MASC. That is my special talent; I am at present engaged in turning the whole Roman history into madrigals.

[Footnote: Seventeen years after this play was performed, Benserade published _les Métamorphoses d' Ovide mises en rondeaux_.]

MAD. Goodness gracious! that will certainly be superlatively fine; I should like to have one copy at least, if you think of publishing it.

MASC. I promise you each a copy, bound in the handsomest manner. It does not become a man of my rank to scribble, but I do it only to serve the publishers, who are always bothering me.

MAD. I fancy it must be a delightful thing to see one's self in print.

MASC. Undoubtedly; but, by the by, I must repeat to you some extempore verses I made yesterday at the house of a certain duchess, an acquaintance of mine. I am deuced clever at extempore verses.

CAT. Extempore verses are certainly the very touch-stone of genius.

MASC. Listen then.

MAD. We are all ears.

MASC. _Oh! oh! quite without heed was I, As harmless you I chanced to spy, Slily your eyes My heart surprise, Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief I cry!_

CAT. Good Heavens! this is carried to the utmost pitch of gallantry.

MASC. Everything I do shows it is done by a gentleman; there is nothing of the pedant about my effusions.

MAD. They are more than two thousand miles removed from that.

MASC. Did you observe the beginning, _oh! oh?_ there is something original in that _oh! oh!_ like a man who all of a sudden thinks about something, _oh! oh!_ Taken by surprise as it were, _oh! oh!_

MAD. Yes, I think that _oh! oh!_ admirable.

MASC. It seems a mere nothing.

CAT. Good Heavens! How can you say so? It is one of these things that are perfectly invaluable.

MAD. No doubt on it; I would rather have written that _oh! oh!_ than an epic poem.

MASC. Egad, you have good taste.

MAD. Tolerably; none of the worst, I believe.

MASC. But do you not also admire _quite without heed was I? quite without heed was I_, that is, I did not pay attention to anything; a natural way of speaking, _quite without heed was I, of no harm thinking_, that is, as I was going along, innocently, without malice, like a poor sheep, _you I chanced to spy_, that is to say, I amused myself with looking at you, with observing you, with contemplating you. _Slily your eyes_. ... What do you think of that word _slily_--is it not well chosen?

CAT. Extremely so.

MASC. _Slily_, stealthily; just like a cat watching a mouse--_slily_.

MAD. Nothing can be better.

MASC. My heart surprise, that is, carries it away from me, robs me of it. _Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief!_ Would you not think a man were shouting and running after a thief to catch him? _Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief!_

[Footnote: The scene of Mascarille reading his extempore verses is something like Trissotin in _Les Femmes savantes_ (see vol. III.) reading his sonnet for the Princess Uranie. But Mascarille comments on the beauties of his verses with the insolent vanity of a man who does not pretend to have even one atom of modesty; Trissotin, a professional wit, listens in silence, but with secret pride, to the ridiculous exclamations of the admirers of his genius.]

MAD. I must admit the turn is witty and sprightly.

MASC. I will sing you the tune I made to it.

CAT. Have you learned music?

MASC. I? Not at all.

CAT. How can you make a tune then?

MASC. People of rank know everything without ever having learned anything.

MAD. His lordship is quite in the right, my dear.

MASC. Listen if you like the tune: _hem, hem, la, la._ The inclemency of the season has greatly injured the delicacy of my voice but no matter, it is in a free and easy way. (_He sings_). _Oh! Oh! quite without heed was I_, etc.

CAT. What a passion there breathes in this music. It is enough to make one die away with delight!

MAD. There is something plaintive in it.

MASC. Do you not think that the air perfectly well expresses the sentiment, _stop thief, stop thief?_ And then as if some one cried out very loud, _stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop thief!_ Then all at once like a person out of breath, _Stop thief!_

MAD. This is to understand the perfection of things, the grand perfection, the perfection of perfections. I declare it is altogether a wonderful performance. I am quite enchanted with the air and the words.

CAT. I never yet met with anything so excellent.

MASC. All that I do comes naturally to me; it is without study.

MAD. Nature has treated you like a very fond mother; you are her darling child.

MASC. How do you pass away the time, ladies?

CAT. With nothing at all.

MAD. Until now we have lived in a terrible dearth of amusements.

MASC. I am at your service to attend you to the play, one of those days, if you will permit me. Indeed, a new comedy is to be acted which I should be very glad we might see together.

MAD. There is no refusing you anything.

MASC. But I beg of you to applaud it well, when we shall be there; for I have promised to give a helping hand to the piece. The author called upon me this very morning to beg me so to do. It is the custom for authors to come and read their new plays to people of rank, that they may induce us to approve of them and give them a reputation. I leave you to imagine if, when we say anything, the pit dares contradict us. As for me, I am very punctual in these things, and when I have made a promise to a poet, I always cry out "Bravo" before the candles are lighted.

MAD. Do not say another word; Paris is an admirable place. A hundred things happen every day which people in the country, however clever they may be, have no idea of.

CAT. Since you have told us, we shall consider it our duty to cry up lustily every word that is said.

MASC. I do not know whether I am deceived, but you look as if you had written some play yourself.

MAD. Eh! there may be something in what you say.

MASC. Ah! upon my word, we must see it. Between ourselves, I have written one which I intend to have brought out.

CAT. Ay! to what company do you mean to give it?

MASC. That is a very nice question, indeed. To the actors of the hôtel de Bourgogne; they alone can bring things into good repute; the rest are ignorant creatures who recite their parts just as people speak in every-day life; they do not understand to mouth the verses, or to pause at a beautiful passage; how can it be known where the fine lines are, if an actor does not stop at them, and thereby tell you to applaud heartily?

[Footnote: The company of actors at the hotel de Bourgogne were rivals to the troop of Molière; it appears, however, from contemporary authors, that the accusations brought by our author against them were well-founded.]

CAT. Indeed! that is one way of making an audience feel the beauties of any work; things are only prized when they are well set off.

MASC. What do you think of my top-knot, sword-knot, and rosettes? Do you find them harmonize with my coat?

[Footnote: In the original _petite oie_; this was first, the name given to the giblets of a goose, _oie_; next it came to mean all the accessories of dress, ribbons, laces, feathers, and other small ornaments. In one of the old translations of Molière _petite oie_ is rendered by "muff," and _Perdrigeon_ (see next note), I suppose, with a faint idea of _perdrix_, a partridge, by "bird of paradise feathers!!"]

CAT. Perfectly.

MASC. Do you think the ribbon well chosen?

MAD. Furiously well. It is real Perdrigeon.

[Footnote: Perdrigeon was the name of a fashionable linen-draper in Paris at that time.]