CYRANO:
The cramp! cramp in my sword!
THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword):
Good!
CYRANO:
You shall feel a charming little stroke!
THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously):
Poet!. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which,
While we fence, presto! all extempore
I will compose a ballade.
THE VISCOUNT:
A ballade?
CYRANO:
Belike you know not what a ballade is.
THE VISCOUNT:
But. . .
CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson):
Know then that the ballade should contain
Three eight-versed couplets. . .
THE VISCOUNT (stamping):
Oh!