G. KING. What mean these looks, you’re very grave, I see. Well, let’s to business. What are all these matters? We want some coin, our robes are torn to tatters.
Let’s hear the worst. Produce your budget, quick! Bring lights! Pray what’s the price of candles, _stick_?
(_ROOSTER aside._) There’s not a candle left. (_aloud_) It’s nearly morning. (_aside_) What shall I say. (_aloud_) Sir, see the day is dawning.
ROOS. I’ve eighteen pence, sir, in my waistcoat pocket. It’s pretty clear we must increase taxation.
G. K. We’ll tax the gnomes of each denomination.
ROOS. They’re taxed already, sir, wholesale and retail.
G. K. Well, that’s a detail. Taxes. Tax every thing and every body, Toffee and tubs, ice cream and whiskey toddy. Tax folks who fish—for compliments or salmon. Lay taxes on their corns for shooting.
ROOS. (_aside_) Gammon. You’re pleased to joke. The situation’s grave.
G. K. And so am I. I’m quite in earnest, slave. Then, tax the air they breathe, the _airs_ they hear, And tax their wives, it’s right _they_ should be _dear_. Tax all pet oysters, sprats and whales they’re keeping. Tax ’em for eating, drinking, also sleeping. Tax them besides for laughing, singing, crying. And lay a heavy tax on folks for _dye_ing. Put taxes on the nation’s food and fuel, From turtle soup, to grits for babies’ gruel. Stay, here I have it! why, of course, you gabies You’d make a fortune by a tax on babies.
GENERAL BOUNCE. (_hesitatingly_) Can’t we economise, that’s my suggestion, What’s Toby and what’s not Toby’s the question?
G. K. Well, how’s the army? can we cut it down? Make sixpence go as far as half a crown?
G. BOUNCE. One General, (_points to self_,) and one Captain of the forces.
An inefficient staff, sir, that of course is; Of cavalry we’ve none.
(_Enter NOODLE, as full private, toy gun, bayonet fixed._)
But he’s a big one. Pray don’t mention halving; I grieve to say it, but the army’s—
G. K. Here’s insurrection! mutiny! revolt! I’m not afraid, but p’raps I’d better bolt.
(_ROOSTER, GENERAL and CAPTAIN run off, R._)
G. K. Here officers, on your allegiance stay, Protect your monarch now, don’t run away!
NOODLE. (_C. leaning on gun._) I must confess. I think it’s rather hard. For sixteen weeks I’ve been here, mounting guard. I’ve eaten nothing but a rind of cheese, And that wont help a man to “stand at ease.” I never get to mess, but into _messes_, The General’s joint is when the l_o_in_e_ he dresses. That’s not the worst; it’s more than I can bear, To hear the little beggar cry “form square!” One into four, won’t go. He says it will. Nothing goes into _me_ I know, but _drill_. From morn till night he has me on my legs, He’ll wear them off “as sure as eggs are eggs.” He talks of “_wings_,” as if I were a bird. “By your left wheel!” he cries. The thing’s absurd. I’d like to know why should I _buy_ a _wheel_! If I had any cash I’d buy a meal. I’ll strike. Along the shore, I’ll take a stroll, Perhaps the waves will give a nice fresh roll. A witch foretold that here I’d meet my brother. Alas, I fear we should not know each other. I’ll put a board up, that will do to tell.