This is my sonnet. Is it well done?
[FAME takes it and reads it in silence, while the POET watches her rapturously.
FAME: You're a bit of all right.
DE REVES: What?
FAME: Some poet.
DE REVES: I-I-scarcely ... understand.
FAME: You're IT.
DE REVES: But ... it is not possible ... are you she that knew Homer?
FAME: Homer? Lord, yes. Blind old bat, 'e couldn't see a yard.
DE REVES: O Heavens!
[FAME walks beautifully to the window. She opens it and puts her head out.
FAME (in a voice with which a woman in an upper storey would cry for help if the house was well alight): Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say, folks! Hi!
[The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard. FAME blows her trumpet.
FAME: Hi, he's a poet! (Quickly, over her shoulder.) What's your name?
DE REVES: De Reves.
FAME: His name's de Reves.
DE REVES: Harry de Reves.
FAME: His pals call him Harry.
THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
FAME: Say, what's your favourite colour?
DE REVES: I ... I ... I don't quite understand.
FAME: Well, which do you like best, green or blue?
DE REVES: Oh-er-blue.
[She blows her trumpet out of the window.
No-er-I think green.
FAME: Green is his favourite colour.
THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
FAME: 'Ere, tell us something. They want to know all about yer.
DE REVES: Wouldn't[9] you perhaps ... would they care to hear my sonnet, if you would-er ...
FAME (picking up quill): Here, what's this?
DE REVES: Oh, that's my pen.
FAME (after another blast on her trumpet): He writes with a quill.
[Cheers from the CROWD.
FAME (going to a cupboard): Here, what have you got in here?
DE REVES: Oh ... er ... those are my breakfast things.
FAME (finding a dirty plate): What have yer had on this one?
DE REVES (mournfully): Oh, eggs and bacon.
FAME (at the window): He has eggs and bacon for breakfast.
THE CROWD: Hip hip hip, hooray! Hip hip hip, hooray! Hip hip hip, hooray!
FAME: Hi, and what's this?
DE REVES (miserably): Oh, a golf stick.
FAME: He's a man's man! He's a virile man! He's a manly man!
[Wild cheers from the CROWD, this time only from women's voices.
DE REVES: Oh, this is terrible. This is terrible. This is terrible.
[FAME gives another peal on her horn. She is about to speak.
DE REVES (solemnly and mournfully): One moment, one moment ...
FAME: Well, out with it.
DE REVES: For ten years, divine lady, I have worshipped you, offering all my songs ... I find ... I find I am not worthy....
FAME: Oh, you're all right.
DE REVES: No, no, I am not worthy. It cannot be. It cannot possibly be. Others deserve you more. I must say it! I cannot possibly love you. Others are worthy. You will find others. But I, no, no, no. It cannot be. It cannot be. Oh, pardon me, but it must not.
[Meanwhile FAME has been lighting one of his cigarettes. She sits in a comfortable chair, leans right back, and puts her feet right up on the table amongst the poet's papers.
Oh, I fear I offend you. But-it cannot be.
FAME: Oh, that's all right, old bird; no offence. I ain't going to leave you.
DE REVES: But-but-but-I do not understand.
FAME: I've come to stay, I have.
[She blows a puff of smoke through her trumpet.
CURTAIN.
[Transcriber's Note: Footnotes indicate where typographical errors in the original edition have been corrected.]
[Footnote 1: Corrected from "eaxct"]
[Footnote 2: Corrected from "wouln't"]
[Footnote 3: Corrected from "MRS. SPLURGE"]
[Footnote 4: An unmatched parenthesis has been deleted]
[Footnote 5: Corrected from "Neek"]
[Footnote 6: Corrected from "Neek"]
[Footnote 7: Corrected from "scuptors"]
[Footnote 8: Corrected from "Hamlet's"]
[Footnote 9: Corrected from "Wouln't"]