Excerpt from The Harlequinade: An Excursion
I suppose it has taken over a thousand people to write this excursion, and we are, so far, the last. And not by any means do we pretend because of that to be the best of them rather, because of that, perhaps, we cannot be the best. We should have done much better if we could. Oh, this has been written by Greeks and Romans and Mediaeval Italians and Frenchmen and Englishmen, and it has been played thousands and thousands of times under every sort of weather and conditions. Think of it: when the gardeners of Egypt sent their boxes of roses to Italy to make chap lets for the Romans to wear at feasts this play was being performed; when the solemn Doges (which Alice once would call Dogs) of Venice held festa days, this play was shown to the people.
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