Prince Florencio. Is that all? You don't suppose you can make me hate you with a few simple truths like that? The times are not propitious to Neros or Elagabaluses; neither do they produce Shakespeares, though you may both have written the same sonnets. There is one, too, copied from the Italian of the seventeenth century
Harry Lucenti. [Greatly incensed] That's a lie! I steal from no man. Those stories were invented by my detractors. I proved that Italian sonnet was a forgery, made up to annoy me. I proved it, and nobody believed me. Only a fool would repeat such a story, and you are a fool, too, if you say so!
Prince Florencio. [Laughing] My dear Harry, you see it is easier to provoke a poet with the truth than an Emperor.
Harry Lucenti. Blockhead!
The Prince rises and moves over toward Nunu and Tommy.
Prince Florencio. Come, my dear Harry. Why not arrange something diabolic for this evening, something grandiose? Surely you have credit for more than five hundred francs. Hello, Nunu! Hello, Tommy!
Nunu. Highness!
Prince Florencio. Sit down. Put on your hats. Have you been on yet?
Nunu. No, ours is next to the last number. We were waiting for you.
Prince Florencio. Will everybody be there? And your Donina?
Nunu. Donina…
Prince Florencio. I told you that you didn't want her to come. Now I see I was right. You want to pass yourself off for a cynic. "Piccola Donina!" you say. "Bah! me n'infischio. I am tired of her!" And all the while you love her and mean to keep her for yourself.
