Ballade of the Duel between Monsieur de Begerac and an Imbecile,
in the Hotel de Bourgogne
From: Cyrano De Bergerac, written by Edmond Rostand
I take off my hat and discard it,
I slowly abandon my cloak,
I draw my sword out of its scabbard,
Preparing to put it to use.
For the moment I stand here before you,
Elegant, calm, and serene,
But I warn you, my impudent scoundrel,
When I end the refrain, I draw blood.
You should have avoided this battle.
Now where shall I skewer you, goose?
In the side, 'neath the sleeve of your doublet?
In the heart, 'neath the ribbon you wear?
No, I've carefully thought and reflected,
And finally made up my mind;
The paunch: that's where I've decided,
When I end the refrain, to draw blood.
I see you give ground when I press you;
Your face is as white as a sheet;
Is "coward" a name that would suit you?
I dexterously parry the point
That you hoped to thrust into my entrails;
Your efforts are doomed to be vain.
Prepare yourself now to be punctured:
When I end the refrain, I draw blood.
Refrain:
Pray God to forgive your transgressions!
The close of our combat draws near;
A coup`e, then a feint, then the finnish!
When I end the refrain, I draw blood.
Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup and I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath, not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there it could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe and sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear not of itself but thee!
Hark to the whimper of the sea-gull;
He weeps because he's not an ea-gul.
Suppose you were, you silly sea-gul,
Could you explain it to your she-gul?
The Animals They do not live in the world, Are not in time and space, From birth to death hurled No word do they have, not one To plant a foot upon, Were never in any place.For by words the world was called Out of the empty air, With words was shaped and walled - Line and circle and square, Mud and emerald, - Snatched from deceiving death By the articulate breath.
But these have never trod Twice the familiar track, Never never turned back Into the memoried day; All is new and near In the unchanging Here Of the fifth great day of God, That shall remain the same, Never shall pass away.
On the sixth day we came. -by edwin muir
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