[With a cold sneer.
You like the prospect? I have fluids here—
"Elixirs to evolve the latent hair,"
With others, christened (in some franker mood)
"Depilatory Agents,"—scarce less potent:
Upon your helpless head I'll pour them all!
(Arm raised—savage and threatening aspect.)
Nay, smile not thus defiance through your gag—
I swear to lay that haughty crest so low,
That never shall it soar in pride again!
Enough of words—to action!...Still that smile—
So bitter, yet so calm—it maddens me,
I'll stay my hand no longer!—
(violent plunge with right arm—after which you recoil and seem to gaze aghast at some object you are holding)
—juggling fiend!
Was this the secret of your dauntless port?
And could my practised eye be so deceived?
(In a tone of lofty and dignified resignation.)
Yet, seeing I am thus forestalled by Fate,
I do renounce my purpose—since I must:
Take back your wig, McAssir, go in peace.
[Bitter scorn.
Stay—while, in token that my heart is changed,
I coax it into comeliness anew.
Permit me to unloose you—you are free,
And owe me but a trifle—eighteenpence,