Gad, but the wig block looks as
lively as I do. The mirror reflects her ladyship's portrait very well.
PANTALOON. You love her, my lord?
[At this moment and at that word Harlequin waves his wand--it is a comb
as it happens--and next we hear Columbine begin again to sing.
EGLANTINE. Love, Mr. Talon, is a most unmodish thing. It may be called...!
That girl is singing again!
HARLEQUIN. She knows no better, my lord. Shall I stop her?
EGLANTINE. No. But hand me my epigrams upon love. They slip my memory. It's
a pretty song. [The tablets are before him. He glances over them.] Now,
let's see. Love is a ... [But he is caught by the song.] Artless as a bird!
Love ... [That fine epigram seems out of place beside the song.] When a
woman loves you, she ... [But while that girl is singing, he simply cannot
read the foolish words.] That might be the oldest song in the world!
HARLEQUIN. It is, my lord.
EGLANTINE. [Gives back the tablets with the wryest smile.] Take them, put
them in the fire. As epigrams well enough, Mr.
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