Thy family is warlike, but surely thou art a gentle knight.
Oh, I’m gentle now; but if one of those savage Indians rose up against me, I’d heap this illustrated album of civilization, like a burning coal, upon his head! Do you know, when I was in Europe they offered to make me a reigning prince--if I’d pay for it. There were several vacant thrones, and I was about making a bid, when my gigantic business interests called me back to Cornville, and the throne fell through.
When you were in Europe, did you visit Rome?
Passed through in the night-time, and didn’t stop. No business done there; only a lot of fellows cutting figures in stone, and painting pictures under the old masters.
’Tis cruel in thee to jest so. Thy figure shows a gallant knight, and thou dost speak by contraries to make thy showing finer. How doth the moon shine in Europe?
Why, there is the so-called fair moon now, sure enough! [_Looking at the moon._] It shines like a new tin pan.
The moon shines on thy armor, and thou thyself dost shine like a new tin pan.
There’s the new moon, the quarter moon, the full moon, and the dark of the moon. The moon is good enough in its place.
Why, where is the moon’s place, if not in heaven?
Why, gallant knights and lovers gather substantial sustenance from moonlight. ’Tis prescribed by Heaven and the poets. And thou revilest the moon? Thou art a traitor to nature. Thy best place were in an almanac, in the dark of the moon, in the sign of Capricorn.
Off with the mask! [_Removes head-piece._] Behold the real Honorable Mayor Whetstone, Merchant Prince of Cornville, near the capital of Illinois; called Hercules after his real grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the real Indians reeling down the real Mississippi. Do you follow me?
Heaven guide me in this whirlwind of contraries!
As I hate disguises, and this moonlight is a gentle vapor, I’ll unmask without more argument.
Beauteous Violet, you are my future wife. Let, oh, let me take a kiss.
Our acquaintance is too brief for a jest so durable.
Come, no one sees us. Just one little kiss. [_Enter_ SCYTHE, _looking at them through his glass_.] Professor, get out! Take notes, hunt specimens, and shelve your knowledge; but never let me see you here again. [_To_ VIOLET] Did not your uncle tell you?