Cyrano de Bergerac. Edmond Rostand

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BORE:

       No patron? …

      CYRANO:

       None!

      THE BORE:

       What! no great lord to shield you with his name?

      CYRANO (irritated):

       No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat?

       No! no protector …

       (His hand on his sword):

       A protectress … here!

      THE BORE:

       But you must leave the town?

      CYRANO:

       Well, that depends!

      THE BORE:

       The Duke has a long arm!

      CYRANO:

       But not so long

       As mine, when it is lengthened out …

       (Shows his sword):

       As thus!

      THE BORE:

       You think not to contend?

      CYRANO:

       'Tis my idea!

      THE BORE:

       But …

      CYRANO:

       Show your heels! now!

      THE BORE:

       But I …

      CYRANO:

       Or tell me why you stare so at my nose!

      THE BORE (staggered):

       I …

      CYRANO (walking straight up to him):

       Well, what is there strange?

      THE BORE (drawing back):

       Your Grace mistakes!

      CYRANO:

       How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk? …

      THE BORE (same play):

       I never …

      CYRANO:

       Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak?

      THE BORE:

       I …

      CYRANO:

       Do you see a wart upon the tip?

      THE BORE:

       Nay …

      CYRANO:

       Or a fly, that takes the air there? What

       Is there to stare at?

      THE BORE:

       Oh …

      CYRANO:

       What do you see?

      THE BORE:

       But I was careful not to look--knew better.

      CYRANO:

       And why not look at it, an if you please?

      THE BORE:

       I was …

      CYRANO:

       Oh! it disgusts you!

      THE BORE:

       Sir!

      CYRANO:

       Its hue

       Unwholesome seems to you?

      THE BORE:

       Sir!

      CYRANO:

       Or its shape?

      THE BORE:

       No, on the contrary! …

      CYRANO:

       Why then that air

       Disparaging?--perchance you think it large?

      THE BORE (stammering):

       No, small, quite small--minute!

      CYRANO:

       Minute! What now?

       Accuse me of a thing ridiculous!

       Small--my nose?

      THE BORE:

       Heaven help me!

      CYRANO:

       'Tis enormous!

       Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know

       That I am proud possessing such appendice.

       'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative

       Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous,

       Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such

       As you can never dare to dream yourself,

       Rascal contemptible! For that witless face

       That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all

       As empty …

      (He cuffs him.)

      THE BORE:

       Aie!

      CYRANO:

       --of pride, of aspiration,

       Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark

       Of all that appertains to my big nose,

       (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word):

       As … what my boot will shortly come and kick!

      THE BORE (running away):

       Help! Call the Guard!

      CYRANO:

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