[Enter two Prophets and a Boy attending them. All bow deeply to the King. The two Spies steal in again and stand at back.
KING
Some beggar has written a rhyme on the iron gate, and as the ways of rhyme are known to you I desired you, rather as poets than as prophets, to say whether there was any meaning in it.
CHAMBERLAIN
'Tis but an idle rhyme.
FIRST PROPHET (bows again and goes up to door. He glances at the writing)
Come hither, servant of those that serve the stars.
[Attendant approaches.
FIRST PROPHET
Bring hither our golden cloaks, for this may be a matter for rejoicing; and bring our green cloaks also, for this may tell of young new beautiful things with which the stars will one day gladden the King; and bring our black cloaks also, for it may be a doom. (Exit the Boy; the Prophet goes up to the door and reads solemnly) The stars have spoken.