Cyrano.
Cyrano! Cyrano!Why, I well believe
He dares to mock my nose! Ho! insolent!
[He raises his sword.]
What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know!
But who fights ever hoping for success?
I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest!
You there, who are you!—You are thousands! Ah!
I know you now, old enemies of mine!
Falsehood!
[He strikes in the air with his sword.]
Falsehood!Have at you! Ha! and Compromise!
Prejudice, Treachery!…
[He strikes.]
Prejudice, Treachery!…Surrender, I?
Parley? No, never! You too, Folly,—you?
I know that you will lay me low at last;
Let be! Yet I fall fighting, fighting still!
[He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless.]
You strip from me the laurel and the rose!
Take all! Despite you there is yet one thing
I hold against you all, and when, to-night,
I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed,
Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue,
One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch,
I bear away despite you.
