THYRSIS: [Putting bowl to CORYDON’S mouth.] I’ll hold the bowl Until you’ve drunk it all. CORYDON: Then hold it steady. For every drop you spill I’ll have a stone back Out of this chain. THYRSIS: I shall not spill a drop. [CORYDON drinks, meanwhile beginning to strangle THYRSIS.] THYRSIS: Don’t pull the string so tight. CORYDON: You’re spilling the water. THYRSIS: You’ve had enough—you’ve had enough—stop pulling The string so tight! CORYDON: Why, that’s not tight at all ... How’s this? THYRSIS: [Drops bowl.] You’re strangling me! Oh, Corydon! It’s only a game!—and you are strangling me! CORYDON: It’s only a game, is it?—Yet I believe You’ve poisoned me in earnest! [Writhes and pulls the strings tighter, winding them about THYRSIS’ neck.] THYRSIS: Corydon! [Dies.] CORYDON: You’ve poisoned me in earnest. . . . I feel so cold. . . . So cold . . . this is a very silly game. . . . Why do we play it?—let’s not play this game A minute more . . . let’s make a little song About a lamb. . . . I’m coming over the wall, No matter what you say,—I want to be near you. . . . [Groping his way, with arms wide before him, he strides through the frail papers of the wall without knowing it, and continues seeking for the wall straight across the stage.] Where is the wall? [Gropes his way back, and stands very near THYRSIS without seeing him; he speaks slowly.] There isn’t any wall, I think. [Takes a step forward, his foot touches THYRSIS’ body, and he falls down beside him.] Thyrsis, where is your cloak?—just give me A little bit of your cloak! . . . [Draws corner of THYRSIS’ cloak over his shoulders, falls across THYRSIS’ body, and dies.] [COTHURNUS closes the prompt‐book with a bang, arises matter‐of‐factly, comes down stage, and places the table over the two bodies, drawing down the cover so that they are hidden from any actors on the stage, but visible to the audience, pushing in their feet and hands with his boot. He then turns his back to the audience, and claps his hands twice.] COTHURNUS: Strike the scene! [Exit COTHURNUS.] [Enter PIERROT and COLUMBINE.] PIERROT: Don’t puff so, Columbine! COLUMBINE: Lord, what a mess This set is in! If there’s one thing I hate Above everything else,—even more than getting my feet wet— It’s clutter!—He might at least have left the scene The way he found it ... don’t you say so, Pierrot? [She picks up punch bowl. They arrange chairs as before at ends of table.] PIERROT: Well, I don’t know. I think it rather diverting The way it is. [Yawns, picks up confetti bowl.] Shall we begin? COLUMBINE: [Screams.] My God! What’s that there under the table? PIERROT: It is the bodies Of the two shepherds from the other play. COLUMBINE: [Slowly.] How curious to strangle him like that, With colored paper ribbons.