Cyrano de Bergerac

A feeble disguise.
I fought then, cousin
against such lies...

not for my nose but your bright eyes.
The other thing is...
But before I mention it...
I have to rediscover the almost brother
of our games way back.

When you spent the summer in Bergerac.
Little Roxane was called Magdeleine.
Was I pretty then?
You weren't plain.
You'd hurt your hand up a tree
I'd play mother and gruffly say:
''What's this scratch, pray?''

Oh, what's this?
No! Put your hand flat.
Still, at your age?
Where did you do that?

At play, near the Porte de Nesles.
A fight?
Hardly, it was just an argument.
Tell me, while I clean the wound
how many were they?

Almost a hundred.
Tell me!
No. You tell me your story
if you dare tell it now.

Now, I dare.
I breathe the perfume of the past.
Yes, now I dare.
I'm in love with someone.
He doesn't know.
Well, not yet.
But he will know very soon.
And he loves me too, but timidly
from afar, without a word.

Give me your hand. How hot it is.
Love is on those lips of his.
And just think, dear cousin