do--

Sca.: In which we both engage--

Phan.: We think it is our turn--

Sca.: We do--

Phan.: We think our turn has come--

Sca.: We do.

Phan.: These Englishmen, they must prepare
To seek at once their native air.
The King as heretofore, we swear,
Shall be beneath our thumb--

Sca.: He shall--

Phan.: Shall be beneath out thumb--

Sca.: He shall.

Both: (with great energy)
For this mustn't be, and this won't do.
If you'll back me, then I'll back you,
No, this won't do,
No, this mustn't be.
With fury deep we burn...

Enter the King.

King: Gentlemen, gentlemen--really! This unseemly display of
energy within the Royal precincts is altogether unpardon-
able. Pray, what do you complain of?

Scaphio: (furiously) What do we complain of? Why, through the
innovations introduced by the Flowers of Progress all our
harmless schemes for making a provision for our old age
are
ruined. Our Matrimonial Agency is at a standstill, our
Cheap Sherry business is in bankruptcy, our Army Clothing
contracts are paralyzed, and even our Society paper, the
Palace Peeper, is practically defunct!

King: Defunct? Is that so? Dear, dear, I am truly sorry.

Scaphio: Are you aware that Sir Bailey Barre has introduced a law
of
libel by which all editors of scurrilous newspapers are
pub-
licly flogged--as in England? And six of our editors
have
resigned in succession! Now, the editor of a scurrilous
paper can stand a good deal--he takes a private thrashing
as
a matter of course--it's considered in his salary--but no
gentleman likes to be publicly flogged.

King: Naturally. I shouldn't like it myself.

Phantis: Then our Burlesque Theater is absolutely ruined!

King: Dear me. Well, theatrical property is not what it was.