FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i’ th’ gallery.
A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving.
SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters?
THIRD PAGE (from above): Ay, have we, and peas withal!
(He blows, and peppers them with peas.)
THE YOUNG MAN (to his father): What piece do they give us?
THE BURGHER: ‘Clorise.’
THE YOUNG MAN: Who may the author be?
THE BURGHER: Master Balthazar Baro. It is a play!. . .
(He goes arm-in-arm with his son.)
THE PICKPOCKET (to his pupils): Have a care, above all, of the lace knee-ruffles–cut them off!
A SPECTATOR (to another, showing him a corner in the gallery): I was up there, the first night of the ‘Cid.’
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