Bright Star Page #2

But don't leave us. You can see for yourself,

nothing is happening.

All we do is lie about the room all day,

begging for inspiration.

Please, tell me what I should do.

Miss Brawne,

we monkeys just want a little company.

Well, I gave him the biscuits.

Mr. Brown kept...

If we've finished tiffing,

come and say hello to Tom.

It might cheer him.

We'll have to ask Mama.

-No, we don't, Toots.

-Yes, we do.

Isn't that so, Samuel?

We have to stick together.

I'm going. You'll have to come with me.

Would you like to go by the pond

or through the woods?

I've explored all these paths, which are more

in number than your eyelashes.

My eyelashes?

You know, it amazes me

you can sit opposite Mr. Brown all day.

I've never heard him say one thing of wit.

Not one.

-You favor wit?

-I rate it the highest.

-You like the fashionables?

-Yes, I do.

Men who say things that make you start

without making you feel?

Things that are amusing.

I know these dandies.

They have a mannerism in their very eating

and drinking, their handling of a decanter.

You are making an attack on me?

No, I am defending

Mr. Brown's generous, good heart.

By attacking myself.

Forgive me.

I've been too long at my brother's sickbed.

Can we not still appreciate clever humor?

Thank God! He's been calling out for you.

Come in.

John.

-I didn't... I didn't...

-Tom.

-What?

-Tom, get back into bed.

-I don't know. I was having this dream.

-It's all right. I'm here now.

-I'm here.

-Where have you been, John?

-I just... I was worried.

-Calm now. Calm.

It's all right. I'm here.

It's so hot in this bed.

I was so scared for a while.

-Calm down.

-I just panicked.

I want to go. I want to leave. It smells.

Or I'II cut your hair in the night.

-Good evening, John.

-Young man, how are you?

Good evening.

Well, Keats,

I hope you've not forgotten your bassoon.

Of course not. It's in my waistcoat pocket.

-Hello, Mr. Keats.

-Hello, Minx.

How's Tom?

Gentlemen of the orchestra,

just through here.

Ladies, straight ahead, please. Thank you.

Hurry on, gentlemen.

Is he showing any signs of improvement?

Don't ask me of Tom, Minx.

The only good I can do

is say how I love him.

Hurry on, gentlemen.

Shall we open the claret?

Someone submitted anonymously

to The Examiner a most exquisite sonnet

composed on the subject of whether

Love itself could be the 10th muse. Severn!

-Come on.

-En garde!

Right.

That's my sword, you brute.

Love the 10th muse?

It's full of the most perfect allusions

and really beautifully realized.

I thought at first it might be one of yours.

We were just telling Mrs. Brawne

of John Keats' review in Blackwood's.

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