A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing):
Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . .

THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages):
You pages there, none of your tricks!. . .

FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity):
Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . .
(Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned):
Have you string?

THE SECOND:
Ay, and a fish-hook with it.

FIRST PAGE:
We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery.

A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths):
Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson
in thieving.

SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries):
You there! Have you peashooters?

THIRD PAGE (from above):
Ay, have we, and peas withal!

(He blows, and peppers them with peas.)