Head Cook: Vell, zen, I must know vy you leave.
Prince: Why—sir—my master has fallen in love with the Princess Fadeaway—and so I thought I would come and see what sort of a princess she was—for my master in his love-sick fever is sad company for any one.
Head Cook: But if he is so in lof, vy does not your master come to woo the Princess?
Prince: Why, sir (bowing), he had heard of too many who had been denied admittance, and as my master is proud and determined, he made up his mind he would not risk being turned away like the others. But, sir, if you will let me stay and work for you, in whatever post, however humble, I promise you if my answers do not satisfy, my service shall.
Head Cook: You are villing—ah, but zey all say that. H'm—let me see what you can do. Vash up these. (Points to dirty plates.)
Prince: Those! Why, that is scullion's work!
Head Cook: Yes, and there is a scullion's place all ready.
Prince (indignantly): A scullion! I had meant a place with horses—in the garden—where I might work out-of-doors.
Kitchen: O dear, kind young man, pray, pray do not speak like that.
Cooklet: Oh, we beseech you, take the place! (Both fall on knees before him.)