Svietlovidoff.
“Rumble thy bellyful! spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters;
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call’d you children.”
Ah! there is strength, there is talent for you! I’m a great artist! Now, then, here’s something else of the same kind, to bring back my youth to me. For instance, take this, from Hamlet, I’ll begin . . . let me see, how does it go? Oh, yes, this is it. [Takes the part of Hamlet]
“O! the recorders, let me see one.—To withdraw with you. Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?”
Ivanitch. “O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.”
Svietlovidoff. “I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?”
Ivanitch. “My lord, I cannot.”
Svietlovidoff. “I pray you.”
Ivanitch. “Believe me, I cannot.”
Svietlovidoff. “I do beseech you.”
Ivanitch. “I know no touch of it, my lord.”
Svietlovidoff. “’Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.”
Ivanitch. “But these I cannot command to any utterance of harmony: I have not the skill.”
Svietlovidoff. “Why, look you, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem
