On s'enrichit quand on dort."

SCENE.-A high stone Seat in an Alley of clipped




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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).
Some one before me.

What ! 'tis you,
Monsieur the Scholar? Sleeping too !

(Picks up the fluttering paper.)
More Tales," of course. One can't refuse
To chase so fugitive a Muse !


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Verses are public, too, that fly Cum privilegio—Zephyri!

(Reads.) CLITANDER AND DORINE.” Insane! He fancies he's a LA FONTAINE ! In early Days, the Gods, we find, Puid casual Visits to Mankind;At least, authentic Records say so In Publius Ovidius Naso." (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 himlike a Louis-d'or.” (' Aves,” and current coinage! 0!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 !)

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'Suffices that, for this our Tale,
There dwelt in a Thessalian Vale,
Of Tales like this the frequent Scene,
A Shepherdess, by name Dorine.
Trim Waist, ripe Lips, bright Eyes, had she ;-
In short, -the whole Artillery.
Her Beauty made some local Stir ;-
Men marked it. So did Jupiter.
This Shepherdess Dorine adored. .
Implored, ignored, and soared, and poured-
(He's scrawled them here !) We'll sum in brief
His fable on his second leaf.

(Writes.) There, they shall know who 'twas that wrote:“L'ÉTOILE's is but a mock-bird's note.[Exit.

The ABBÉ (waking).
Implored 's the word, I think. But where,
Where is my paper? Ah ! 'tis there!
Eh ! what?



(not in Ovid.)
The Shepherdess Dorine adored

The Shepherd-Boy Clitander;
But Jove himself, Olympus' Lord,
The Shepherdess Dorine adored.

Our Abbês Aid the Pair Implored ;

And changed to Goose and Gander, The Shepherdess Dorine adored

The Shepherd-Boy Clitander!
L'ÉTOILE,—by all the Muses !

He 's off, post-haste, to tell the rest.
No matter. Laugh, Sir Dunce, to-day;
Next time 'twill be my turn to play.

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