KING.
A sweet [S']irísha blossom should be twined
Behind her ear[7], its perfumed crest depending
Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom,
A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright
As an autumnal moonbeam, should be traced.
MÁ[T.]HAVYA.
Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of her fingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraid of something? [Looking more closely.] Oh! I see; a vagabond bee, intent on thieving honey from the flowers, has mistaken her mouth for a rosebud, and is trying to settle upon it.
KING.
A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you?
MÁ[T.]HAVYA.
That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power over all offenders.
KING.
Very true. Listen to me, thou favourite guest of flowering plants; why give thyself the trouble of hovering here?