Coq. So’s time.
Roos. Well, let it!
Till eight—three meetings; a foundation stone.
Then dressed the King for dinner; had my own.
Came here to pop the question—Will you wed?
I must get back to put the King to bed.
Say yes or no.
Coq. You’d better ask mamma.
(Rap at door.)
Not now! Some other time!