The Boy Sir Giles, I presume?
Come, come, come, come, lad. Stop mumbling.
The Boy I came to talk about the dragon.
Ah, yes, yes, yes. Another tale of woe and misery, I suppose. Devoured your flocks, no doubt.
The Boy Oh, no, sir. He...
Aha! Made off with your loving parents, has he? Well, they shall be avenged!
The Boy But you don't understand...
What? Don't tell me he's kidnapped some fair damsel, with flaxen hair, and ruby lips, and form divine? Why, he can't do that to her! He shall pay dearly on the field of battle.
The Boy But that's just it. He won't fight.
Yes. He... He won't fight? Preposterous! The fellow must be an infernal cad. Bit of a rotter, what?
The Boy He is not. He's a nice old dragon who likes to write poetry.
Poetry?
The Boy Yes. You know, verses?
How jolly! Ha ha! I'm a bit of a bard myself, you know.
The Boy You a poet, too?
Yes. No doubt you've heard of my Ode to a Fleecy Cloud?
The Boy Well, I...
Oh fleecy cloud, O cloud of fleece, up in the sky so high... Oh. Oh, my.
The Boy Oh, my.
