CYRANO (graciously, still seated):
Youthful gander, know
I have two reasons--either will suffice.
Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths,
And heaves up like a bucket from a well
The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo--
That is my secret. . .

THE OLD BURGHER (behind him):
Shameful! You deprive us
Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . .

CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully):
Old mule!
The verses of old Baro are not worth
A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . .

THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes):
Our Baro!--
My dear! How dares he venture!. . .

CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly):
Fairest ones,
Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup
Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like!
Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles;
Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not!

BELLEROSE: