PEHR. Be good enough to entertain me!

SINGER. [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!