CHRISTIAN:
Over the nose. . .
CYRANO (wiping his forehead):
. . .’O’ th’ knuckles! Ay,’
But I cried, ‘Forward, Gascon! Duty calls!
On, Cyrano!’ And thus I ventured on. . .
When, from the shadow, came. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A crack o’ th’ nose.
CYRANO:
I parry it—find myself. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Nose to nose. . .
CYRANO (bounding on to him):
Heaven and earth!
(All the Gascons leap up to see, but when he is close to Christian he controls himself and continues):
. . .With a hundred brawling sots,
Who stank. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A noseful. . .
CYRANO (white, but smiling):
Onions, brandy-cups!
I leapt out, head well down. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Nosing the wind!
CYRANO:
I charge!—gore two, impale one—run him through,
One aims at me—Paf! and I parry. . .