KNAVE. No, Madam, I refer to the fall of Humpty Dumpty.
POMPDEBILE. Well, make your rhyme. In the meantime let us celebrate. You may all have one tart. (The PASTRY COOKS pass the tarts. To VIOLETTA) Are you willing, dear, to ride the white palfrey garlanded with flowers through the streets of the city?
VIOLETTA. Willing! I have been practising for days!
POMPDEBILE. The people, I suppose, are still clamoring at the gates.
VIOLETTA. Oh, yes, they must clamor. I want them to. Herald, tell them that to every man I shall toss a flower, to every woman a shining gold piece, but to the babies I shall throw only kisses, thousands of them, like little winged birds. Kisses and gold and roses! They will surely love me then!
CHANCELLOR. Your Majesty, I protest. Of what possible use to the people—?
POMPDEBILE. Be quiet. The Queen may scatter what she pleases.
KNAVE. My rhyme is ready, Your Majesty.
POMPDEBILE. Repeat it.