JEHU.
Lord, all true hearts commiserate your grief.

AHAB.
Thank you, good Jehu. [_Exit AHAB._ 

ZAKKUR.
Well, he took the story.

JEHU.
Yes, as I knew he would. The score’s one each.
He has won Naboth, I have Ahaziah.

PROPHET.
Was not the story true?

JEHU.
The Prince is dead,
So much is true; and in an hour from now
We can be marching hence with Ahab’s self,
If all your prophets will but prophesy.
I want him killed in war, outside the city.
Go, bid the prophets prophesy for war. [_Exit PROPHET, with ZAKKUR._ 

JEHU.
So, Ahaziah, you were rude to me.
Princes should not be rude to rising men,
For men may rise. You will be rude no more.
I have been rude to you, my Ahaziah.
I kicked the lips that once were rude to me.
My foot is on your heart’s blood, Ahaziah.

CURTAIN.

FIFTH CHORUS

MOON-BLOSSOM.
Full of years and wealth and evil, Menelaus died in Sparta,
And Queen Helen at his bedside stood and looked upon him dead,

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