st curse and swear!

BRISSAILLE:
Who was it?

DE GUICHE:
I myself.
(The laughter stops):
I charged them--work too dirty for my sword,
To punish and chastise a rhymster sot.

(Constrained silence.)

The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers):
What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew?

CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's
feet):
Sir, pray be good enough to render them
Back to your friends.

DE GUICHE (rising, sharply):
My chair there--quick!--I go!
(To Cyrano passionately):
As to you, sirrah!. . .

VOICE (in the street):
Porters for my lord De Guiche!

DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling):
Have you read 'Don Quixote'?

CYRANO:
I have!
And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name.

DE GUICHE:
I counsel you to study. . .

A PORTER (appearing at back):
My lord's chair!

DE GUICHE:
. . .The windmill chapter!

CYRANO (bowing):
Chapter the Thirteenth.

DE GUICHE:
For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . .

CYRANO:
Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze?

DE GUICHE:
. . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm
Down--in the mire!. . .

CYRANO:
Or upward--to the stars!

(De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away
whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd
disperses.)

Scene 2.VIII.

Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right
and left.

CYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him):
Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . .

LE BRET (coming back, despairingly):
Here's a fine coil!

CYRANO:
Oh! scold away!

LE BRET:
At least, you will agree
That to annihilate each chance of Fate
Exaggerates. . .

CYRANO:
Yes!--I exaggerate!

LE BRET (triumphantly):
Ah!

CYRANO:
But for principle--example too,--
I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate.

LE BRET:
Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer,
Fortune and glory wait you!. . .

CYRANO:
Ay, and then?. . .
Seek a protector, choose a patron out,
And like the crawling ivy round a tree
That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support,
Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force?
No, grammercy! What! I, like all the rest
Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon
In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile
Not disapproving, on