Cyrano de Bergerac Page #2

Beware, a secret weapon!

Enterprising-

What a sigh for some perfumer!

Respectful-

Uh sir, I recognize in you

a man of parts,

a man of...prominence.

Or, Literary-

Was this the nose

that launched a thousand ships?

These, my dear sir, are things

you might have said had you

some tinge of letters or of wit

to color your discourse.

Bit wit not so.

You never had an atom.

And of letters, you need

but three to write you down, a..s..s.

Ass.

You, sir!

Dolt! Bumpkin! Fool!

How do you do, and I,

Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac.

Vicomte, come.

Such arrogance.

This scarecrow who...

Look at him!

No ribbons. No lace.

Not even gloves!

True. I carry my adornments

only on my soul.

Decked with deeds

instead of ribbons.

Mantled in my good name,

and crowned with a

white plume of freedom.

But..

But, I have no gloves.

A pity, too.

I had one, the last one of an old pair,

and lost that.

Very careless of me.

Some gentleman offered me

an impertinence.

I left it in his face.

So be it!

You shall die exquisitely

Oh, a poet.

Oh, yes, a poet if you will.

So, uh, while we fight,

I'll improvise a ballad for you,

and as I end the refrain,

...skhrch!...thrust home.

Will you?

I will.

Ballad au Duel

at the Theatre de Burgoyne

between de Bergerac,

and uh...a barbarian.

What do you mean by that?

Oh, that?

The title.

Stop. Let me choose my rhyme.

So. Here we go.

Lightly I toss my hat away.

Languidly o'er my arm let fall

the cloak that covers my bright array.

Then, out swords,

and to work withal.

A Lancelot in his lady's hall,

A Spartacus at the Hippodrome,

I dally a while with you..

you jackall.

Just as I end the refrain,

thrust home!

Where shall I skewer my peacock again?

Nay, better for you

to have shunned this brawl.

Here in the heart

or your ribbons, gay,

in the belly

'neath you silken shawl?

Now, come my points floats,

light as the foam

ready to drive you

back to the wall,

and then as I end the refrain,

thrust home.

Oh, for a rhyme.

Why, your fight is fading.

You break.

You cower.

You cringe.

You crawl.

How can I tell

you're allowed to say

something to turn on my head

forestall...

Life with a tunny

death with a scall.

Something to turn on my fancy roam,

free for a time till the rhyme's recall,

then as I end the refrain,

thrust home!

Refrain.

Prince,

pray God that is Lord of all,

pardon you soul,

for your time has come.

Pass! I fling you aslant, asprawl.

Then as I end the refrain,

thrust home!

Ladies and gentlemen,

please, please,

not until the performance is over.

Close the house.

A strike,

but leave the lights.

We rehearse the new

farce tonight.

Wait.

You have only to watch a fight,

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