]
DAUGHTER. Mother, something _is_ going to happen at last.
MOTHER. Oh, child, were you as weary as that?
[The TALKER comes in at the door, followed by the SINGER and the
FIDDLER. The SINGER is a pleasant-looking man of middle height, the
FIDDLER a tall, silent girl. The TALKER himself is short and round,
with a twinkling eye. Each wears a cap with a red feather in it.]
TALKER. Madame, your humble and most devoted servants. I have the
honour to present to you her Royal Sweetness the Princess
Carissima, His Flutiness the Duke of Bogota, and myself a mere
Marquis.
DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, they're wandering minstrels.
MOTHER. I bid you all welcome, sir.
TALKER. Permit me to expound further. The Princess--a courtesy
title bestowed by myself last Michaelmas Day--plays upon the fiddle
with an unerring beauty which makes strong men weep. You shall hear
her. I pray you have your handkerchers ready. His Flutiness the
Duke--the title was granted last Candlemas--has a voice of a rare
richness. He is cursed with a melancholy disposition most pleasing.
He suffers from a surfeit of rejected love. A most waggish
companion withal.
DAUGHTER. Oh, what a shame!
SINGER. You must not believe all that Johannes says, ladies.
MOTHER. I had already learnt that much, sir.
TALKER. For myself, I play upon the pipe.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223