One-Act Plays - BestLightNovel.com
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[_He helps her to rise, and leads her forward: then he kisses her hand, bowing over it with a very courtly air._]
THE LADY.
What am I, then?
PIERROT.
A most divine Marquise!
Perhaps that att.i.tude hath too much ease.
[_Pa.s.ses her._]
Ah, that is better! To complete the plan, Nothing is necessary save a fan.
THE LADY.
Cool is the night, what needs it?
PIERROT.
Madame, pray Reflect, it is essential to our play.
THE LADY [_taking a lily_].
Here is my fan!
PIERROT.
So, use it with intent: The deadliest arm in beauty's armament!
THE LADY.
What do we next?
PIERROT.
We talk!
THE LADY.
But what about?
PIERROT.
We quiz the company and praise the rout; Are polished, petulant, malicious, sly, Or what you will, so reputations die.
Observe the d.u.c.h.ess in Venetian lace, With the red eminence.
THE LADY.
A pretty face!
PIERROT.
For something tarter set thy wits to search-- "She loves the churchman better than the church."
THE LADY.
Her blush is charming; would it were her own!
PIERROT.
Madame is merciless!
THE LADY.
Is that the tone?
PIERROT.
The very tone: I swear thou lackest naught.
Madame was evidently bred at Court.
THE LADY.
Thou speakest glibly: 'tis not of thine age.
PIERROT.
I listened much, as best becomes a page.
THE LADY.
I like thy Court but little ----
PIERROT.
Hus.h.!.+ the Queen!
Bow, but not low--thou knowest what I mean.
THE LADY.
Nay, that I know not!
PIERROT.
Though she wear a crown, 'Tis from La Pompadour one fears a frown.
THE LADY.
Thou art a child: thy malice is a game.
PIERROT.
A most sweet pastime--scandal is its name.
THE LADY.
