How blest to be a prophet, who forever
Does but condemn another man’s endeavour.
How blest, not to decide, nor be, nor do,
But help the many to condemn the few.
Enter Joram.
Joram, my son, do you come to comfort your mother?
Joram.
No, mother, I do not. I come to look for my father.
Jezebel.
If you are looking for the King, this is the King.
Joram.
What is this body, Madam? The prophet? Is he dead?
Jezebel.