Clown. What pretext do you need? Aren't you the king?
King. What of that?
Clown. Collect the taxes on the hermits' rice.
King. Fool! It is a very different tax which these hermits pay—one that outweighs heaps of gems.
The wealth we take from common men,
Wastes while we cherish;
These share with us such holiness
As ne'er can perish.
Voices behind the scenes. Ah, we have found him.
King (Listening). The voices are grave and tranquil. These must be hermits. (Enter the door-keeper.)
Door-keeper. Victory, O King. There are two hermit-youths at the gate.
King. Bid them enter at once.
Door-keeper. Yes, your Majesty. (He goes out, then returns with the youths.) Follow me.