King: Don't be talking of roasted meat! I
think I can eat no more for a twelvemonth!
Dall Glic: There will be nothing roasted that
any person will have occasion to eat. When the
oven door will be open, give orders to your bullies
and your foot-soldiers to give a tip to him that
will push him in. When evening comes, news will
go out that he left the meat to burn and made off
on his rambles, and no more about him.
King: What way can I send orders when I'm
near crazed in my wits with the want of rest. A
little minute of sleep might soothe and settle my
brain.
(Lies down.)
Dall Glic: The least little word to give leave
...or a sign ...such as to nod the head.
King: I give you my word, my head is tired
nodding! Be off now and close the door after
you and give out that anyone that comes to this
side of the house at all in the next half-hour, his
neck will be on the block before morning!
Dall Glic: (Hurriedly.) I'm going! I'm
going.
(Goes.)
King: (Locking door and drawing window curtains.)
That you may never come back till I ask you!
(Lies down and settles himself on pillows.) I'll be
lying here in my lone listening to the pigeons
seeking their meal. "Coo-coo," they're saying,
"Coo-coo."
(Closes eyes.)