Pierrot:  No.  Or, rather, nay. 
’Tis of no consequence. . . .  I am become
A painter, suddenly,—­and you impress me—­
Ah, yes!—­six orange bull’s-eyes, four green pin-wheels,
And one magenta jelly-roll,—­the title
As follows:  Woman Taking in Cheese from Fire-Escape.

Columbine:  Well, I like that!  So that is all I’ve meant
To you!

Pierrot:  Hush!  All at once I am become
A pianist.  I will image you in sound. . . . 
On a new scale. . . , Without tonality. . . 
Vivace senza tempo senza tutto. . . . 
Title:  Uptown Express at Six O’Clock. 
Pour me a drink.

Columbine:  Pierrot, you work too hard. 
You need a rest.  Come on out into the garden,
And sing me something sad.

Pierrot:  Don’t stand so near me! 
I am become a socialist.  I love
Humanity; but I hate people.  Columbine,
Put on your mittens, child; your hands are cold.

Columbine:  My hands are not cold!

Pierrot:  Oh, I am sure they are. 
And you must have a shawl to wrap about you,
And sit by the fire.

Columbine:  Why, I’ll do no such thing! 
I’m hot as a spoon in a teacup!

Pierrot:  Columbine,
I’m a philanthropist.  I know I am,
Because I feel so restless.  Do not scream,
Or it will be the worse for you!

Columbine:  Pierrot,
My vinaigrette!  I cannot live without
My vinaigrette!

Pierrot:  My only love, you are
So fundamental! . . .  How would you like to be
An actress, Columbine?—­I am become
Your manager.

Columbine:  Why, Pierrot, I can’t act.

Pierrot:  Can’t act!  Can’t act!  La, listen to the woman! 
What’s that to do with the price of furs?—­You’re blonde,
Are you not?—­you have no education, have you?—­
Can’t act!  You underrate yourself, my dear!

Columbine:  Yes, I suppose I do.

Pierrot:  As for the rest,
I’ll teach you how to cry, and how to die,
And other little tricks; and the house will love you. 
You’ll be a star by five o’clock . . . that is,
If you will let me pay for your apartment.

Columbine:  Let you?—­well, that’s a good one! 
Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 
But why?

Pierrot:  But why?—­well, as to that, my dear,
I cannot say.  It’s just a matter of form.

Columbine:  Pierrot, I’m getting tired of caviar
And peacocks’ livers.  Isn’t there something else
That people eat?—­some humble vegetable,
That grows in the ground?

Pierrot:  Well, there are mushrooms.

Columbine:  Mushrooms! 
That’s so!  I had forgotten . . . mushrooms . . . mushrooms. . . . 
I cannot live with . . .  How do you like this gown?

Pierrot:  Not much.  I’m tired of gowns that have the waist-line
About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,—­
And women with their breasts in front of them!—­
Zut and ehe!  Where does one go from here!