King. Oh, general, oh! My much-loved master, oh! What means all this? KING. Indeed, I hardly know- King I do repent me of the foul design. 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. There my own hands shall dig a spacious grave. Then all unseen I'll lay me down and die, TRIO "Oh, Lady Fair!" Distaf. Oh, cruel man! where are you going? Some death I'll die before the morning. Distaf. Heigho, heigho, etc. I'll follow him, etc. (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. SONG "My Lodging is on the Cold Ground." A parlour that's next to the sky; Oh, were I a quart, pint, or gill, To be scrubb'd by her delicate hands, Of learning, and houses, and lands; My parlour that's next to the sky I'd quit, her blest mansion to share; In Doyt Street, Bloomsbury Square. And oh, would this damsel be mine, On a look I could breakfast and dine, A victim to delicate love, In Doyt Street, Bloomsbury Square. Enter BOMBASTES, preceded by a FIFER playing "Michael Wiggins." Bombas. Gentle musician, let thy dulcet strain Proceed. Play "Michael Wiggins" once again. (Exit.) (He does so.) (Exit FIFER.), Music's the food of love; give o'er, give o'er, (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, (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. Bombas. Where? There, and there! King. I have it, sure enough! Oh, I am slain ! (Falls on his back.) My once-lov'd gen'ral, pri'thee come this way! Bombas. -Bastes he would have said, But, ere the word was out, his breath was fled. (Dies.) (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, Fusbos. No, thou thyself shalt thy own message bear; Short is the journey, thou wilt soon be there. (They fight; BOMBASTES is wounded.). |