Act 4 — 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.

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.