(Shuts eyes.)

Nurse:  That’s right!  You’re listening.  Give heed now.  That schemer came a while ago letting on to be the King of Sorcha is no such thing!  What do you say?...Maybe you knew it before?  I wonder the Dall Glic not to have seen that for himself with his one eye....  Maybe you don’t believe it?  Well, I’ll tell it out and prove it.  I have got sure word by running messenger that came cross-cutting over the ridge of the hill....  That carrion that came in a coach, pressing to bring away the Princess before nightfall, giving himself out to be some great one, is no other than Taig the Tailor, that should be called Taig the Twister, down from his mother’s house from Oughtmana, that stole grand clothes which were left in the mother’s charge, he being out at the time cutting cloth and shaping lies, and has himself dressed out in them the way you’d take him to be King! (King has slumbered peacefully all through.) Now, what do you say?  Now, will you open the door?

Queen:  (Outside.) What call have you to shouting and disturbing the King?

Nurse:  I have good right and good reason to disturb him!

Queen:  Go away and let me open the door.

Nurse:  I will go and welcome now; I have told out my whole story to the King.

Queen:  (Shaking door.) Open the door, my dear!  It is I myself that is here! (King looks up, listens, shakes his head and sinks back.) Are you there at all, or what is it ails you?

Nurse:  He is there, and is after conversing with myself.

Queen:  (Shaking again.) Let me in, my dear King!  Open!  Open!  Open! unless that the falling sickness is come upon you, or that you are maybe lying dead upon the floor!

Nurse:  Not a dead in the world.

Queen:  Go, Nurse, I tell you, bring the smith from the anvil till he will break asunder the lock of the door!

(King annoyed, waddles to door and opens it suddenly.  Queen stumbles in.)

King:  What at all has taken place that you come bawling and calling and disturbing my rest?

Queen:  Oh!  Are you sound and well?  I was in dread there did something come upon you, when you gave no answer at all.

King:  Am I bound to answer every call and clamour the same as a hall-porter at the door?

Queen:  It is business that cannot wait.  Here now is a request I have written to the bully of the King of Alban, bidding him to strike the head off whatever man will put the letter in his hand.  Write your name and sign to it, in three royal words.

King:  I wouldn’t sign a letter out of my right hour if it was to make the rivers run gold.  There is nothing comes of signing letters but more trouble in the end.

Queen:  Give me, so, to bind it a drop of your own blood as a token and a seal.  You will not refuse, and I telling you the messenger will go with it, and that will lose his head through it, is no less than that troublesome cook!