ferocious. . .

CYRANO (same play):
. . .'Thy lips'. . .

FIRST POET:
'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!

CYRANO (same play):
. . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'

SECOND POET (filching a cake):
What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?

CYRANO (same play):
. . .'Who worships thee'. . .
(He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into
his doublet):
No need I sign, since I give it her myself.

RAGUENEAU (to second poet):
I have put a recipe into verse.

THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs):
Go to! Let us hear these verses!

FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken):
Its cap is all a' one side!

(He makes one bite of the top.)

FIRST POET:
See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and
its eyebrows of angelica!

(He takes it.)

SECOND POET:
We listen.

THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently):
How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over!

SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry):
This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing
me from the lyre!

RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled
his cap, struck an attitude):
A recipe in verse!. . .

SECOND POET (to first, nudging him):
You are breakfasting?

FIRST POET (to second):
And you dining, methinks.

RAGUENEAU:
How almond tartlets are made.

Beat your eggs up, light and quick;
Froth them thick;
Mingle with them while you beat
Juice of lemon, essence fine;
Then combine
The burst milk of almonds sweet.

Circle with a custard paste
The slim waist
Of your tartlet-molds; the top
With a skillful finger print,
Nick and dint,
Round their edge, then, drop by drop,
In its little dainty bed
Your cream shed:
In the oven place each mold:
Reappearing, softly browned,
The renowned
Almond tartlets you behold!

THE POETS (with mouths crammed full):
Exquisite! Delicious!

A POET (choking):
Homph!

(They go up, eating.)

CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau):
Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves?

RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling):
Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to
distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems;
for I leave t