SINGER. Your Highness must pardon me, but I am indisposed to-day.
PEHR. Chamberlain, is there not something in the constitution called bastinado?
[Panic.]
CHAMBERLAIN. Assuredly—but—
PEHR. [To singer.] Continue, then!
SINGER. [Sings.] Marble brow, flowing hair, sparkling rows of teeth,
She steps as light as the pacer, lest she soil her hoof in the mud.
PEHR. Mud? I don't like dirt in poetry. Go on!
SINGER. Swelling bosom, slender waist, throbbing now anew;
As she gives each fresh embrace, she is like to break in two!
PEHR. Oh—!
SINGER. O happy man with perfume laden
Man of high estate!
Who may in some dreary hour
Hold her in his sweet embrace.