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 totters across the hall 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. Are my counsellors
At hand? Where are the priests of Rimmon's house?