University of Virginia Library

SCENE Another Apartment.
Enter Rigdum Funnidos and Aldiboronti, &c.
Rigdum

—'Egad we're in the wrong Box! Who the
Devil wou'd have thought that this same Chrononhotonthologos
shou'd beat that mortal sight of
Tippodeans; why, there's not a Mother's Child
of 'em to be seen. 'Egad they footed it away as
fast as their Hands cou'd carry 'em; but they
have left their King behind 'em, we have him safe,
that's one Comfort.

Aldibo.
—Would he were still at amplest Liberty.
For, O! my dearest Rigdum Funnidos,
I have a Riddle to unriddle to thee,
Shall make thee stare thy self into a Statue.
Our Queen's in Love with this Antipodean.

Rigdum Fun.

—The Devil she his? Well, I see Mischief
is going forward with a Vengeance.

Aldibo.
But lo! the Conqueror comes all crown'd with Conquest.
A solemn Triumph graces his Return:
Let's grasp the Forelock of this apt Occasion.
To greet the Victor, is his Flow of Glory.

A Grand Triumph.
Enter King in Triumph, &c. met by Rigdum and Aldiboronti.
Aldiboronti.
—All hail! to Chrononhotonthologos,
Thrice trebly welcome to your Loyal Subjects
My self and faithful Rigdum Funnidos
Lost in a Labyrinth of Love and Loyalty,
Intreat you to inspect our inmost Souls,
And read in them what Tongue can never utter.

King.
—Aldiborontiphoscophornio,
To thee and gentle Rigdum Funnidos;
Our Gratulations flow in Streams unbounded:
Our bounty's Debtor to your Loyalty,
Which shall with Int'rest be repaid, e'er long,
But where's our Queen? where's Fadladinida;
She should be foremost in this gladsome Train,
To grace our Triumph; but I see she slights me,
This haughty Queen shall be no longer mine,
I'll have a sweet and gentle Concubine.

Rigdum,
(aside.)

—Now my dear sweet Phoscophorny, for a swinging
Lye to bring the Queen off: and I'll run with it
this Minute to her, that we may be all in a Story.

(They whisper importantly, and Rigdum Funnidos goes out.)
Aldiboronti.
—Speak not, great Chrononhotonthologos,
In Accents so injuriously severe
Of Fadladinida, your faithful Queen:
By me she sends an Embassy of Love,
Sweet Blandishments and kind Congratulations;
But, cannot, O! she cannot come Her self.

King.
—Our Rage is turn'd to Fear: What ails the Queen?

Aldiboronti.
A sudden Diarrhæa's rapid Force,
So stimulates the Peristtaltic Motion,
That all conclude her Royal Life in danger.

King.
Bid the Physicians of the Earth assemble,
In Consultation solemn and sedate:
More to corroborate their sage Resolves,
Call from their Graves the Learned Men of old:
Galen, Hipocrates, and Paracelsus;
Doctors, Apothecaries, Surgeons, Chymists,
All! all! attend and see they bring their Med'cines,
Whole Magazines of gallipotted Nostrums.
Materializ'd in Pharmaceutic Order.
The Man that cures our Queen shall have our Empire.

(Exeunt Omnes.)
Enter Talanthe, and Queen.
Queen.
—Hey ho! my Heart.

Tatlanthe.
—What ails my gracious Queen?

Queen.
—O would to Venus I had never seen

Tatlanthe.
—Seen what, my Royal Mistress!

Queen.
—Too! too much.

Tatlanthe.
—Did it affright you,

Queen.
—No, 'tis nothing such.

Tatlanthe.
—What was it, Madam?

Queen.
—Really I don't know.

Tatlanthe.
—It must be something!

Queen.
—No;

Tatlanthe.
—Or, nothing;

Queen.
—No.
—O, my Tatlanthe, have you never seen?

Tatlanthe.
—Can I guess what, unless you tell? my Queen!

Queen.
—The King I mean.

Tatlanthe.
—Just now return'd from War:
He rides like Mars in his Triumphal Car.
Conquest precedes with Laurels in his Hand,
Behind him Fame does on her Tripos stand
Her Golden Trump shrill thro' the Air she sounds,
Which rends the Earth, and thence to Heaven rebounds.
Trophies and Spoils innumerable grace,
This Triumph which all Triumphs does deface:
Haste then, great Queen! your Hero thus to meet,
Who longs to lay His Laurels at your Feet.

Queen.
—Art mad, Tatlanthe, I meant no such thing,
Your Talk's distasteful.

Tatlanthe.
—Didn't you name the King?

Queen.
—I did, Tatlanthe, but it was not thine,
The charming King, I mean, is only mine.

Tatlanthe.
—Who else, who else, but such a charming Fair
In Chrononhotonthologos should share:
The Queen of Beauty, and the God of Arms,
In him and you united blend their Charms.
Oh! had you seen him, how he dealt out Death,
And at one stroke robb'd Thousands of their Breath.
While on the Slaughter'd Heaps himself did rise,
In Pyramids of Conquest to the Skies;
The Gods all hail'd, and fain would have him stay;
But your bright Charms have call'd him thence a-away.

Queen.
—This does my utmost Indignation raise,
You are too pertly Lavish in his Praise;
Leave me for ever!

Tatlanthe.
(Kneeling.)
—O what shall I say?
Do not, great Queen, your Anger thus display,
O frown me dead, let me not live to hear
My gracious Queen, and Mistress so severe;
I've made some horrible Mistake, no doubt,
Oh! tell me what it is!

Queen.
No, find it out.

Tatlanthe.
—No, I will never leave you, here I'll grow,
'Till you some Token of Forgiveness show:
O all ye Powers above, come down, come down!
And from her Brow dispel that angry Frown.

Queen.
—Tatlanthe rise, you have prevail'd at last,
Offend no more, and I'll excuse what's past.

Tatlanthe,
(aside.)

Why, what a Fool was I not to perceive her
Passion for the topsy turvy King, the Gentleman
that carries his Head where his Pocket should be;
but I must tack about I see.

To the Queen.
Excuse me, gracious Madam! if my Heart
Bears Sympathy with yours in ev'ry Part;
With you alike, I sorrow, and rejoice,
Approve your Passion, and commend your Choice,
The Captive King.

Queen.
—That's he! that's he! that's he!
I'd die ten Thousand Deaths to set him free:
Oh! my Tatlanthe! have you seen his Face;
His Air, his Shape, his Mein, with what a Grace;
Quite upside down, in a new way he stands,
How prettily he foots it with his Hands!
Well, I must have him if I Live or die,
To Prison, and his Charming Arms I fly.

(Exeunt.)