SVIETLOVIDOFF. "I do beseech you."

IVANITCH. "I know no touch of it, my lord."

SVIETLOVIDOFF. "'Tis as easy as lying: govern these vantages with your
finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse
most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops."

IVANITCH. "But these I cannot command to any utterance of harmony: I
have not the skill."

SVIETLOVIDOFF. "Why, look you, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You
would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out
the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the
top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this
little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood! Do you think I am
easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will,
though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me!" [laughs and clasps]
Bravo! Encore! Bravo! Where the devil is there any old age in that? I'm
not old, that is all nonsense, a torrent of strength rushes over me;
this is life, freshness, youth! Old age and genius can't exist together.
You seem to be struck dumb, Nikitushka. Wait a second, let me come to
my senses again. Oh! Good Lord! Now then, listen! Did you ever hear such
tenderness, such music? Sh! Softly;

"The moon had set. There was not any light,
Save of the lonely legion'd watch-stars pale
In outer air, and what by fits made bright
Hot oleanders in a rosy vale