University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—Interior of the Palace.
Artaxominous in his Chair of State; a Table set out with Bowls, Glasses, Pipes, &c.; Attendants on each side.
Enter Fusbos, and kneels to the King.
Fus.
Hail, Artaxominous! ycleped 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.

Art.
Rise, learned Fusbos! rise, my friend, and know
We are but middling—that is, but so so.

Fus.
Only so so! O 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?

Art.
Nor mulligrubs, nor devils blue, are here,
But yet we feel ourself a little queer.

Fus.
Yes, I perceive it in that vacant eye,
The vest unbutton'd, and the wig awry;
Ungarter'd hose, with slippers down at heel,
And beard unconscious of the biting steel:
So sickly cats neglect their fur-attire,
And sit and mope beside the kitchen fire.

Art.
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.

Fus.
‘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.

Art.
‘The sapient Doctor Muggins came in haste,
‘Who suits his physic to his patients' 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.

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

Art.
Does he, by jingo? then we'll drink his health.

Fus.
‘In vain their numbers faced our gallant few!
‘Scarce had your sable-guards appear'd in view,
‘When all the crowd of scarecrow-onians yield,
‘And leave their ragged banners in the field.
‘So, when a debtor whose exploring eyes
‘Afar in some high street a dun espies,
‘Through lanes and courts he takes his well-known way,
‘Nor stops to parley when he cannot pay.’
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.
Bom.
(to Army)
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.”

Art.
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.

Bom.
Honours so great have all my toils repaid!
My Liege, and Fusbos, here's “Success to trade.”

Fus.
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 havock of war's hatchet cease;
Now shall we smoke the calumet of peace.

Art.
I shall smoke short-cut, you smoke what you please.

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

Bom. & Fus.
In short, so long as we your favours claim,
Short cut or long, to us is all the same.

Art.
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.

Fus.
My Liege shall be obey'd.

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

SONG, Bombastes—Hope told a flatt'ring Tale.

[Exit.
[The King evinces strong emotions during the song, and at the conclusion starts up.
Fus.
What ails my Liege? ah! why that look so sad?

Art.
(coming forward)
I am in love! I scorch, I freeze, I'm mad!
O 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.

Fus.
And would a King his General supplant?
I can't advise, upon my soul I can't.

Art.
‘So when the vessel man is toss'd about
‘Upon that ocean call'd the “sea of doubt,”
‘Now safe he rides, and then on danger's brink;
‘Nor can he tell if he's to swim or sink.

Fus.
‘So, when two roads a weary trav'ller spies,
‘And knoweth not on which his journey lies,
‘At once he stops, and seems in doubtful plight,
‘Since this may lead him wrong, and that not right.

Art.
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.
Fus.
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.