200
CYRANO DE BERGERAC
[The Cadets move and stretch themselves.]
Nourishing sleep! thou art at an end!… I know well what will be their first cry!
A Cadet
[sitting up].
I am so hungry!
Another.
I am dying of hunger.
Together.
Oh!
Carbon.
Up with you!
Third Cadet.
—Cannot move a limb.
Fourth Cadet.
Nor can I.
The First
[looking at himself in a bit of armour].
My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest.
Another.
My coronet for a bit of Chester!
Another.
If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire to my tent—like Achilles!
