Rig-Fun. Never talk of mourning, madam,
One ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow,
Take me at once, and let us wed to-morrow.
I'll make thee a great man, my little Phoscophorny. [To Aldi, aside.
Aldi. I scorn your bounty; I'll be king, or nothing.
Draw, miscreant! draw!
Rig. No, sir, I'll take the law. [Runs behind the Queen.
Queen. Well, gentlemen, to make the matter easy,
I'll have you both; and that, I hope, will please ye.
And now, Tatlanthe, thou art all my care: