Le Bret:
Stop trying to be Three Musketeers in one!
Fortune and Glory-
Cyrano:
And what would you have me do?
Seek for the patronage of some great man,
And like a creeping vine on a tall tree
Crawl upward, where I cannot stand alone?
No thank you! Dedicate, as others do,
Poems to pawnbrokers? Be a buffoon
In the vile hope of teasing out a smile
On some cold face? No thank you! Eat a toad
For breakfast every morning? Make my knees
callous, and cultivate a supple spine,-
Wear out my belly grovelling in the dust?
No thank you! Scratch the back of any swine
That roots up gold for me? Tickle the horns
of Mammon with my left hand, while my right
Too proud to know his partner's business
Takes in the fee? No thank you! Use the fire
God gave me to burn incense all day long
Under the nose of wood and stone? No thank you!
Shall I go leaping into ladies laps
And licking fingers?-or-to change form-
Navigating with madrigals for oars,
My sails full of the sighs of dowagers?
No thank you! Publish verses at my own
Expense? No thank you! Be the patron saint
Of a small group of leterary souls
Who dine together every Tuesday? No
I thank you! Shall I labor night and day
To build a reputation on one song,
And never write another? Shall I find
True genius only among Geniuses,
Palpitate over little paragraphs,
And struggle to insinuate my name
In the columns of the Mercury?
No thank you! Calculate, scheme, be afraid,
Love more to make a visit than a poem,
Seek introductions, favors, influences?-
No thank you! No, I thank you! And again
I thank you!- But...
To sing, to laugh, to dream,
To walk in my own way and be alone,
Free, with an eye to see things as they are,
A voice that means manhood- to cock my hat
Where I choose- At a word, a Yes, a No,
To fight- or write. To travel any road
Under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt
If fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne-
ever to make a line I have not heard
In my own heart; yet, with all modesty
To say: "My soul, be satisfied with flowers,
With fruit, with weeds even; but gather them
In the one garden you may call your own."
So, when I win some triumph, by some chance,
Render no share to Caesar- in a word,
I am to proud to be a parasite,
And if my nature wants the germ that grows
Towering to heaven like the mountain pine,
Or like the oak, sheltering multitudes-
I stand, not high it may be- But alone!
Le Bret:
Alone, yes! But why stand against the world?
What devil has possesed you now, to go
Everywhere making yourself enemies?
Cyrano:
Watching you other people making friends
Everywhere- as a dog makes friends! I mark
The manner of these canine courtesies
And think: "My friends are of a cleaner breed;
Here comes- Thank God! - another enemy!"
Le Bret:
But it is madness!
Cyrano:
Method, let us say.
It is my pleasure to displease. I love
Hatred. Imagine how it feels to face
The volley of a thousand angry eyes-
The bile of envy and the froth of fear
Spattering little drops about me- You-
Good nature all around you, soft and warm-
You are like those Italians, in great cowls
Comfortable and loose- Your chin sinks down
Into the folds, your shoulders droop. But I-
The Spanish ruff I wear around my throat
Is like a ring of enemies; hard, proud,
Each point anohter pride, another thorn-
So that I hold myself erect perforce
Wearing the hatred of the common herd
Haughtily, the harsh collar of Old Spain,
At once a fetter and- a halo!
Okay, so that was it. I love it, whether you do or not is your business. Go on back to my main Cyrano page.