RAGUENEAU (overcome):
You do me too great honor. . .
LIGNIÈRE:
Nay, hold your peace, Maecenas that you are!
RAGUENEAU:
True, these gentlemen employ me. . .
LIGNIÈRE:
On credit!
He is himself a poet of a pretty talent. . .
RAGUENEAU:
So they tell me.
LIGNIÈRE:
—Mad after poetry!
RAGUENEAU:
’Tis true that, for a little ode. . .
LIGNIÈRE:
You give a tart. . .
RAGUENEAU:
Oh!—a tartlet!
LIGNIÈRE:
Brave fellow! He would fain fain excuse himself!
—And for a triolet, now, did you not give in exchange. . .