No More Learning

POLE. If thou hadst had a sword,
Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon
Have vanquished thee.

PRISONER. A Russian can make shift
Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool?

(The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in
silence. All laugh. )




A FOREST

PRETENDER and PUSHKIN

(In the background lies a dying horse)

PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged
Today in the last battle, and when wounded,
How swiftly bore me. My poor horse!

PUSHKIN. (To himself. ) Well, here's
A great ado about a horse, when all
Our army's smashed to bits.

PRETENDER. Listen!
Perhaps
He's but exhausted by the loss of blood,
And will recover.

PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying.

PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse. )
My poor horse! --what to do? Take off the bridle,
And loose the girth. Let him at least die free.

(He unbridles and unsaddles the horse. Some Poles
enter. )

Good day to you, gentlemen! How is't I see not
Kurbsky among you? I did note today
How to the thick of the fight he clove his path;
Around the hero's sword, like swaying ears
Of corn, hosts thronged; but higher than all of them
His blade was brandished, and his terrible cry
Drowned all cries else. Where is my knight?

POLE.