Fusbos. My liege shall be obeyed. [Advances and attempts to sing.
Bombas. Fusbos, give place,
You know you haven't got a singing face;
Here nature, smiling, gave the winning grace.
Song.—"Hope told a flatt'ring Tale."
Hope told a flattering tale,
Much longer than my arm,
That love and pots of ale
In peace would keep me warm:
The flatt'rer is not gone,