_
TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes!
TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes!
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
We might be seen.
Where is the money?
TRIBOULET (_giving him a bag_): Here. (_Looking at
the sack_) I have you at last!
Long have I waited for this happy hour!
SALTABADIL: Come, throw it in the Seine!
TRIBOULET: I want no help.
Your part is done. Leave me alone.
SALTABADIL: Quick, then!
Somebody may come by. Is the man mad?
[TRIBOULET _has knelt down in the mud by the sack.
The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed
with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning. _
SALTABADIL _enters the inn and shuts the door.
_
TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes! I can feel his
spurs. It is the King!
Now let the heavens break above my head,
And the earth rock and open at my feet!
The vengeance of a clown shakes the whole world!
Francois, the pivot on which Europe turns,
Is broken. German, Spaniard, and Turk
Can make a slaughterhouse of Christendom.
The King of France is dead!
[_Leaping up in a fury, he kicks the sack. _
Francois the First,
Do you remember how you treated me?
Who is the dog now, eh? --the dog to kick
And tumble about to make the courtiers laugh?
You liked my daughter, did you? A clown's brat
Found favour with a king! You stooped too low.
This is the road that you must take.
Where is the money?
TRIBOULET (_giving him a bag_): Here. (_Looking at
the sack_) I have you at last!
Long have I waited for this happy hour!
SALTABADIL: Come, throw it in the Seine!
TRIBOULET: I want no help.
Your part is done. Leave me alone.
SALTABADIL: Quick, then!
Somebody may come by. Is the man mad?
[TRIBOULET _has knelt down in the mud by the sack.
The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed
with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning. _
SALTABADIL _enters the inn and shuts the door.
_
TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes! I can feel his
spurs. It is the King!
Now let the heavens break above my head,
And the earth rock and open at my feet!
The vengeance of a clown shakes the whole world!
Francois, the pivot on which Europe turns,
Is broken. German, Spaniard, and Turk
Can make a slaughterhouse of Christendom.
The King of France is dead!
[_Leaping up in a fury, he kicks the sack. _
Francois the First,
Do you remember how you treated me?
Who is the dog now, eh? --the dog to kick
And tumble about to make the courtiers laugh?
You liked my daughter, did you? A clown's brat
Found favour with a king! You stooped too low.
This is the road that you must take.
