02 May Edmund Rostand
Oh- These arrogant grand airs!-
A clown who – look at him – not even gloves!
No ribbons – no lace – no buckles on his shoes
I carry my adornments on my soul.
I do not dress up like a popinjay;
But inwardly, I keep my daintiness.
I do not bear with me, by any chance,
An insult not yet washed away – a conscience
Yellow with unpurged bile – an honor frayed
To rags, a set of scruples badly worn
I go caparisoned in gems unseen,
Trailing white plumes of freedom, garlanded
With my good name – no figure of a man,
But a soul clothed in shining armor, hung
With deeds for decorations, twirling – thus –
A bristling wit, and swinging at my side
Courage, and on the stones of this old town
Making the sharp truth ring, like golden spurs!
But I have no gloves! A pity too!
I had one – the last one of an old pair –
And lost that. Very careless of me. Some
Gentleman offered me an impertinence.
I left it – in his face.
Dolt, bumpkin, fool,
Insolent puppy, jobbernowl!
(Removes his hat and bows)
And I – Cyrano-Savinien-Hercule