Lena. Don’t mind him, Mr. Smith; I love your poetry.
Byron. Thanks; shall I give you another specimen?
Han. For heaven’s sake; hush!
Lena. Please do, Mr. Smith.
Byron. This is the seventeenth stanza of my lovely dirge, “Life.” There are three thousand and two more verses:
Life is a mockery,
Life is a cheat——
Han. (Interrupting.) Ven ve vos hungry,
There’s nothing to eat!