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