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 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]

THE CAPTAIN OF THE GATE[1]

Beulah Marie Dix

SCENE: In the cheerless hour before the dawn of a wet spring
morning five gentlemen-troopers of the broken Royalist army,
fagged and outwo