Page:The life of the insects by Čapek brothers.pdf/14



Tramp. I say—I say! It ’s a bit of all right. What price the ’Eath now? Paradise—that ’s what it is, Paradise! And don’t it smell nice! Odi Colone, not ’alf.

Otto. I love you, Clytie.

Tramp. Butterflies! That ’s what they are. Butterflies, playin’. I’d like to stay ’ere and watch ’em if I wasn’t so—Never mind; they can kick me out if they like. I’ll lie down ’ere, comfortable.—’Pon my soul, I will. (He takes and arranges the cushions) (Sleepily) All right—that ’s what it is; all right.

Felix. (Ecstatically) Iris! Iris! Where are you, Iris? If only I could find a rhyme for you!

No, that ’s wretched, commonplace.

That ’s no better. I know! She will reject my