CYRANO.
By dint of seeing you at every turn
Make friends, and fawn upon your frequent friends
With mouth wide smiling, slit from ear to ear!
I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully,
And cry, What, ho ! another enemy ?
LE BRET.
Lunacy !
CYRANO.
Well, what if it be my vice,
My pleasure to displease to love men hate me !
Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better
'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical !
How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets,
From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel !
The enervating friendship which enfolds you
Is like an open laced Italian collar,
Floating around your neck in woman's fashion ;
One is at ease thus, but less proud the carriage !
The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion,
Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing
Hatred, she lends, forbidding, stiffly fluted,
The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid ;
Each enemy another fold a gopher,
Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory ;
For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish,
Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo!
LE BRET
[after a silence, taking his arm].
Speak proud aloud, and bitter ! In my ear
Whisper me simply this, She loves thee not!
