Though she wear a crown,
'Tis from La Pompadour one fears a frown.

THE LADY
Thou art a child: thy malice is a game.

PIERROT
A most sweet pastime--scandal is its name.

THE LADY
Enough, it wearies me.

PIERROT
Then, rare Marquise,
Desert the crowd to wander through the trees.

[_He bows low, and she curtsies; they move round the stage. When they pass
before the Statue he seizes her hand and falls on his knee._]

THE LADY
What wouldst thou now?

PIERROT
Ah, prithee, what, save thee!

THE LADY
Was this included in thy comedy?

PIERROT
Ah, mock me not! In vain with quirk and jest