PANTALOON. No, no, Sir George, we've settled the Port, but there's still
the Madeira.
[Harlequin waves. And the empty is empty again. But the full one is
empty, too.
CLOWN. Oh, Joey, Joey, we've settled them both.
[There they stand, all three, grouped as we know them so well.
ALICE. Look, oh, look! There's the Harlequinade!
PANTALOON. I must go.
[And he goes.
EGLANTINE. [From within.] Quin!
HARLEQUIN. My lord.
[And he vanishes.
EGLANTINE. And now for your story, George, if while I dress, it will carry
through a door.
[The scene you cannot see is, of course, of tremendous importa
A Beau dressing for his wedding! It couldn't be done upon the stage
because no audience roughly coming in from their dinner ridiculously
dressed in black clawhammer coats could appreciate the niceties of the
toilette of a Beau, so far, so very far removed from the uncultured
vulgarities of the Nut. They say that even the very silk-worms who span
to make him silk for his coats are set aside from the silk-worms who
spin silk for persons of grosser habit.
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