The Blackbird
Now, what the—Robs you of what?
The Grand-duke
Of health! Gladness!
The Blackbird
How is that?
The Screech-owl
By his crowing!
The Grand-duke
His crowing brings on enlargement of the spleen and pericarditis! For it heralds—
The Blackbird
[Hopping about.] Oh, I see—The light!
[All make a violent motion in his direction; the Blackbird frightened, hides among the fagots.]
The Grand-duke
[Emphatically.] Never speak that word! When that word is spoken, Night at the horizon feels a crawling discomfort, a titillation underneath her wing.
The Blackbird
[Cautiously correcting himself.] The brightness of—[General start of dismay repeated; the Blackbird again dodges behind the fagots.]
An Owl
[Hurriedly.] Never utter that horrible grating word, which so hatefully suggests the scratching of a match!