Manus: To work now, to work. I'll engage to
turn out a dinner fit for Pharaoh of Egypt or
Pharamond King of the Franks! Here, Queen, is
a silver-breast phoenix—draw out the feathers—
they are pure silver—fair and clean. (Queen plucks
eagerly.) King, take your golden sceptre and stir
this pot.
(Gives him one.)
King: (Interested.) What now is in it?
Manus: A broth that will rise over the side
and be consumed and split if you stop stirring
it for one minute only! (King stirs furiously.)
Princess (She is looking on and he goes over to her),
there are honey cakes to roll out, but I will not
ask you to do it in dread that you might spoil the
whiteness ...
Princess: I have no mind to do it.
Manus: Of the flour!
Princess: Give them here.
(Rolls them out indignantly.)
Manus: That is right. Take care, King, would
the froth swell over the brim.
Princess: It seems to me you are doing but
little yourself.