ent
when the "fancy" part of the audience are expecting a "set to," and
admiring the courage of the little tenor (the outlaw), which they
technically denominate the "game" of the "light weight," the heroine
rushes between them with a drawn sword, threatening to destroy herself
if they do not desist, and calling upon them to remember the honour of
her mansion--thereby, no doubt, alluding to the possibility of an
indictment for keeping a disorderly house.

The old tyrant, of whom we have heard a great deal, but have not as yet
seen, returns home late at night to his castle, and finding two unknown
gentlemen in his house without an invitation, conversing with his
shut-up lady, he charges them with the impropriety of their behaviour.
The strange gentlemen (the outlaw chief and the king in disguise), not
particularly relishing these observations, beg him not to be so violent
in his language. This seems only to incense the old fellow the more, who
has just suggested "coffee and pistols," when the aforesaid king's
followers entering, make the tyrant acquainted with the fact that he's
been blowing up a king. The parasitical old tyrant immediately
endeavours to excuse himself for the mistake he has made; says he hopes
his royal highness will not be offended, that he had not the pleasure of
his acquaintance, and all that sort of thing. The king rejoins that he
is perfectly excuseable; that no offence has been done--that the cause
of his own unlooked-for presence arises from the fact that he is out for
the emperorship--that he is about doing a little electioneering, and
that he just stopped in to learn the state of public feeling in his
district, and solicit his (the tyrant's) vote. The tyrant being a good
deal flattered by this appeal to his chief weak point--namely, his own
fancied knowledge of party politics--says that the king does him great
honour--"supreme honour"--and invites him to spend the night in the
castle; which kind invitation his majesty graciously accepts.

In the meantime, the outlaw, having observed how much more cordially the
tyrant is received than himself, has made his exit. The king's followers
all draw up in line and conclude the act by a song, the burden of which
is that their master's nomination is the only one "fit to be made."

The next act discovers the tyrant awaiting the arrival of the
unfortunate heroine, to whom he is going to be married in a few minutes.
All is jollity in the castle, till a gent