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   (Exeunt all but Scaphio and Phantis.  Phantis is pensive.)

Scaphio:  Phantis, you are not in your customary exuberant spirits. 
          What is wrong?

Phantis:  Scaphio, I think you once told me that you have never loved?

Scaphio:  Never!  I have often marvelled at the fairy influence which
          weaves its rosy web about the faculties of the greatest and
          wisest of our race; but I thank Heaven I have never been
          subjected to its singular fascination.  For, oh, Phantis!
          there is that within me that tells me that when my time does
          come, the convulsion will be tremendous!  When I love, it
          will be with the accumulated fervor of sixty-six years!  But
          I have an ideal--a semi-transparent Being, filled with an
          inorganic pink jelly--and I have never yet seen the woman
          who approaches within measurable distance of it.  All are

Phantis:  Keep that ideal firmly before you, and love not until you
          find her.  Though but fifty-five, I am an old campaigner in
          the battle-fields of Love; and, believe me, it is better to
          be as you are, heart-free and happy, than as I am--eternally
          racked with doubting agonies!  Scaphio, the Princess Zara
          returns from England today!

Scaphio:  My poor boy, I see it all.

Phantis:  Oh! Scaphio, she is so beautiful.  Ah! you smile, for you
          have never seen her.  She sailed for England three months
          before you took office.

Scaphio:  Now tell me, is your affection requited?

Phantis:  I do not know--I am not sure.  Sometimes I think it is, and
          then come these torturing doubts!  I feel sure that she does
          not regard me with absolute indifference, for she could
          never look at me without having to go to bed with a sick

Scaphio:  That is surely something.  Come, take heart, boy!  you are
          young and beautiful.  What more could maiden want?

Phantis:  Ah! Scaphio, remember she returns from a land where every
          youth is as a young Greek god, and where such beauty as I
          can boast is seen at every turn.

Scaphio:  Be of good cheer!  Marry her, boy, if so your fancy wills,
          and be sure that love will come.

Phantis:  (overjoyed)  Then you will assist me in this?

Scaphio:  Why, surely!  Silly one, what have you to fear?  We have but
          to say the word, and her father must consent.  Is he not our
          very slave?  Come, take heart.  I cannot bear to see you

Phantis:  Now I may hope, indeed!  Scaphio, you have placed me on the
          very pinnacle of human joy!

                     DUET -- Scaphio and Phantis.

Scaphio:  Let all your doubts take wing--
               Our influence is great.
          If Paramount our King
               Presume to hesitate
                    Put on the screw,
                         And caution him
                    That he will rue
                         Disaster grim
                    That must ensue
                         To life and limb,
                    Should he pooh-pooh
                         This harmless whim.

Both:     This harmless whim--this harmless whim,
          It is as I/you say, a harmless whim.

Phantis: (dancing)  Observe this dance
                         Which I employ
                    When I, by chance
                         Go mad with joy.
                    What sentiment
                         Does this express?

(Phantis continues his dance while Scaphio vainly endeavors to discover
     its meaning)

                    Supreme content
                         And happiness!

Both:     Of course it does! Of course it does!
          Supreme content and happiness.

Phantis:  Your friendly aid conferred,
               I need no longer pine.
          I've but to speak the word,
               And lo, the maid is mine!
                    I do not choose
                         To be denied.
                    Or wish to lose
                         A lovely bride--
                    If to refuse
                         The King decide,
                    The royal shoes
                         Then woe betide!

Both:     Then woe betide--then woe betide!
          The Royal shoes then woe betide!

Scaphio: (Dancing)  This step to use
                         I condescend
                    Whene'er I choose
                         To serve a friend.
                    What it implies
                         Now try to guess;

(Scaphio continues his dance while Phantis is vainly endeavouring to
     discover its meaning)

                    It typifies

Both: (Dancing)     Of course it does! Of course it does!
                         It typifies unselfishness.

                                         (Exeunt Scaphio and Phantis.)

March.  Enter King Paramount, attended by guards and nobles, and preced-
     ed by girls dancing before him.


               Quaff the nectar--cull the roses--
                    Gather fruit and flowers in plenty!
               For our king no longer poses--
                    Sing the songs of far niente!
               Wake the lute that sets us lilting,
                    Dance a welcome to each comer;
               Day by day our year is wilting--
                    Sing the sunny songs of summer!
                                             La, la, la, la!

                             SOLO -- King.

          A King of autocratic power we--
               A despot whose tyrannic will is law--
          Whose rule is paramount o'er land and sea,
               A presence of unutterable awe!
          But though the awe that I inspire
          Must shrivel with imperial fire
               All foes whom it may chance to touch,
          To judge by what I see and hear,
          It does not seem to interfere
               With popular enjoyment, much.

Chorus:        No, no--it does not interfere
                    With our enjoyment much.

          Stupendous when we rouse ourselves to strike,
               Resistless when our tyrant thunder peals,
          We often wonder what obstruction's like,
               And how a contradicted monarch feels.
          But as it is our Royal whim
          Our Royal sails to set and trim
               To suit whatever wind may blow--
          What buffets contradiction deals
          And how a thwarted monarch feels
               We probably will never know.

Chorus:        No, no--what thwarted monarch feels,
                    You'll never, never know.

                      RECITATIVE -- King.

          My subjects all, it is your with emphatic
          That all Utopia shall henceforth be modelled
          Upon that glorious country called Great Britain--
          To which some add--but others do not--Ireland.

Chorus:   It is!

King:     That being so, as you insist upon it,
          We have arranged that our two younger daughters
          Who have been "finished" by an English Lady--
(tenderly)      A grave and good and gracious English Lady--
          Shall daily be exhibited in public,
          That all may learn what, from the English standpoint,
          Is looked upon as maidenly perfection!
          Come hither, daughters!

(Enter Nekaya and Kalyba. They are twins, about fifteen years old; they
     are very modest and demure in their appearance, dress and manner.
     They stand with their hands folded and their eyes cast down.)


          How fair! how modest! how discreet!
               How bashfully demure!
                    See how they blush, as they've been taught,
                    At this publicity unsought!
               How English and how pure!

                   DUET -- Nekaya and Kalyba.

Both:     Although of native maids the cream,
          We're brought up on the English scheme--
               The best of all
               For great and small
                    Who modesty adore.

Nek:      For English girls are good as gold,
          Extremely modest (so we're told)
          Demurely coy--divinely cold--
               And that we are--and more.

Kal:      To please papa, who argues thus--
          All girls should mould themselves on us
               Because we are
               By furlongs far
                    The best of the bunch,
          We show ourselves to loud applause
          From ten to four without a pause--

Nek:      Which is an awkward time because
               It cuts into our lunch.

Both:          Oh maids of high and low degree,
               Whose social code is rather free,
               Please look at us and you will see
               What good young ladies ought to be!

Nek:      And as we stand, like clockwork toys,
          A lecturer whom papa employs
               Proceeds to prussia
               Our modest ways
                    And guileless character--

Kal:      Our well-known blush--our downcast eyes--
          Our famous look of mild surprise.

Nek:      (Which competition still defies)--
                    Our celebrated "Sir!!!"

Kal:      Then all the crowd take down our looks
          In pocket memorandum books.
               To diagnose
               Our modest pose
                    The Kodaks do their best:

Nek:      If evidence you would possess
          Of what is maiden bashfulness
          You need only a button press--

Kal:                And we will do the rest.

Enter Lady Sophy -- an English lady of mature years and extreme gravity
     of demeanour and dress.  She carries a lecturer's wand in her
     hand.  She is led on by the King, who expresses great regard and
     admiration for her.