Enter King.
King. This god of sleep is watchful to torment me,
And rest is grown a stranger to my eyes:
Sport not with Chrononhotonthologos,
Thou idle slumb'rer, thou detested Somnus:
For if thou dost, by all the waking pow'rs,
I'll tear thine eyeballs from their leaden sockets,
And force thee to outstare eternity. [Exit in a huff.
Re-enter Rigdum and Aldiboronti.
Rig. The king is in a most vile passion! Pray who is this