PAPA UBU. Now, by my green candle, here am I, king in this country. I’ve already given myself indigestion and someone is fetching my big cape.

MAMA UBU. What’s it made of, Papa Ubu? Being king is all very well, but we have to economize.

PAPA UBU. Madam my female, the cape is made of sheep-skin with a clasp and bridles made of dog-skin.

MAMA UBU. Why, that’s beautiful. But it’s even more beautiful to be royal.

PAPA UBU. Yes, you are right, Mama Ubu.

MAMA UBU. We owe a great deal to the Duke of Lithuania.

PAPA UBU. To who?

AMA UBU. Hey! Captain Bordure.

PAPA UBU. Do me a favour, Mama Ubu: don’t speak to me of that buffoon. Now that I don’t need him any more, he can kiss my arse. He’s not getting that duchy.

MAMA UBU. You’re making a mistake, Papa Ubu. He’ll turn against you.

PAPA