Touché

[CelestialBody]

 

[Guest]

 

[CelestialBody]

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[CelestialBody]

 

[Todd-'o'-Vision]

Cyrano, closing one second the eyes.

Wait!... I choose my rhymes... There, I am there.

It does what it says, with measurement. I throw with grace my felt, I slowly make the abandonment Of the large coat which blocks up me, And I draw my espadon; Elegant like Céladon, Agile like Scaramouche, I warn you, dear Mirmidon, That at the end of the sending, I touch!

The first iron engagement.

You should well have remained neutral; Where will I lard you, turkey?... In the side, under your maheutre?... In the heart, under your blue cord?... - the shells tinkle, ding-gift! My point flies: a fly! Definitely... it is with the bedon, That at the end of the sending, I touch.

I miss a rhyme in eutre... You break, more white that starch? It is to provide me the word pleutre! - TAC! I avoid the point whose You hoped to make me gift: - I open the line, - I stop it... Hold your pin, Laridon well! At the end of the sending, I touch.

It announces solemnly:

Sending

Prince, request with God forgiveness! I quad of the foot, I escarmouche, I cross, I pretended...

Splitting itself.

Hé! There thus!

The Viscount staggers, Cyrano greets.

At the end of the sending, I touch.

Acclamations. Applause in the cabins. Flowers and handkerchiefs fall. The officers surround and congratulate Cyrano. Ragueneau dances of enthusiasm. Bret is happy and sorry. The friends of the Viscount support it and take it along.

 

[Guest]

 

[CelestialBody]