stake me, my lord. My name is Miller, at your service for
an adagio--but, as to ladybirds, I cannot serve you. As long as there is
such an assortment at court, we poor citizens can't afford to lay in
stock! No offence, I hope!

MRS. MILLER. For Heaven's sake, man, hold your tongue! would you ruin
both wife and child?

FERDINAND (to his father). You play but a sorry part here, my lord, and
might well have dispensed with these witnesses.

MILLER (coming nearer, with increasing confidence). To be plain and
above board--No offence, I hope--your excellency may have it all your own
way in the Cabinet--but this is my house. I'm your most obedient, very
humble servant when I wait upon you with a petition, but the rude,
unmannerly intruder I have the right to bundle out--no offence, I hope!

PRESIDENT (pale with anger, and approaching MILLER). What? What's that
you dare to utter?

MILLER (retreating a few steps). Only a little bit of my mind sir--no
offence, I hope!

PRESIDENT (furiously). Insolent villain! Your impertinence shall
procure you a lodging in prison. (To his servants). Call in the
officers of justice! Away! (Some of the attendants go out. The
PRESIDENT paces the stage with a furious air.) The father shall to
prison; the mother and her strumpet daughter to the pillory! Justice
shall lend her sword to my rage! For this insult will I have ample
amends. Shall such contemptible creatures thwart my plans, and set
father and son against each other with impunity? Tremble, miscreants! I
will glut my hate in your destruction--the whole brood of you--father,
mother, and daughter shall be sacrificed to my vengeance!

FERDINAND (to MILLER, in a collected and firm manner). Oh! not so! Fear
not, friends! I am your protector. (Turning to the PRESIDENT, with
deference). Be not so rash, father! For your own sake let me beg of you
no violence. There is a corner of my heart where the name of father has
never yet been heard. Oh! press not into that!

PRESIDENT. Silence, unworthy boy! Rouse not my anger to greater fury!

MILLER (recovering from a stupor). Wife, look you to your daughter! I
fly to the duke. His highness' tailor--God be praised for reminding me
of it at this moment--learns the flute of me--I cannot fail of success.
(Is hastening off.)

PRESIDENT. To the duke, will you? Have you forgotten that I am the
threshold over which you must pass, or failing, perish? To the duke, you
fool? Try to reach him with your lamen