Get off, I say! THE PIT. Oh! MONTFLEURY (_almost breathless_). "Oh! happy he who far ...." CYRANO (_in the pit, standing on his chair, arms folded, hat cocked on the side of his head, his mustache bristling and his nose terrible_). I am going to let my temper loose! (_Excitement in the audience._) [7] Note.--Alexandrine verse adopted here and further on (beginning of Act II) as being more pompous. [8] Note.--The words "you kick," in the place of "tu récalcitres," were suggested by a friend, as a better translation. But the good critic failed to realise that Cyrano does not use slang, and is almost always, on the contrary, somewhat hyperbolic, addicted to willful oddity of speech.--"Récalcitrant," adj.-part. (doggedly resisting), is frequently used in French. But the infinitive "récalcitrer," though it exists, and the other forms of the verb are seldom, if ever, heard.--Cyrano, therefore, calls up a smile, if not a laugh, by resorting to the verb in the second person, singular, present, indicative.--_To recalcitrate_ is a good English word (see Longfellow), but it is so seldom used that it creates on the English ear the same impression of amused surprise that is induced by the original. _SCENE IV._ _The same_, CYRANO, _then_ BELLEROSE, JODELET. MONTFLEURY (_to the Marquises_). Protect me, gentlemen! A MARQUIS (_languidly_). Play on! Play on! CYRANO. Now mind me, corpulence! If you play, I'll have to spank your cheeks. THE MARQUIS. Enough! Enough! CYRANO. Let the gentlemen remain silent on their benches. Otherwise their ribbons will have a taste of my stick. ALL THE MARQUISES (_rising_). This is too much, indeed! Montfleury! CYRANO. Montfleury must go, or I shall crop his ears and disembowel him! A VOICE. But .... CYRANO. He must go! ANOTHER VOICE. We cannot .... CYRANO. What! Not gone yet! (_As if he were going to turn up his sleeves_). Then must I go upon the stage to cut up this overgrown sausage into slices? MONTFLEURY (_with an attempt at dignity_). By insulting me, Sir, you insult the Muse Thalia! CYRANO (_with great courtesy_). If the Muse Thalia, with whom you are not related, Sir, had the honour of your acquaintance and saw you so fat and so silly, she would certainly give you a lift with her buskin. THE PIT. Montfleury! Montfleury! The play.