EVES: O Heavens!

[FAME _walks beautifully to the window. She opens it and puts her head
out._

FAME (_in a voice with which a woman in an upper storey would cry for
help if the house was well alight_): Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say, folks! Hi!

[_The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard._ FAME _blows her trumpet._

FAME: Hi, he's a poet! (_Quickly, over her shoulder._) What's your name?

DE REVES: De Reves.

FAME: His name's de Reves.

DE REVES: Harry de Reves.

FAME: His pals call him Harry.

THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

FAME: Say, what's your favourite colour?

DE REVES: I ... I ... I don't quite understand.

FAME: Well, which do you like best, green or blue?

DE REVES: Oh--er--blue.

[_She blows her trumpet out of the window._

No--er--I think green.

FAME: Green is his favourite colour.

THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

FAME: 'Ere, tell us something. They want to know all about yer.

DE REVES: Wouldn't[9] you perhaps ... would they care to hear my sonnet,
if you would--er ...

FAME (_picking up quill_): Here, what's this?

DE REVES: Oh, that's my pen.

FAME (_after another blast on her trumpet_): He writes with a quill.

[_Cheers from the_ CROWD.

FAME (_going to a cupboard_): Here, what have you got in here?

DE REVES: Oh ... er ... those are my breakfast things.

FAME (_finding a dirty plate_): What have yer had on this one?

DE REVES (_mournfully_): Oh, eggs and bacon.

FAME (_at the window_): He has eggs and bacon for breakfast.

THE CROWD: Hip hip hip, _hooray!_
Hip hip hip, _hooray!_
Hip hip hip, _hooray!_

FAME: Hi, and what's this?

DE REVES (_miserably_): Oh, a golf stick.

FAME: He's a man's man! He's a virile man! He's a manly man!

[_Wild cheers from the_ CROWD, _this time only from women's voices._

DE REVES: Oh, this is terrible. This is terrible. This is terrible.

[FAME _gives another peal on her horn. She is about to speak._

DE REVES (_solemnly and mournfully_): One moment, one moment ...

FAME: Well, out with it.

DE REVES: For ten years, divine lady, I have worshipped you, offering
all my songs ... I find ... I find I am not worthy....

FAME: Oh, you're all right.

DE REVES: No, no, I am not worthy. It cannot be. It cannot possibly be.
Others deserve you more. I must say it! _I cannot possibly love you._
Others are worthy. You will find others. But I, no, no, no. It cannot
be. It cannot be. Oh, pardon me, but it _must_ not.

[_Meanwhile_