Fair Gascony's cadets are they To husbands....writing on the wall! O woman, wench of godly clay, Fair Gascony's cadets are they! Though jealous masters fume and bray, Let trumpet sound! Let cuckoo call! Fair Gascony's cadets are they, To husbands, writing on the wall! GUICHE (_comfortably seated in an armchair that Ragueneau promptly brought in_). A poet is one of our choice luxuries to-day. Will you be mine? CYRANO. No, Sir, nobody's! GUICHE. Your ready wit, yesterday, caused much amusement to my uncle Richelieu. I shall take pleasure in recommending you to him. LE BRET (_dazzled_). What a good fortune! GUICHE. You certainly must have rimed some five-act tragedy? LE BRET (_whispering to Cyrano_). Your "Agrippine!" You'll have it played! GUICHE. Yes, take your work to the Cardinal. CYRANO (_delighted and tempted_). But, really.... GUICHE. He is quite an expert, but will not make too many corrections! CYRANO (_whose face has immediately resumed its severe look_). Impossible, Sir! My blood curdles at the thought of my verse being improved by the displacement or the addition of a single comma. GUICHE. But, on the other hand, my dear fellow, when a line pleases him, he pays for it a large price. CYRANO. Not so large a one as I myself pay. When I have written a line and then I fall in love with it, I buy it from and sing it to myself. GUICHE. Your disposition is a proud one! CYRANO. Really, you noticed it? A CADET (_enters with, strung on a sword, a number of hats, crushed, pierced and very much dejected as to plumes_). Behold, Cyrano! This morning, on the quay, we found this sorry feathered game. The hats of those you put to flight!.... CARBON. Spolia opima! (_Everybody laughs ._) CUIGY. Whoever paid these cut-throats must to-day regret his bargain. BRISSAILLE. Does anyone know who it is? GUICHE. It is I! (_Laughing stops short._) I had hired them--a nobleman is above doing these things himself--to chastise--a drunkard rimester. (_General embarrassment._) THE CADET (_aside to Cyrano, pointing to the hats_). What shall we do with them? They are greasy enough to make a stew. CYRANO (_taking the sword on which the hats are strung, and allowing them, as he salutes, to slip off at the feet of Guiche_).