University of Virginia Library

SCENE Bombardinions Tent.
King, and Bombardinion at a Banquet.
Bomb.
This Honour, Royal Sir! so royalizes
The Royalty of your most Royal Actions,
The Dumb can only utter forth your Praise,
For we who speak, want Words to tell our Meaning.
Here! fill the Goblet with Phalernian Wine,
And while our Monarch drinks, bid the shrill Trumpet
Tell all the Gods that we propine their Healths.

[Trumpets sound.
King.
—Hold Bombardinion, I esteem it fit,
With so much Wine, to eat a little Bit.

Bomb.
See that the Table instantly be spread,
With all that Art and Nature can produce.
Traverse from Pole to Pole; sail round the World,
Bring every Eatable that can be eat:
The King shall eat, tho' all Mankind be starv'd.

Cook.

And it please your Honour, there's some cold
Pork in the Pantry, I'll hash it for his Majesty
in a Minute.

[Exit in a Hurry.
King.
Hash'd Pork! shall Chrononhotonthologos
Be fed with Swine's Flesh, and at second Hand?
Now, by the Gods! Thou dost insult us, General!

Bomb.
The Gods can witness, that I little thought
Your Majesty, to Pork, had such aversion.

King.
Away thou Traytor! Dost thou mock thy Master?

[Strikes him.
Bomb.
A Blow! Shall Bombardinion take a Blow?
Blush! Blush thou Sun! start back thou rapid Ocean:
Hills! Vales! Seas! Mountains! all commixing crumble,
And into Chaos pulverize the World:
For Bombardinion has receiv'd a Blow,
And Chrononhotonthologos shall Die.

[Draws.
King.
What means the Traytor?

[Draws.
Bomb.
—Traytor in thy Teeth,
Thus I defy Thee!
[They fight, he kills the King.
Ha! What have I done?
Go, call a Coach, and let a Coach be call'd,
And let the Man that calls it be the Caller;
And, in his calling, let him nothing call,
But Coach! Coach! Coach! O for a Coach ye Gods!
[Exit Raving.
Returns with a Doctor.
—How fares your Majesty?

Doctor.
My Lord he's Dead.

Bomb.
Ha! Dead! impossible! it cannot be;
I'd not believe it tho' himself should Swear it.
Go join his Body to his Soul again,
Or, by this Hand, thy Soul shall quit thy Body.

Doctor.
My Lord, he is past the power of Physick,
His Soul has left this World.

Bomb.
Then go to to'ther World and fetch it back.
[Kills him.
And if I find thou triflest with me there,
I'll chace thy Shade through Myriads of Orbs,
And drive thee far beyond the Verge of Nature.
Ha!—Call'st thou Chrononhotonthologos?
I come! your Faithful Bombardinion comes:
He comes in Worlds unknown to make new Wars
And gain thee Empires, num'rous as the Stars.

[Kills himself.
Enter Queen and others.
Aldiboron.
—O horrid! horrible, and horrid'st horror!
Our King, our General: Our Doctor dead.
All dead! Stone dead, irrecoverably dead!
Oh!—

[All Groan a Tragedy Groan.
Queen.
My Husband dead! Ye Gods, what is't you mean,
To make a Widow of a Virgin Queen?
For, to my great Misfortune, he, poor King,
Has left me so, and that's a wretched Thing.

[To Tatlanthe.
Tatlanthe.
Why then, dear Madam! make no farther Pother,
Were I your Majesty, I'd try another.

Queen.
I think 'tis best to follow thy Advice.

[Simp'ring.
Tatlanthe.
I'll fit you with a Husband in a Trice:
Here's Ridgum Funnidos, a proper Man,
If any one can please a Queen, he can.

Rigdum. Fun.

Ay, that I can, and please your Majesty; so Ceremonies
apart. Let's proceed to Business.

[Kisses the Queen.
Queen.
Oh! but the Mourning takes up all my Care:
I'm at a Loss what colour'd Weeds to wear.

Rigdum Fun.
Never talk of Mourning, Madam,
One Ounce of Mirth is worth a Pound of Sorrow,
Let's bed to Night and then we'll wed to Morrow.
I'll make thee a great Man, my little Phoscophorny.

To Aldi. aside.
Aldibo.
I scorn thy Bounty, I'll be King, or nothing.
Draw Miscreant! Draw!

[Rigdum runs behind the Queen.
Queen.
Well, Gentlemen, to make the Matter easy,
I'll have you both, and that, I hope, will please ye.
[Takes each by the Hand.
And now, Tatlanthe thou art all my care:
Where shall I find thee such another Pair.
Pity, that one has serv'd so long, so well,
Shou'd die a Virgin, and lead Apes in Hell.
Chuse for your self, dear Girl, our Empire round,
Your Portion is Twelve Hundred Thousand Pound.

Tatlanthe.
Thanks to your Majesty, give me the Money,
Let me alone to find myself a Honey.

[Tatlanthe Sings.
Marriage may become a Curse,
Husbands may but teaze me;
So, for better or for worse,
No Man e'er shall seize me.
Changing, Ranging at my Pleasure,
Men in Plenty for my Treasure.
I myself, will keep the Purse,
And pay them as they please me.

Queen
Sings.
Troth, my Girl, thou'rt in the Right,
And thy Scheme I'll borrow;
'Tis a Thought that's new and bright,
Wedlock brings but Sorrow.
To Aldi. and Rigd.
Gentlemen! I'm not for Marriage,
But, according to your Carriage,
As you both behave to Night,
You shall be paid to Morrow.