PRINCE DOODLE. Alas, sweet maid! I am an orphan! (_sighs_) Ah! With ne’er a _parent_, we’re a _pair rent_, too. MONA. You have my sympathy, what can I do! (_Aside, holding hand to heart._) Dear me! That queer sensation’s come again! PRINCE DOODLE. Your sympathy, _see, mends_ an orphan’s _pain_, My _loving, lass_! MONA. Your _glass_, I’d mend, Prince, but I Regret I’ve neither got _cements_ nor putty. PRINCE DOODLE. Say, could you learn to love? MONA. (_Innocently._) You’ll teach me your way? PRINCE DOODLE. It’s plain! No doubt it’s much the same in Norway. (_He puts arm round her waist and is going to kiss her, when he looks off L._) See! yonder comes a _N’orse-man_ on an _’orse_! MONA. Oh! Let us fly! The Gnome King! PRINCE DOODLE. Fly! Of course. If you’ll fly with me, dear, we’ll never part. MONA. (_Aside._) I’ve just discovered that I’ve got—a heart! (_Exeunt through opening at back R. U. E. Enter L. 2 E. The GNOME KING on a rocking horse, attended by ROOSTER THE AUDACIOUS, GENERAL BOUNCE, and CAPTAIN POUNCE._) GNOME KING. Whoa! Steady, boy! Here take this beast away And stuff his mouldy ribs with ancient hay. (_Exit R.U.E. CAPTAIN POUNCE with horse; he returns front_) The only steed in all our royal stable; We’d keep a dozen were we only able. The times are hard and out of joint ’tis clear. We’re out of _joints_ ourselves—and beer, Ha! ha! (_to ROOSTER._) Why can’t you laugh? Ha! ha! ROOSTER, (_feebly_,) He! he! 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. (_seats himself on rock. R._) 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. (_Stage gradually grows light._) G. KING. Well, how’s the Exchequer? ROOS. Empty. G. KING. Stock it. 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. Tax them some more. ROOS. But how? 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.