SABALLIDIN: 
  I know not.  Can a kingdom live without a people or an army?  If we
  let the Bull in to sup on the lentils, will he not make his breakfast
  in our vineyards?

[Enter other courtiers, following SHUMAKIM, a crooked little jester, in blue, green and red, a wreath of poppies around his neck and a flagon in his hand.  He walks unsteadily, and stutters in his speech.]

HAZAEL: 
  Here is Shumakim, the King’s fool, with his legs full of last night’s
  wine.

SHUMAKIM:  [Balancing himself in front of them and chuckling.]
  Wrong, my lords, very wrong!  This is not last night’s wine, but a
  draught the King’s physician gave me this morning for a cure.  It
  sobers me amazingly!  I know you all, my lords:  any fool would know
  you.  You, master, are a statesman; and you are a politician; and
  you are a patriot.

RAKHAZ: 
  Am I a statesman?  I felt something of the kind about me.  But what
  is a statesman?

SHUMAKIM: 
  A politician that is stuffed with big words; a fat man in a mask;
  one that plays a solemn tune on a sackbut full o’ wind.

HAZAEL: 
  And what is a politician?

SHUMAKIM: 
  A statesman that has dropped his mask and cracked his sackbut.  Men
  trust him for what he is, and he never deceives them, because he
  always lies.

IZDUBHAR: 
  Why do you call me a patriot?

SHUMAKIM: 
  Because you know what is good for you; you love your country as you
  love your pelf.  You feel for the common people,—­as the wolf feels
  for the sheep.

SABALLIDIN: 
  And what am I?

SHUMAKIM: 
  A fool, master, just a plain fool; and there is hope of thee for that
  reason.  Embrace me, brother, and taste this; but not too much,—­it
  will intoxicate thee with sobriety.

[The hall has been slowly filling with courtiers and soldiers:  a crowd of people begin to come up the steps at the rear, where they are halted by a chain guarded by servants of the palace.  A bell tolls; the royal door is thrown open; the aged King crosses the hall slowly and takes his seat on the throne with the four tall sentinels standing behind him.  All bow down shading their eyes with their hands.]

BENHADAD: 
  The hour of royal audience is come. 
  I’ll hear the envoys of my brother king,
  The Son of Asshur.  Are my counsellors
  At hand?  Where are the priests of Rimmon’s House?

[Gongs sound.  REZON comes in from the rear, followed by a procession of priests in black and yellow.  The courtiers bow; the King rises; REZON takes his stand on the steps of the throne at the left of the King.]

BENHADAD;
  Where is my faithful servant Naaman,
  The captain of my host?

[Trumpets sound from the city.  The crowd on the steps divide; the chain is lowered; NAAMAN enters, followed by six soldiers.  He is dressed in chain-mail, with a silver helmet and a cloak of blue.  He uncovers, and kneels on the steps of the throne at the King’s right.]