DE GUICHE:
I imagine you have rhymed
Five acts, or so?
LE BRET (in Cyrano’s ear):
Your play!—your ‘Agrippine!’
You’ll see it staged at last!
DE GUICHE:
Take them to him.
CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted):
In sooth,—I would. . .
DE GUICHE:
He is a critic skilled:
He may correct a line or two, at most.
CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once):
Impossible! My blood congeals to think
That other hand should change a comma’s dot.
DE GUICHE:
But when a verse approves itself to him
He pays it dear, good friend.
CYRANO:
He pays less dear
Than I myself; when a verse pleases me
I pay myself, and sing it to myself!
DE GUICHE:
You are proud.
CYRANO:
Really? You have noticed that?