CYRANO (closing his eyes for a moment).
Wait....I'm selecting my rimes....There now, I'm ready!
(He does as he says while speaking the verses.)
My hat with grace I cast aside;
Next, watch me, please, I slowly free
The cloak in which I'm wont to stride;
And then I draw my sword, you see.
A Celadon[9] you have in me,
A Scaramuccia very much;
But, pygmy, moderate your glee,
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!
'Twere better you had slept or died.
O goose, where shall I puncture thee?
Beneath the ribs? Above? Decide!
Or through the breast, where ribbons be?
The hilts are ringing. One, two, three!
My sword, beware! is not a crutch.
I'll strike according to decree,
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!
I seek in vain a rime in ide.
You back—and whiten—let's agree
Upon a word, say: trembling hide,
So, tac! I parry, just a wee,
Your vicious thrust. Now finish we!
I open—quart—or something such——
Hold well that spit, you dog, or flee,[10]
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!
(He announces with solemnity).
ENVOY.[11]
Now, Prince, may heaven hear your plea!
I follow, though you break and clutch.
I cut—I feint—Be ready—Hee! (He lunges.)
(Vicomte staggers; Cyrano bows.)
For now I close th' Envoy.... (pointing to Vicomte)
I touch!
(Applause in boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown. Officers surround and congratulate Cyrano. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret seems both overjoyed and dejected. The Vicomte's friends support him and bear him off.)