Nonfiction > Lionel Strachey, et al., eds. > The World’s Wit and Humor > British
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The World’s Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes.  1906.
Vols. VI–IX: British
 
A Tragical Tragedy’s Ending
By Henry Carey (1687?–1743)
 
From “Chrononhotonthologos”

KING CHRONONHOTONTHOLOGOS, GENERAL BOMBARDINION, COOK, TWO LADIES.

Bomb.  This honour, royal sir, so royalizes
The royalty of your most royal actions,
The dumb can only utter forth your praise,
For we, who speak, want words to tell our meaning.
Here, fill the goblet with Falernian wine,        5
And, while our monarch drinks, bid the shrill trumpet
Tell all the gods that we propine their healths.
  King.  Hold, Bombardinion! I esteem it fit,
With so much wine, to eat a little bit.
  Bomb.  See that the table instantly be spread        10
With all that art and nature can produce;
Traverse from pole to pole; sail round the globe,
Bring every eatable that can be eat.
The king shall eat, tho’ all mankind be starv’d.
  Cook.  I am afraid his Majesty will be starv’d before I can run round the world for a dinner. Besides, where’s the money?        15
  King.  Ha, dost thou prattle, contumacious slave?
Guards, seize the villain! Broil him, fry him, stew him!
Ourselves shall eat him out of mere revenge.
  Cook.  Oh, pray, your Majesty, spare my life! There’s some nice cold pork in the pantry. I’ll hash it for your Majesty in a minute.
  King.  Be thou first hash’d in hell, audacious slave!  (Kills him, and turns to BOMBARDINION.)        20
Hash’d pork! Shall Chrononhotonthologos
Be fed with swine’s-flesh, and at second-hand?
Now, by the gods, thou dost insult us, General!
  Bomb.  The gods can witness that I little thought
Your Majesty to other flesh than this        25
Had aught the least propensity.  (Points to the LADIES.)
  King.  Is this a dinner for a hungry monarch?
  Bomb.  Monarchs as great Chrononhotonthologos
Have made a very hearty meal of worse.
  King.  Ha, traitor! Dost thou brave me to my teeth?        30
Take this reward, and learn to mock thy master.  (Strikes him.)
  Bomb.  A blow! Shall Bombardinion take a blow?
Blush, blush, thou sun! Start back, thou rapid ocean!
Hills, vales, seas, mountains, all commixing, crumble,
And into chaos pulverize the world;        35
For Bombardinion has received a blow,
And Chrononhotonthologos shall die.  (Draws, while the LADIES run off, crying, “Help! Murder!”)
  King.  What means the traitor?
  Bomb.                    Traitor in thy teeth,
Thus I defy thee!  (They fight; he kills the King.)
                Ha! What have I done?
Go, call a coach, and let a coach be call’d;        40
And let the man that calls it be the caller;
And, in his calling, let him nothing call,
But “Coach, coach, coach!” Oh, for a coach, ye gods!  (Exit, raving.)
(Returns with DOCTOR.)
  Bomb.  How fares your Majesty?
  Doct.                    My lord, he’s dead.
  Bomb.  Ha! Dead? Impossible! It cannot be!        45
I’d not believe it, tho’ himself should swear it.
Go, join his body to his soul again,
Or, by this light, thy soul shall quit thy body!
  Doct.  My lord, he’s far beyond the power of physic;
His soul has left his body and this world.        50
  Bomb.  Then go to t’other world and fetch it back,  (Kills him.)
And if I find thou triflest with me there,
I’ll chase thy shade through myriads of orbs,
And drive thee far beyond the verge of Nature.
Ha!—Call’st thou, Chrononhotonthologos?        55
I come! your faithful Bombardinion comes!
He comes in worlds unknown to make new wars,
And gain thee empires num’rous as the stars.  (Kills himself.)
 
Enter LORDS ALDIBORONTIPHOSCOPHORNIO and RIGDUM-FUNNIDOS, the LADY TATLANTHE, and QUEEN FADLADINIDA.

  Aldi.  Oh, horrid, horrible, and horrid’st horror!
Our king, our general, our cook, our doctor!        60
All dead—stone dead! Irrevocably dead!
O—h!  (All groan—a tragedy groan.)
  Queen.    My husband dead! Ye gods, what is’t you mean,
To make a widow of a virgin Queen?
For, to my great misfortune, he, poor King,
Has left me so. Ain’t that a wretched thing?        65
  Tat.  Why, then, dear madam, make no further pother;
Were I your Majesty, I’d try another.
  Queen.  I think ’tis best to follow thy advice.
  Tat.  I’ll fit you with a husband in a trice:
Here’s Rigdum-Funnidos, a proper man;        70
If any one can please a queen, he can.
  Rig.-Fun.  Aye, that I can, and please your Majesty.
So, ceremonies apart, let’s proceed to business.
  Queen.  Oh, but the mourning takes up all my care!
I’m at a loss what kind of weeds to wear.        75
  Rig.-Fun.  Never talk of mourning, madam;
One ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow.
Take me at once, and let us wed to-morrow.  (To ALDI, aside.)
I’ll make thee a great man, my little Phoscophorny.
  Aldi.  I scorn your bounty; I’ll be King, or nothing.        80
Draw, miscreant—draw!
  Rig.-Fun.            No, sir, I’ll take the law.  (Runs behind the Queen.)
  Queen.  Well, gentlemen, to make the matter easy,
I’ll have you both, and that, I hope, will please ye.
And now, Tatlanthe, though art all my care;
Where shall I find thee such another pair?        85
Pity that you, who’ve served so long, so well,
Should die a virgin, and lead apes in hell.
Choose for yourself, dear girl, our empire round;
Your portion is twelve hundred thousand pound.
  Aldi.  Here, take these corpses of the dead away!        90
Make preparation for our wedding-day.
Instead of sad solemnity, and black,
Our hearts shall swim in claret, and in sack.
 
 
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