[Exit Pierrot.]
Coth. You, Thyrsis! Corydon!
Where are you?
Thyr. Sir, we are in our dressing-room!
Coth. Come out and do the scene.
Cory. You are mocking us!—
The scene is down for later.
Coth. That is true;
But we will play it now. I am the scene.
[Seats himself on high place in back of stage. Enter Corydon and Thyrsis.]
Cory. Sir, we were counting on this little hour.
We said, "Here is an hour,—in which to think
A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song,
And look at nothing."—And, behold! the hour,
Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun,
Under our feet!
Thyr. Sir, we are not in the fancy
To play the play. We had thought to play it later.
Cory. Besides, this is the setting for a farce.
Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build
A wall of tissue-paper!