What, Neeks?
NEEKS: Oh, quite another.
TRUNDLEBEN: Oh, certainly, Sir Webley. Tragedy is--er--is a very strong
term indeed, to--to apply to such a case.
SIR WEBLEY: He was probably out poaching when he should have been
learning his history.
TRUNDLEBEN: I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.
SIR WEBLEY: And what else, eh? Anything more?
TRUNDLEBEN: Well, there are some poems, he says.
[_Holds up a list._
SIR WEBLEY: And what are they about?
TRUNDLEBEN: Well, there's one called ... Oh. I'd really rather not
mention that one; perhaps that had better be left out altogether.
NEEKS: Not...?
SIR WEBLEY: Not quite...?
TRUNDLEBEN: No, not at all.
SIR WEBLEY and NEEKS: H'm.
TRUNDLEBEN: Left out altogether. And then there are "Sonnets," and--and
"Venus and Adonis," and--and "The Phoenix and the Turtle."
SIR WEBLEY: The Phoenix and the what?
TRUNDLEBEN: The Turtle.
SIR WEBLEY: Oh. Go on ...
TRUNDLEBEN: One called "The Passionate Pilgrim," another "A Lover's
Complaint."
SIR WEBLEY: I think the whole thing's very regrettable.
NEEKS: I think so too, Sir Webley.
TRUNDLEBEN (_mournfully_): And there've been no poets since poor
Browning died, none at all. It's absurd for him to call himself a poet.
NEEKS: Quite so, Trundleben, quite so.
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