MAD. Madrigals are pretty enough when they are neatly turned.
MASC. That is my special talent; I am at present engaged in turning the
whole Roman history into madrigals.
[Footnote: Seventeen years after this play was performed, Benserade
published _les Metamorphoses d' Ovide mises en rondeaux_.]
MAD. Goodness gracious! that will certainly be superlatively fine; I
should like to have one copy at least, if you think of publishing it.
MASC. I promise you each a copy, bound in the handsomest manner. It does
not become a man of my rank to scribble, but I do it only to serve the
publishers, who are always bothering me.
MAD. I fancy it must be a delightful thing to see one's self in print.
MASC. Undoubtedly; but, by the by, I must repeat to you some extempore
verses I made yesterday at the house of a certain duchess, an
acquaintance of mine. I am deuced clever at extempore verses.
CAT. Extempore verses are certainly the very touch-stone of genius.
MASC. Listen then.
MAD. We are all ears.
MASC.
_Oh! oh! quite without heed was I,
As harmless you I chanced to spy,
Slily your eyes
My heart surprise,
Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief I cry!_
CAT. Good Heavens! this is carried to the utmost pitch of gallantry.
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