MAD. Nothing can be better.
MASC. My heart surprise, that is, carries it away from me, robs me of
it. _Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief!_ Would you not think a man were
shouting and running after a thief to catch him? _Stop thief! stop
thief! stop thief!_
[Footnote: The scene of Mascarille reading his extempore verses is
something like Trissotin in _Les Femmes savantes_ (see vol. III.)
reading his sonnet for the Princess Uranie. But Mascarille comments on
the beauties of his verses with the insolent vanity of a man who does
not pretend to have even one atom of modesty; Trissotin, a professional
wit, listens in silence, but with secret pride, to the ridiculous
exclamations of the admirers of his genius.]
MAD. I must admit the turn is witty and sprightly.
MASC. I will sing you the tune I made to it.
CAT. Have you learned music?
MASC. I? Not at all.
CAT. How can you make a tune then?
MASC. People of rank know everything without ever having learned
anything.
MAD. His lordship is quite in the right, my dear.
MASC. Listen if you like the tune: _hem, hem, la, la._ The inclemency of
the season has greatly injured the delicacy of my voice but no matter,
it is in a free and easy way. (_He sings_). _Oh! Oh! quite without heed
was I_, etc.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48