Enter the King.
And pray, sir, who are you, I'd wish to know?
King. Perfection's self, oh, smooth that angry brow!
For love of thee, I've wander'd thro' the town,
And here have come to offer half a crown.
Distaf. Fellow! your paltry offer I despise;
The great Bombastes' love alone I prize.
King. He's but a general—damsel, I'm a king;
Distaf. Oh, sir, that makes it quite another thing.
King. And think not, maiden, I could e'er design