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NAVE. The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts All on a summer's day. The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts And took them quite away. The King of Hearts Called for those tarts And beat the Knave full sore. The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts And vowed he'd sin no more. VIOLETTA (_earnestly_). My dear Knave, how wonderful of you! You shall be Poet Laureate. A Poet Laureate has no social position, has he? KNAVE. It depends, Your Majesty, upon whether or not he chooses to be more laureate than poet. VIOLETTA (_rising, her eyes closed in ecstasy_). _Your Majesty!_ Those words go to my head--like wine! KNAVE. Long live Pompdebile the Eighth, and Queen Violetta! (_The trumpets sound._) HERALDS. Make way for Pompdebile the Eighth, and Queen Violetta! VIOLETTA (_excitedly_). _Vee_-oletta, please! HERALDS. Make way for Pompdebile the Eighth, and Queen _Vee_-oletta-- (_The_ KING _and_ QUEEN _show themselves at the door--and the people can be heard clamoring outside._) [CURTAIN] FAME AND THE POET[1] Lord Dunsany [Footnote 1: Reprinted from the _Atlantic Monthly_ for June, 1919, by special permission of Lord Dunsany and the editors of the _Atlantic Monthly._] SCENE: The Poet's rooms in London. Windows in back. A high screen in a corner. TIME: February 30th. CHARACTERS HARRY DE REVES.--A Poet. (_This name, though of course of French origin, has become anglicized and is pronounced_ DE REEVES.) DICK PRATTLE.--A Lieutenant-Major of the Royal Horse Marines. FAME. (_The_ POET _is sitting at a table, writing. Enter_ DICK PRATTLE.) PRATTLE. Hullo, Harry. DE REVES. Hullo, Dick. Good Lord, where are you from? PRATTLE (_casually_). The ends of the Earth. DE REVES. Well, I'm damned! PRATTLE. Thought I'd drop in and see how you were getting on. DE REVES. Well, that's splendid. What are you doing in London? PRATTLE. Well, I wanted to see if I could get one or two decent ties to wear,--you can get nothing out there,--then I thought I'd have a look and see how London was getting on. DE REVES. Splendid! How's everybody? PRATTLE. All going strong. DE REVES. That's good. PRATTLE. (_seeing paper and ink_). But what are you doing? DE REVES. Writing. PRATTLE. Writing? I didn't know you wrote. DE REVES. Yes, I've taken to it rather. PRATTLE. I say--writing's no good. What do you write? DE R
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