a pity, a great pity, and a great
loss to the world. A big misfortune he to have
got it in his head to take a liking to the girl. I
tell you he was a great lad behind the saucepans!

_Dall Glic_: Since he did get it in his head, it is
what we have to do now, to make an end of
him.

_King_: To gaol him now, and settle up ovens
and spits and all sorts in the cell, wouldn't he,
to shorten the day, be apt to start cooking?

_Dall Glic_: In my belief he will do nothing at
all, but to hold you to the promise you made,
and to force you to send away the King of Sorcha.

_King_: To have the misfortune of a cook for
a son-in-law, and without the good luck of profiting
by what he can do in his trade! That is a hard thing
for a father to put up with, let alone a king!

_Dall Glic_: If you will but listen to the advice
I have to give....

_King_: I know it without you telling me. You
are asking me to make away with the lad! And
who knows but the girl might turn on me after,
women are so queer, and say I had a right to have
asked leave from herself?

_Dall Glic_: There will no one suspect you of
doing it, and you to take my plan. Bid them
heat the big oven outside on the lawn that is for
roasting a bullock in its full bulk.

_King_: Don't be talking of roasted meat! I
think I can eat no more for a twelvemonth!

_Dall Glic_: There will be nothing roasted that
any person will have occasion to eat. When the
oven door will be open, give orders to your bullies
and your foot-soldiers to give a tip to him that
will push him in. When evening comes, news will
go out that he left the meat to burn and made off
on his rambles, and no more about him.

_King_: What way can I send orders when I'm
near crazed in my wits with the want of rest. A
little minute of sleep might soothe and settle my
brain.

_(Lies down.)_

_Dall Glic_: The least little word to give leave
...or a sign ...such as to nod the head.

_King_: I give you my word, my head is tired
nodding! Be off now and close the