_Aldi._ Fatigu'd with the tremendous toils of war, Within his tent, on downy couch succumbent, Himself he unfatigues with gentle slumbers, Lull'd by the cheerful trumpets gladsome clangour, The noise of drums, and thunder of artillery, He sleeps supine amidst the din of war. And yet 'tis not definitively sleep; Rather a kind of doze, a waking slumber, That sheds a stupefaction o'er his senses; For now he nods and snores; anon he starts; Then nods and snores again. If this be sleep, Tell me, ye gods! what mortal man's awake! What says my friend to this? _Rig.-Fun._ Say! I say he sleeps dog-sleep: What a plague would you have me say? _Aldi._ O impious thought! O curst insinuation! As if great Chrononhotonthologos To animals detestable and vile Had aught the least similitude! _Rig._ My dear friend! you entirely misapprehend me: I did not call the king dog by craft; I was only going to tell you that the soldiers have just now receiv'd their pay, and are all as drunk as so many swabbers. _Aldi._ Give orders instantly that no more money Be issued to the troops. Meantime, my friend, Let the baths be filled with seas of coffee, To stupefy their souls into sobriety. _Rig._ I fancy you had better banish the sutlers, and blow the Geneva casks to the devil. _Aldi._ Thou counsel'st well, my Rigdum-Funnidos, And reason seems to father thy advice. But soft!--The king in pensive contemplation Seems to resolve on some important doubt; His soul, too copious for his earthly fabric, Starts forth, spontaneous, in soliloquy, And makes his tongue the midwife of his mind. Let us retire, lest we disturb his solitude. [_They retire._ _Enter_ KING. _King._ This god of sleep is watchful to torment me, And rest is grown a stranger to my eyes: Sport not with Chrononhotonthologos, Thou idle slumb'rer, thou detested Somnus: For if thou dost, by all the waking pow'rs, I'll tear thine eyeballs from their leaden sockets, And force thee to outstare eternity. [_Exit in a huff._ _Re-enter_ RIGDUM _and_ ALDIBORONTI. _Rig._ The king is in a most vile passion! Pray who is this Mr. Somnus he's so angry withal? _Aldi._ The son of Chaos and of Erebus. Incestuous pair! brother of Mors relentless, Whose speckled robe, and wings of blackest hue, Astonish all mankind with hideous glare; Himself with sable plumes, to men benevolent, Brings downy slumbers and refreshing sleep. _Rig-Fun._ This gentleman may come of a very good family, for aught I know; but I would not be in his place for the world.