"Seigneur count, have pity on me, poor old man that I am; I only have my animals to earn my bread with—I have requested your noble and very noble guests not to approach my bear too closely, in order to prevent any unfortunate accident."
"Step forward; I wish to have a closer view of your jolly companion; he will not, I presume, dare to paw me, the son of King Clotaire."
"Oh, very glorious Prince! these poor brutes are deprived of intelligence and cannot distinguish between the great seigneurs of the world and the humble slaves."
"Step forward, step forward—a little closer."
"Very glorious King, look out—it will be less dangerous to be close to the monkey—I can let him out of his cage."
"Oh, monkeys, I am not very curious to see those wicked animals. I have pages, plenty of them. Ha, ha, ha—look at the droll fellow with his jacket. Look, Imnachair, how clumsily he carries himself—how he grunts—for all the world he looks like the Lion of Poitiers in his morning gown, after spending a night with women and wine."
"What else should I do, Chram! I consider lost every night that I do not put to use in your style with wine and women."
"Lion, you are unjust—I have become temperate and chaste."
"Through exhaustion—O, chaste and sober Prince—did you renounce the pure girls and good wine!"
"If so, you should rather pity than blame me. Ho, there, mountebank, what tricks can your bear perform? Is he clever?"