King. Peace, coward! were they wedg'd like golden ingots,
Or pent so close, as to admit no vacuum;
One look from Crononhotonthologos
Shall scare them into nothing. Rigdum-Funnidos,
Bid Bombardinion draw his legions forth,
And meet us in the plains of Queerummania.
This very now ourselves shall there conjoin him;
Meantime, bid all the priests prepare their temples
For rites of triumph: let the singing singers,
With vocal voices, most vociferous,