Cyrano de Bergerac Page #2

A great nose may be an index

of a great soul - kind, endowed

with liberality and courage...

like mine, you rat-brained dunce

unlike yours, all rancid porridge.

It would be grotesque to fist

your wretched mug...

so lacking as it is...

in pride, genius

the lyrical and picturesque

in spark, spunk, in brief: in nose.

So take a boot instead to your backside

Help! Call the Guard!

A warning...

to you who find my countenance

a source of sport.

Be you noble, my swift response

is different altogether.

I strike with steel... and not leather!

He's a bit of a bore.

A braggart.

Who shall it be, gentlemen?

Nobody? Wait, you can leave it to me.

You...

That thing of yours...

is...

very big.

Very.

That's all?

Yes.

Nothing more? There are fifty score

varieties of comment. Nay, more.

Just change the tone. For example:

Aggressive:
"A nose in such a state

I'd amputate."

Friendly:
"It must dip in your cup

You need a crane to hoist it up."

Descriptive:
"A rock, a bluff, a cape!"

"No, a peninsula in size and shape!"

Curious:
"What is that oblong?

"A writing desk or am I wrong?"

Gracious:
"Are you food of birds?

"You provide a gothic perch

for them..."

"to rest their feet."

Truculent:
"A smoker? I suppose..."

The fumes gush out from that nose

like a chimney on fire."

Kind:
"It will drag you in the mire

head-first with its weight."

Tender:
"I'll have an umbrella made

to give it some summer shade."

Pedant:
"The beast of Aristophanes

the hippocampocamalelephunt..."

"had flesh and bone like that up front"

Drama:
"It bleeds like the Red Sea."

Impressed:

"What a sign for a perfumery."

Lyric:

"Ah, Triton rising from the waters."

"How much to view the monument?"

Warlike:
"Train it on the cavalry!"

Practical:
"Put that in a lottery

for noses and it'll be first prize."

And finally, with sighs and cries...

in language deeply felt:

"O that this too too..."

"solid nose would melt."

That is what you could have said

or had an ounce of wit in your head.

But you've no letters

save the three

required to describe you: S.O.T.

Had you the wit required...

to serve me before the crowd

a dish of words...

so proud...

not a phrase

would have passed your lips.

For although the words may fit

I'd never let you get away with it.

Valvert, leave him!

Arrogant, base nonentity

without even a pair of gloves

let alone the ribbons and lace

a noble loves!

My elegance is interior.

I do not go out feeling inferior

from an insult...

which on the exterior

leaves its mark of warning

in libel and scruples in mourning.

I step out...

smelling of scrubbed liberty

and polished independence. Come see!

Let him be!

About gloves, you have me there.

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