TRISSOTIN. Your verses have beauties in none others found. VADIUS. The Loves and the Graces in all yours abound. TRISSOTIN. Your phrases are neat, and your style is so light! VADIUS. We find the pathetic in all that you write. TRISSOTIN. How sweet your Bucolics! how tender and true! VADIUS. Your odes have a noble and elegant vein, You would roll through the streets in a carriage of gold. VADIUS. Every square in the city your statue would hold - TRISSOTIN. Pray sir, have you seen a short sonnet On the Princess Urania's fever? VADIUS. Just so; "Twas read at a party a few nights ago. No matter for that TRISSOTIN. or so they tell me. VADIUS. it's as bad as can be; And if you had seen it, you'd think so too. TRISSOTIN. Dear sir, I am sorry to differ from you: VADIUS. May Heaven preserve me from making the like! TRISSOTIN. I maintain that a better the world cannot show; You? yes, I, you must know. Well, I can't think how this came to pass. TRISSOTIN. I had the bad luck not to please you, alas! VADIUS. No doubt there was something distracted my head, TRISSOTIN. The days of the ballad, methinks, are gone by; "Tis very old-fashioned and out of date quite. VADIUS. Yet, even now, many in ballads delight. TRISSOTIN. No matter; I think them decidedly flat. VADIUS. You think them! Perhaps they're no worse, sir, for that TRISSOTIN. For pedants, indeed, they have charms beyond measure. VADIUS. And yet we perceive that they give you no pleasure. TRISSOTIN. You give others qualities found but in you. (They all rise.) VADIUS. You call others names that are justly your due. Go, blotter of foolscap TRISSOTIN. contemptible creature! VADIUS. Go, scribbler of sonnets, and butcher of metre! Good Lord, sirs, what are you about? TRISSOTIN. Go, go, strip your writings of each borrowed plume; Let the Greeks and the Latins their beauties resume. VADIUS. Go, you, and ask pardon of Venus and Bacchus TRISSOTIN. Remember your book's insignificant sale. VADIUS. Remember your bookseller driven to jail. TRISSOTIN. My fame is established; you slander in vain. VADIUS. Yes, go to the author of satires again. Go, yourself. TRISSOTIN. VADIUS. With the greatest of pleasure I'd go. He treats me with honor, as all people know. But he never once leaves you alone in his verses: Exactly TRISSOTIN. then I am more honored by far. He puts you in the crowd, like a wretch, as you are; He thinks by one blow you are easily slain, Nor does you the honor to strike you again; But he seeks me alone, as an enemy rare, 'Gainst whom he must bring every effort to bear: And his blows, still repeated, convincingly show He is never quite sure to have vanquished his foe. VADIUS. My pen shall soon prove me TRISSOTIN. to your great disaster. And mine shall soon let you know who is your master. I defy you in verse, VADIUS. prose, Latin, and Greek! TRISSOTIN. You shall hear from me, sir, in the course of the week. (Exit Vadius.) THE CONTRABANDIST. From George Sand, Knickerbooker, 1840. CHORUS OF REVELLERS. Rejoice! Rejoice! Let us strike the full goblets again and again, Brothers and friends, rejoice! CASTELLAN. Come, friend of my childhood, come servitor mine, Those hands that have guided my steps when a child, I shall then seem thy master no more; And to me thou wilt say, as thou often hast said, 'My child, it is time to retire to thy bed.' CHORUS OF REVELLERS. Fill up, fill up the merry wassail cup! Let his wrinkled brow grow joyous now! To the power divine of the god of wine, 'Tis Bacchus fair that lurketh there, Yes, even Cupid is a sluggard stupid, Drink, drink old man, till thy gray-haired age And thou art as young as the youngest page, That thy lord may be, when deprived of thee, And with us may stay, till the dawn of day, A GUEST. And why dost thou, my charming fair, Why dost thou take such scanty sips Come, fill thy goblet brimming high! In truth I shall begin to fear I am to thee no longer dear; And that thou shun'st the red wine's flow, |