GER. [With lute, sings.]

Then say farewell to Horaire, the march is already broken.
O army, hast thou the strength to say a farewell!

PEHR. Where's the rhyme?

POET LAUREATE. There are no rhymes in this kind of poetry.

PEHR. That's bad! Continue--

AMEER. [Aside to historian.] He's not long for this place.

SINGER. Your Highness must pardon me, but I am indisposed to-day.

PEHR. Chamberlain, is there not something in the constitution called
bastinado?

[Panic.]

CHAMBERLAIN. Assuredly--but--

PEHR. [To singer.] Continue, then!

SINGER. [Sings.] Marble brow, flowing hair, sparkling rows of teeth,
She steps as light as the pacer, lest she soil her hoof in the mud.

PEHR. Mud? I don't like dirt in poetry. Go on!

SINGER. Swelling bosom, slender waist, throbbing now anew;
As she gives each fresh embrace, she is like to break in two!

PEHR. Oh--!

SINGER. O happy man with perfume laden
Man of high estate!
Who may in some dreary hour
Hold her in his sweet embrace.

PEHR. That will do! Where's the author? Author!

POET LAUREATE. Your Highness, I have not learned to flatter.

PEHR. Haven't you? That's a poor poet laureate! Then play up your
strophe so we may hear if you lie.

POET LAUREATE. Your Highness--surely I can never question--

PEHR. Don't talk--just reel off!

POET LAUREATE.

The soul hath lost itself since love's flame it hath grasped,
Nor doth it awaken to reason, under the witchcraft of eyes.
But my love for hinds I leave--

PEHR. Pardon--what did you say?

POET LAUREATE. [Irritated.]

My love for hinds I leave and cherish a noble prince,
Generous and well born--nor tainted by low base deeds;
The prince who hath vanquished his foemen. Whatever the cost might be,
Strong in the Faith is he! Heresy's dreaded scourge!

PEHR. [Springs to his feet.] Do you mean it seriously or are you joking?

POET LAUREATE. I mean it seriously, Your Highness. How should anything
else be--

PEHR. Indeed! It is in all seriousness, then, that you praise my low
actions?

POET LAUREATE. Your Highness stands as high above low actions as the sun
above a mud-puddle!

PEHR. I know you and your gang, counterfeiter! You call me, who
foreswore my faith, the Defender of the Faith; you say that I, a
bell-ringer's son, am of royal descent; that I am generous, who refused
to grant the first humble petition presented since my coming to the
throne! I