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CYRANO DE BERGERAC
33
Cyrano
[very politely].
If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all,
Could claim acquaintance with you,—oh, believe
(Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are)
That she would make you taste her buskin's sole!
The Pit.
Montfleury! Montfleury! Come—Baro's play!
Cyrano
[to those who are calling out].
I pray you have a care! If you go on
My scabbard soon will render up its blade!
[The circle round him widens.]
The Crowd
[drawing back].
Take care!
Cyrano
[to Montfleury].
Take care! Leave the stage!
The Crowd
[coming near and grumbling].
Take care! Leave the stage! Oh!—
Cyrano.
Take care! Leave the stage! Oh!— Did some one speak?
[They draw back again.]
