"Please come one day and see our house that's down among the trees,
But do not come at four o'clock for then we count the bees,
And bath the tadpoles and the frogs, who splash the clouds with gold,
And watch the new-cut cucumbers perspiring with the cold."
That's a song I'm writing.
Manufacturer. Pierrot, if you had all the money in the world you wouldn't be happy.
Pierrot. Wouldn't I? Give me all the money in the world and I'll risk it. To start with, I'd build schools to educate the people up to high-class things.
Manufacturer. You dream of fame and wealth and empty ideals, and you miss all the best things there are. You are discontented. Why? Because you don't know how to be happy.
Pierrot [reciting]:
"Life's a running brooklet,
Catch the fishes there,
You who wrote a booklet
On a woman's hair."
[Explaining.] That's another song I'm writing. It's the second verse. Things come to me all of a sudden like that. I must run out a third verse, just to wind it up.
Manufacturer. Why don't you write a song without any end, one that goes on for ever?
Pierrot. I say, that's rather silly, isn't it?