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Rh If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you,—oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are)

That she would make you taste her buskin's sole!

Montfleury! Montfleury! Come—Baro's play!

I pray you have a care! If you go on

My scabbard soon will render up its blade!

Take care!

Leave the stage!

Oh!—

Did some one speak?