"But when her Eyes she opened, (Although the Sun it shone,) She found the Shepherd had not stirred 'Because the Light was gone!' 66 Ah, Cupid! wanton Cupid! 'Twas ever thus your Way: When Maids would bid you ply your Wings, I think not.-No. Unless 'tis this: My fate is far more hard than his ;— THE COUNTESS. Now, that's a breach! Your bond is not to make a speech. And we must start-so call Justine. I know exactly what you mean !— Give me your arm— THE BARON. If, in return, Countess, I could your hand but earn! THE COUNTESS. 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. THE METAMORPHOSIS. "On s'enrichit quand on dort." SCENE. A high stone Seat in an Alley of clipped Lime-trees. THE ABBÉ TIRILI. MONSIEUR L'ÉTOILE THE ABBÉ (writing). "This shepherdess Dorine adored—" What rhyme is next? Implored?-ignored? Poured?-soared?-afford? That facile Dunce, L'ÉTOILE, would cap the line at once. 'T will 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! 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, Paid frequent 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 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. But Names the Reader never reads. Of Tales like this the constant Scene, A Shepherdess, by name Dorine. Trim Waist, ripe Lips, bright Eyes, had she: |