Chapter XXI: Act IV

SCENE--_The Inn door--Diligence drawn up._ CASIMERE _appears
superintending the package of his portmanteaus, and giving
directions to the Porters._

_Enter_ BEEFINGTON _and_ PUDDINGFIELD.

_Pudd._ Well, Coachey, have you got two inside places?

_Coach._ Yes, your honour.

_Pudd._ [_seems to be struck with_ CASIMERE'S _appearance. He surveys him earnestly, without paying any attention to the coachman, then doubtingly pronounces_] Casimere!

_Cas._ [_turning round rapidly, recognises_ PUDDINGFIELD, _and embraces him_.] My Puddingfield!

_Pudd._ My Casimere!

_Cas._ What, Beefington too! [_discovering him_.] Then is my joy complete.

_Beef._ Our fellow-traveller, as it seems.

_Cas._ Yes, Beefington--but wherefore to Hamburgh?

_Beef._ Oh, Casimere[211]--to fly--to fly--to return--England--our country--Magna Charta--it is liberated--a new era--House of Commons--Crown and Anchor--Opposition----

_Cas._ What a contrast! you are flying to liberty and your home--I, driven from my home by tyranny--am exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign country.

_Beef._ How domestic slavery?

_Cas._ Too true--two wives [_slowly, and with a dejected air--then after a pause_]--you knew my Cecilia?

_Pudd._ Yes, five years ago.

_Cas._ Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in Wetteravia--my Matilda was under her protection--alighting at a peasant's cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread-and-butter for the children, in a light-blue riding habit. The simplicity of her appearance--the fineness of the weather--all conspired to interest me--my heart moved to hers--as if by a magnetic sympathy--we wept, embraced, and went home together--she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience--her Rogero is languishing in captivity--if I could restore her to _him!_

_Beef._ Let us rescue him.

_Cas._ Will without power[212] is like children playing at soldiers.

_Beef._ Courage without power[213] is like a consumptive running footman.

_Cas._ Courage without power is a contradiction.[214] Ten brave men might set all Quedlinburgh at defiance.

_Beef._ Ten brave men--but where are they to be found?

_Cas._ I will tell you--marked you the waiter?

_Beef._ The waiter? [_Doubtingly._

_Cas._ [_in a confidential tone_.] No waiter, but a Knight Templar. Returning from the crusade, he found his Order dissolved, and his person proscribed. He dissembled his rank, and embraced the profession of a waiter. I have made sure of him already. There are, besides, an Austrian and a Prussian grenadier. I have made them abjure their national enmity, and they have sworn to fight henceforth in the cause of freedom. These, with Young Pottingen, the waiter, and ourselves, make seven--the troubadour, with his two attendant minstrels, will complete the ten.

_Beef._ Now then for the execution. [_With enthusiasm._

_Pudd._ Yes, my boys--for the execution.
[_Clapping them on the back._

_Waiter._ But hist! we are observed.

_Trou._ Let us by a song conceal our purposes.

RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.[215]

_Cas._ Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow
From Night's cold lungs, our purpose know!

_Pudd._ Let Silence, mother of the dumb,

_Beef._ Press on each lip her palsied thumb!

_Wait._ Let privacy, allied to sin,
That loves to haunt the tranquil inn--

_Gren._ } And Conscience start, when she shall view,
_Trou._ } The mighty deed we mean to do!

GENERAL CHORUS--_Con spirito._

Then friendship swear, ye faithful bands,
Swear to save a shackled hero!
See where yon Abbey frowning stands!
Rescue, rescue, brave Rogero!

_Cas._ Thrall'd in a Monkish tyrant's fetters,
Shall great Rogero hopeless lie?

_Y. Pot._ In my pocket I have letters,
Saying, "help me, or I die!"

_Allegro Allegretto._

_Cas. Beef. Pudd. Gren. Trou._ } Let us fly, let us fly,
_Waiter, and Pot. with enthusiasm_ } Let us help, ere he die!
[_Exeunt omnes, waving their hats._

SCENE.--_The Abbey gate, with ditches, drawbridges, and spikes.
Time--about an hour before sunrise. The conspirators appear
as if in ambuscade, whispering, and consulting together, in
expectation of the signal for attack. The_ WAITER _is habited
as a Knight Templar, in the dress of his Order, with the cross
on his breast, and the scallop on his shoulder_; PUDDINGFIELD
_and_ BEEFINGTON _armed with blunderbusses and pocket pistols;
the Grenadiers in their proper uniforms. The Troubadour, with
his attendant Minstrels, bring up the rear--martial music--the
conspirators come forward, and present themselves before the
gate of the Abbey.--Alarum--firing of pistols--the Convent
appear in arms upon the walls--the drawbridge is let down--a
body of choristers and lay-brothers attempt a sally, but are
beaten back, and the verger killed. The besieged attempt to
raise the drawbridge_--PUDDINGFIELD _and_ BEEFINGTON _press
forward with alacrity, throw themselves upon the drawbridge,
and by the exertion of their weight, preserve it in a state of
depression--the other besiegers join them, and attempt to force
the entrance, but without effect._ PUDDINGFIELD _makes the signal
for the battering ram. Enter_ QUINTUS CURTIUS _and_ MARCUS CURIUS
DENTATUS, _in their proper military habits, preceded by the Roman
Eagle--the rest of their legion are employed in bringing forward
a battering ram, which plays for a few minutes to slow time, till
the entrance is forced. After a short resistance, the besiegers
rush in with shouts of victory._

_Scene changes to the interior of the Abbey. The inhabitants of
the Convent are seen flying in all directions._

_The_ COUNT OF WEIMAR _and_ PRIOR, _who had been feasting in
the refectory, are brought in manacled. The_ COUNT _appears
transported with rage, and gnaws his chains. The_ PRIOR _remains
insensible, as if stupefied with grief._ BEEFINGTON _takes
the keys of the dungeon, which are hanging at the_ PRIOR'S
_girdle, and makes a sign for them both to be led away into
confinement.--Exeunt_ PRIOR _and_ COUNT _properly guarded. The
rest of the conspirators disperse in search of the dungeon where_
ROGERO _is confined._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 204: A See the "Robbers." a German tragedy, in which robbery is put in so fascinating a light, that the whole of a German University went upon the highway in consequence of it.]

[Footnote 205: See "Cabal and Love," a German tragedy, very severe against Prime Ministers and reigning Dukes of Brunswick. This admirable performance very judiciously reprobates the hire of German troops for the _American war_ in the reign of Queen Elizabeth--a practice which would undoubtedly have been highly discreditable to that wise and patriotic princess, not to say wholly unnecessary, there being no American war at that particular time.]

[Footnote 206: See the "Stranger; or, Reform'd Housekeeper," in which the former of these morals is beautifully illustrated; and "Stella," a genteel German comedy, which ends with placing a man _bodkin_ between _two wives_, like _Thames_ between his _two banks_, in the "Critic." Nothing can be more edifying than these two dramas. I am shocked to hear that there are some people who think them ridiculous.]

[Footnote 207: These are the warnings very properly given to readers, to beware how they judge of what they cannot understand. Thus, if the translation runs "lightning of my soul, fulguration of angels, sulphur of hell;" we should recollect that this is not coarse or strange in the German language, when applied by a lover to his mistress; but the English has nothing precisely parallel to the original Mulychause Archangelichen, which means rather "emanation of the archangelican nature"--or to Smellmynkern Vankelfer, which, if literally rendered, would signify "made of stuff of the same odour whereof the devil makes flambeaux." See Schüttenbrüch on the German Idiom.]

[Footnote 208: This is an excellent joke in German; the point and spirit of which is but ill-rendered in a translation. A Noddy, the reader will observe, has two significations--the one a "knave at all-fours;" the other a "fool or booby." See the translation by Mr. Render of "Count Benyowsky; or, the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka," a German tragi-comi-comi-tragedy: where the play opens with a scene of a game at chess (from which the whole of this scene is copied), and a joke of the same point and merriment about pawns--_i.e._, boors being _a match_ for kings.]

[Footnote 209: This word in the original is strictly "fellow-lodgers"--"co-occupants of the same room, in a house let out at a small rent by the week." There is no single word in English which expresses so complicated a relation, except, perhaps, the cant term of "chum," formerly in use at our universities.]

[Footnote 210: The balalaika is a Russian instrument, resembling the guitar.--See the play of "Count Benyowsky," rendered into English.]

[Footnote 211: See "Count Benyowsky; or, the Conspiracy of Kamschatka," where Crustiew, an old gentleman of much sagacity, talks the following nonsense:

_Crustiew_ [_with youthful energy and an air of secrecy and confidence_.] "To fly, to fly, to the Isles of Marian--the island of Tinian--a terrestrial paradise. Free--free--a mild climate--a new created sun--wholesome fruits--harmless inhabitants--and Liberty--tranquillity."]

[Footnote 212: See "Count Benyowsky." as before.]

[Footnote 213: See "Count Benyowsky."]

[Footnote 214: See "Count Benyowsky" again; from which play this and the preceding references are taken word for word. We acquit the Germans of such reprobate silly stuff. It must be the translator's.]

[Footnote 215: We believe this song to be copied, with a small variation in metre and meaning, from a song in "Count Benyowsky; or, the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka,"--where the conspirators join in a chorus, _for fear of being overheard_.]

BOMBASTES FURIOSO.

FIRST PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL HAYMARKET, AUGUST 7, 1810.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ARTAXOMINOUS, _King of Utopia._

FUSBOS, _Minister of State._

GENERAL BOMBASTES.

_Attendants or Courtiers._

_Army_--a long Drummer, a short
Fifer, and two (sometimes three)
Soldiers of different dimensions.

DISTAFFINA.

SCENE I.--_Interior of the Palace._

_The_ KING _in his chair of state.--A table set out with
punchbowl, glasses, pipes, &c._--ATTENDANTS _on each side._

TRIO.--"_Tekeli._"

_1st Atten._ What will your majesty please to wear?
Or blue, green, red, black, white, or brown?

_2nd Atten._ D'ye choose to look at the bill of fare?
[_Showing long bill._

_King._ Get out of my sight, or I'll knock you down.

_2nd Atten._ Here is soup, fish, or goose, or duck, or fowl,
or pigeons, pig, or hare!

_1st Atten._ Or blue, or green, or red, or black, or white, or brown,
What will your Majesty, &c.

_King._ Get out of my sight, &c. [_Exeunt_ ATTENDANTS.

_Enter_ FUSBOS, _and kneels to the_ KING.

_Fusbos._ Hail, Artaxominous! yclep'd the Great!
I come, an humble pillar of thy state,
Pregnant with news--but ere that news I tell,
First let me hope your Majesty is well.

_King._ Rise, learned Fusbos! rise, my friend, and know
We are but middling--that is, _so so!_

_Fusbos._ Only _so so!_ Oh, monstrous, doleful thing!
Is it the mulligrubs affects the king?
Or, dropping poisons in the cup of joy,
Do the blue devils your repose annoy?

_King._ Nor mulligrubs nor devils blue are here,
But yet we feel ourselves a little queer.

_Fusbos._ Yes, I perceive it in that vacant eye,
The vest unbutton'd, and the wig awry;
So sickly cats neglect their fur-attire,
And sit and mope beside the kitchen fire.

_King._ Last night, when undisturb'd by state affairs,
Moist'ning our clay, and puffing off our cares,
Oft the replenish'd goblet did we drain,
And drank and smok'd, and smok'd and drank again!
Such was the case, our very actions such,
Until at length we got a drop too much.

_Fusbos._ So when some donkey on the Blackheath Road,
Falls, overpower'd, beneath his sandy load;
The driver's curse unheeded swells the air,
Since none can carry more than they can bear.

_King._ The sapient Doctor Muggins came in haste,
Who suits his physic to his patient's taste;
He, knowing well on what our heart is set,
Hath just prescrib'd, "To take a morning whet;"
The very sight each sick'ning pain subdues.
Then sit, my Fusbos, sit and tell thy news.

_Fusbos_ [_sits._] Gen'ral Bombastes, whose resistless force
Alone exceeds by far a brewer's horse,
Returns victorious, bringing mines of wealth!

_King._ Does he, by jingo? then we'll drink his health!
[_Drum and Fife._

_Fusbos._ But hark! with loud acclaim, the fife and drum
Announce your army near; behold, they come!

_Enter_ BOMBASTES, _attended by one_ DRUMMER, _one_ FIFER, _and
two_ SOLDIERS, _all very materially differing in size.--They march
round the stage and back_.

_Bombas._ Meet me this ev'ning at the Barley Mow;
I'll bring your pay--you see I'm busy now:
Begone, brave army, and don't kick up a row.
[_Exeunt_ SOLDIERS.
[_To the_ KING.] Thrash'd are your foes--this watch and
silken string,
Worn by their chief, I as a trophy bring;
I knock'd him down, then snatch'd it from his fob;
"Watch, watch," he cried, when I had done the job.
"My watch is gone," says he--says I, "Just so;
Stop where you are--watches were made to go."

_King._ For which we make you Duke of Strombelo.
[BOMBASTES _kneels; the_ KING
_dubs him with a pipe, and then presents the bowl_.
From our own bowl here drink, my soldier true,
And if you'd like to take a whiff or two,
He whose brave arm hath made our foes to crouch,
Shall have a pipe from this our royal pouch.

_Bombas._ [_rises._] Honours so great have all my toils repaid!
My liege, and Fusbos, here's "Success to trade".

_Fusbos._ Well said, Bombastes! Since thy mighty blows,
Have given a quietus to our foes,
Now shall our farmers gather in their crops,
And busy tradesmen mind their crowded shops
The deadly havoc of war's hatchet cease;
Now shall we smoke the calumet of peace.

_King._ I shall smoke short-cut, you smoke what you please.

_Bombas._ Whate'er your Majesty shall deign to name,
Short cut or long to me is all the same.

_Bombas._ } In short, so long, as we your favours claim,
and } Short cut or long, to us is all the same.
_Fusbos._ }

_King._ Thanks, gen'rous friends! now list whilst I impart
How firm you're lock'd and bolted in my heart;
So long as this here pouch a pipe contains,
Or a full glass in that there bowl remains,
To you an equal portion shall belong;
This do I swear, and now--let's have a song.

_Fusbos._ My liege shall be obeyed.

[_Advances and attempts to sing._

_Bombas._ Fusbos, give place,
You know you haven't got a singing face;
Here nature, smiling, gave the winning grace.

SONG.--"_Hope told a flatt'ring Tale_."

Hope told a flattering tale,
Much longer than my arm,
That love and pots of ale
In peace would keep me warm:
The flatt'rer is not gone,
She visits number one:
In love I'm monstrous deep.
Love! odsbobs, destroys my sleep,
Hope told a flattering tale,
Lest love should soon grow cool;
A tub thrown to a whale,
To make the fish a fool:
Should Distaffina frown,
Then love's gone out of town;
And when love's dream is o'er,
Then we wake and dream no more.
[_Exit._

[_The_ KING _evinces strong emotions during the song, and at the
conclusion starts up._

_Fusbos._ What ails my liege? ah! why that look so sad?

_King_ [_coming forward._] I am in love! I scorch, I freeze, I'm mad!
Oh, tell me, Fusbos, first and best of friends,
You, who have wisdom at your fingers' ends,
Shall it be so, or shall it not be so?
Shall I my Griskinissa's charms forego,
Compel her to give up the regal chair,
And place the rosy Distaffina there?
In such a case, what course can I pursue?
I love my queen, and Distaffina too.

_Fusbos._ And would a king his general supplant?
I can't advise, upon my soul I can't.

_King._ So when two feasts, whereat there's nought to pay,
Fall unpropitious on the self-same day,
The anxious Cit each invitation views,
And ponders which to take or which refuse:
From this or that to keep away is loth,
And sighs to think he cannot dine at both. [_Exit._

_Fusbos._ So when some school-boy, on a rainy day,
Finds all his playmates will no longer stay,
He takes the hint himself--and walks away. [_Exit._

SCENE II.--_An Avenue of Trees._

_Enter the_ KING.

_King._ I'll seek the maid I love, though in my way
A dozen gen'rals stood in fierce array!
Such rosy beauties nature meant for kings;
Subjects have treat enough to see such things.

SCENE III.--_Inside of a Cottage._

_Enter_ DISTAFFINA.

_Distaf._ This morn, as sleeping in my bed I lay,
I dreamt (and morning dreams come true they say),
I dreamt a cunning man my fortune told,
And soon the pots and pans were turned to gold!
Then I resolv'd to cut a mighty dash;
But, lo! ere I could turn them into cash,
Another cunning man my heart betray'd,
Stole all away, and left my debts unpaid.

_Enter the_ KING.

And pray, sir, who are you, I'd wish to know?

_King._ Perfection's self, oh, smooth that angry brow!
For love of thee, I've wander'd thro' the town,
And here have come to offer half a crown.

_Distaf._ Fellow! your paltry offer I despise;
The great Bombastes' love alone I prize.

_King._ He's but a general--damsel, I'm a king;

_Distaf._ Oh, sir, that makes it quite another thing.

_King._ And think not, maiden, I could e'er design
A sum so trifling for such charms as thine.
No! the half crown that ting'd thy cheeks with red,
And bade fierce anger o'er thy beauties spread,
Was meant that thou should'st share my throne and bed.

_Distaf._ [_aside._] My dream is out, and I shall soon behold
The pots and pans all turn to shining gold.

_King_ [_puts his hat down to kneel on._] Here, on my knees
(those knees which ne'er till now
To man or maid in suppliance bent) I vow
Still to remain, till you my hopes fulfil,
Fixt as the Monument on Fish Street Hill.

_Distaf._ [_kneels._] And thus I swear, as I bestow my hand,
As long as e'er the Monument shall stand,
So long I'm yours----

_King._ Are then my wishes crown'd?

_Distaf._ La, sir! I'd not say no for twenty pound;
Let silly maids for love their favours yield,
Rich ones for me--a king against the field.

SONG.--"_Paddy's Wedding._"

Queen Dido at
Her palace gate
Sat darning of her stocking O;
She sung and drew
The worsted through,
Whilst her foot was the cradle rocking O;
(For a babe she had
By a soldier lad,
Though hist'ry passes it over O);
"You tell-tale brat,
I've been a flat,
Your daddy has proved a rover O.
What a fool was I
To be cozen'd by
A fellow without a penny O;
When rich ones came,
And ask'd the same,
For I'd offers from never so many O;
But I'll darn my hose,
Look out for beaux,
And quickly get a new lover O;
Then come, lads, come,
Love beats the drum,
And a fig for Æneas the rover O."

_King._ So Orpheus sang of old, or poets lie,
And as the brutes were charmed, e'en so am I.
Rosy-cheek'd maid, henceforth my only queen,
Full soon shalt thou in royal robes be seen;
And through my realm I'll issue this decree,
None shall appear of taller growth than thee:
Painters no other face portray--each sign
O'er alehouse hung shall change its head for thine.
Poets shall cancel their unpublish'd lays,
And none presume to write but in thy praise.

_Distaf._ [_fetches a bottle and glass._] And may I then,
without offending, crave
My love to taste of this, the best I have?

_King._ Were it the vilest liquor upon earth,
Thy touch would render it of matchless worth;
Dear shall the gift be held that comes from you;
Best proof of love [_drinks_],'tis full-proof Hodges' too;
Through all my veins I feel a genial glow,
It fires my soul----

_Bombastes_ [_within._] Ho, Distaffina, ho!

_King._ Heard you that voice?

_Distaf._ O yes, 'tis what's his name,
The General; send him packing as he came.

_King._ And is it he? and doth he hither come?
Ah me! my guilty conscience strikes me dumb:
Where shall I go? say, whither shall I fly?
Hide me, oh hide me from his injur'd eye!

_Distaf._ Why, sure you're not alarm'd at such a thing?
He's but a general, and you're a king.
[KING _conceals himself in a closet in flat_.

_Enter_ BOMBASTES.

_Bombas._ Lov'd Distaffina! now by my scars I vow,
Scars got--I haven't time to tell you how;
By all the risks my fearless heart hath run,
Risks of all shapes from bludgeon, sword, and gun.
Steel traps, the patrole, bailiff shrewd, and dun;
By the great bunch of laurel on my brow,
Ne'er did thy charms exceed their present glow!
Oh! let me greet thee with a loving kiss---- [_Sees the hat._
Why, what the devil!--say, whose hat is this?

_Distaf._ Why, help your silly brains, that's not a hat.

_Bombas._ No hat?

_Distaf._ Suppose it is, why, what of that?
A hat can do no harm without a head!

_Bombas._ Whoe'er it fits, this hour I doom him dead;
Alive from hence the caitiff shall not stir----
[_Discovers the_ KING.
Your most obedient, humble servant; sir.

_King._ Oh, general, oh!

_Bombas._ My much-loved master, oh!
What means all this?

_King._ Indeed I hardly know----

_Distaf._ You hardly know?--a very pretty joke,
If kingly promises so soon are broke!
Arn't I to be a queen, and dress so fine?

_King._ I do repent me of the foul design:
To thee, my brave Bombastes, I restore
Pure Distaffina, and will never more
Through lane or street with lawless passion rove,
But give to Griskinissa all my love.

_Bombas._ No, no, I'll love no more; let him who can
Fancy the maid who fancies ev'ry man.
In some lone place I'll find a gloomy cave,
There my own hands shall dig a spacious grave.
Then all unseen I'll lay me down and die,
Since woman's constancy is--all my eye.

TRIO.--"_O Lady Fair!_"

_Dislaf._ O, cruel man! where are you going?
Sad are my wants, my rent is owing.

_Bombas._ I go, I go, all comfort scorning;
Some death I'll die before the morning.

_Distaf._ Heigho, heigho! sad is that warning--
Oh, do not die before the morning!

_King._ I'll follow him, all danger scorning;
He shall not die before the morning.

_Bombas._ I go, I go, &c.

_Distaf._ Heigho, heigho, &c.

_King._ I'll follow him, &c.

[_They hold him by the coat-tails, but he gradually tugs them off._

SCENE IV.--_A Wood._

_Enter_ FUSBOS.

_Fusbos._ This day is big with fate: just as I set
My foot across the threshold, lo! I met
A man whose squint terrific struck my view;
Another came, and lo! he squinted too;
And ere I'd reach'd the corner of the street,
Some ten short paces, 'twas my lot to meet
A third who squinted more--a fourth, and he
Squinted more vilely than the other three.
Such omens met the eye when Cæsar fell,
But cautioned him in vain; and who can tell
Whether those awful notices of fate
Are meant for kings or ministers of state;
For rich or poor, old, young, or short or tall,
The wrestler Love trips up the heels of all.

SONG.--"_My Lodging is on the Cold Ground._"

My lodging is in Leather Lane,
A parlour that's next to the sky;
'Tis exposed to the wind and the rain,
But the wind and the rain I defy:
Such love warms the coldest of spots,
As I feel for Scrubinda the fair;
Oh, she lives by the scouring of pots,
In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square.

Oh, were I a quart, pint, or gill,
To be scrubb'd by her delicate hands,
Let others possess what they will
Of learning, and houses, and lands;
My parlour that's next to the sky
I'd quit, her blest mansion to share;
So happy to live and to die
In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square.

And oh, would this damsel be mine,
No other provision I'd seek;
On a look I could breakfast and dine,
And feast on a smile for a week.
But ah! should she false-hearted prove,
Suspended, I'll dangle in air;
A victim to delicate love,
In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square. [_Exit._

_Enter_ BOMBASTES, preceded by a Fifer, playing "Michael Wiggins."_

_Bombas._ Gentle musician, let thy dulcet strain
Proceed--play "Michael Wiggins" once again [_he does so_.]
Music's the food of love; give o'er, give o'er,
For I must batten on that food no more. [_Exit_ FIFER.
My happiness is chang'd to doleful dumps,
Whilst, merry Michael, all thy cards were trumps.
So, should some youth by fortune's blest decrees,
Possess at least a pound of Cheshire cheese,
And bent some favour'd party to regale,
Lay in a kilderkin, or so, of ale;
Lo, angry fate! In one unlucky hour
Some hungry rats may all the cheese devour,
And the loud thunder turn the liquor sour [_forms his sash into
a noose_.]
Alas! alack! alack! and well-a-day,
That ever man should make himself away!
That ever man for woman false should die,
As many have, and so, and so [_prepares to hang himself, tries
the sensation, but disapproves of the result_] won't I!
No, I'll go mad! 'gainst all I'll vent my rage,
And with this wicked wanton world a woeful war I'll wage!

[_Hangs his boots to the arm of a tree, and taking a scrap of
paper, with a pencil writes the following couplet, which he
attaches to them, repeating the words_:--

"Who dares this pair of boots displace,
Must meet Bombastes face to face."
Thus do I challenge all the human race.
[_Draws his sword, and retires up the stage, and off._

_Enter the_ KING.

_King._ Scorning my proffer'd hand, he frowning fled,
Curs'd the fair maid, and shook his angry head [_perceives the boots
and label._.]
"Who dares this pair of boots displace,
Must meet Bombastes face to face."
Ha! dost thou dare me, vile obnoxious elf?
I'll make thy threats as bootless as thyself:
Where'er thou art, with speed prepare to go
Where I shall send thee--to the shades below [_knocks down the
boots_.]

_Bombas._ [_coming forward_.] So have I heard on Afric's burning
shore,
A hungry lion give a grievous roar;
The grievous roar echo'd along the shore.

_King._ So have I heard on Afric's burning shore
Another lion give a grievous roar,
And the first lion thought the last a bore.

_Bombas._ Am I then mocked? Now by my fame I swear
You soon shall have it--There! [_They fight._

_King._ Where?

_Bombas._ There and there!

_King._ I have it sure enough--Oh! I am slain!
I'd give a pot of beer to live again [_falls on his back_];
Yet ere I die I something have to say:
My once-lov'd gen'ral, pri'thee come this way!
Oh! oh! my Bom---- [_Dies._

_Bombas._ --Bastes he would have said;
But ere the word was out, his breath was fled.
Well, peace be with him, his untimely doom
Shall thus be mark'd upon his costly tomb:--
"Fate cropt him short--for be it understood.
He would have liv'd much longer--if he could."
[_Retires again up the stage._

_Enter_ FUSBOS.

_Fusbos._ This was the way they came, and much I fear
There's mischief in the wind. What have we here?
King Artaxominous bereft of life!
Here'll be a pretty tale to tell his wife.

_Bombas._ A pretty tale, but not for thee to tell,
For thou shalt quickly follow him to hell;
There say I sent thee, and I hope he's well.

_Fusbos._ No, thou thyself shalt thy own message bear;
Short is the journey, thou wilt soon be there.

[_They fight_--BOMBASTES _is wounded_.

_Bombas._ Oh, Fusbos, Fusbos! I am diddled quite,
Dark clouds come o'er my eyes--farewell, good night!
Good night! my mighty soul's inclined to roam,
So make my compliments to all at home.
[_Lies down by the_ KING.

_Fusbos._ And o'er thy grave a monument shall rise,
Where heroes yet unborn shall feast their eyes;
And this short epitaph that speaks thy fame,
Shall also there immortalize my name:--
"Here lies Bombastes, stout of heart and limb,
Who conquered all but Fusbos--Fusbos him."

_Enter_ DISTAFFINA.

_Distaf._ Ah, wretched maid! Oh, miserable fate!
I've just arrived in time to be too late;
What now shall hapless Distaffina do?
Curse on all morning dreams, they come so true!

_Fusbos._ Go, beauty go, thou source of woe to man,
And get another lover where you can:
The crown now sits on Griskinissa's head,
To her I'll go----

_Distaf._ But are you sure they're dead?

_Fusbos._ Yes, dead as herrings--herrings that are red.

FINALE.

_Distaf._ Briny tears I'll shed,

_King._ I for joy shall cry, too; [_Rising._

_Fusbos._ Zounds! the King's alive!

_Bombas._ Yes, and so am I, too! [_Rising._

_Distaf._ It was better far,

_King._ Thus to check all sorrow;

_Fusbos._ But, if some folks please,

_Bombas._ We'll die again to-morrow!

* * * * *

_Distaf._ Tu ral, lu ral, la,

_King._ Tu ral, lu ral, laddi;

_Fusbos._ Tu ral, lu ral, la,

_Bombas._ Tu ral, lu ral, laddi!

_They take hands and dance round, repeating Chorus._

REJECTED ADDRESSES.