Cyrano.
No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this—
Christian.
Because my face is haply fair, shall I
Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust!
Cyrano.
And I,—because by Nature's freak I have
The gift to say—all that perchance you feel,
Shall I be fatal to your happiness?
Christian.
Tell all!
Cyrano.
Tell all! It is ill done to tempt me thus!
Christian.
Too long I've borne about within myself
A rival to myself—I'll make an end!
Cyrano.
Christian!
Christian.
Christian! Our union, without witness—secret—
Clandestine,—can be easily dissolved
If we survive.
Cyrano.
If we survive. My God!—he still persists!
Christian.
I will be loved myself—or not at all!
—I'll go see what they do—there, at the end
Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose
One of us two!
