two virtuosi here?

CYRANO:
'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in
grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly
he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,
and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I
will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till
Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,
seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas
pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already!
(To the musicians):
Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him!
(The pages go toward the door. To the duenna):
I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . .
(To the pages, who are going out):
Play a long time,--and play out of tune!
(To the duenna):
. . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless!

ROXANE (coming out of the house):
Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him!

CYRANO (smiling):
Christian has so brilliant a wit?

ROXANE:
Brighter than even your own, cousin!

CYRANO:
Be it so, with all my heart!

ROXANE:
Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth
skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much--
that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and
then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly!

CYRANO (incredulously):
No, no!

ROXANE:
Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to
see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech.

CYRANO:
He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love?

ROXANE:
In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis
analysis!

CYRANO:
How is he with the pen?

ROXANE:
Still better! Listen,--here:--
(Reciting):
'The more of my poor heart you take
The larger grows my heart!'
(Triumphantly to Cyrano):
How like you those lines?

CYRANO:
Pooh!

ROXANE:
And thus it goes on. . .
'And, since some target I must show
For Cupid's cruel dart,
Oh, if mine own you deign to keep,
Then give me your sweet heart!'

CYRANO:
Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the
fellow want?

ROXANE:
You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis y