} The Pleasing Comedie Wylde Worm Smythe,
}
} -- or --
}
} The Angler's Return
}
} [an excerpt]
}
}
}
} BELINDA: Good Lord Smythe, should'st thou not knock before entering a
} lady's bedchamber? You frighten'd my poor Shock almost out o' his wits!
}
} SMYTHE: Your Shock, Madame?
}
} BELINDA: My lapdog, sir. Would you care to be acquainted with my
} hairy little thing?
}
} SMYTHE: Certainly madame, if you would kindly move the dog. Truth be
} known, madame, I too have a little pet which longs for the
} acquaintance of some warm creature....
}
} BELINDA: Perhaps it would care to mingle with mine. Is it a dog,
} sir, or a cat perhaps?
}
} SMYTHE: It is, madame, a worm.
}
} BELINDA: A worm, sir! Imagine!
}
} SMYTHE: A lapworm, madame. Yet I fear his play might much chaffe and
} weary your dainty pet, for my little fellow grows most restive, being
} always confined within my breeches. Here he is --
}
} BELINDA: Vicare! He is not so little, sir! By the rednesse of
} him I should say he is a blood-worm! And the winking of his eye
} speaks most tellingly of a rogueish wildnesse!
}
} SMYTHE: He is, I confesse, a most marvelous forward creature.
}
} BELINDA: Yet his posture is quite noble, for he is most erect in
} bearing -- he seems a very soldier-worm!
}
} SMYTHE: A conquistidor, m'lady. Yes, he's a haughty night crawler, and
} a sporting too.
}
} BELINDA: 'Pon my life, he is indeed a sportsman -- a most promiscuous
} Angler, I should say, for he smells most stinkingly of fish!
}
} SMYTHE: True, dear Lady. He loves nothing more 'pon this earth than
} to angle his way into a dank and fishy grotto....
}
} BELINDA: I blush, sir! What is your meaning, pray!
}
} SMYTHE: Do you know of such a place, madame, where my friend might
} find liquid refreshment? He likes his grottoes small, and o'ergrown
} with moss.
}
} BELINDA: Perhaps I know of such a place, sir, but given the prodigious
} girth and longitude of your pet, I fear he'd never fit!
}
} SMYTHE: 'Tis always thought no grotto could accomodate his vastness,
} madame, yet he always gains his entrance, though it take a whole night
} of toilsome batt'ring!
}
} BELINDA: I beg you stop, sir! Now you are too forward!
}
} SMYTHE: Avast!
}
} BELINDA: Oh!
}
} SMYTHE: I die!
}
} BELINDA: I die!
}
} SMYTHE: I die!
}
} BELINDA: I die!
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