Do not you talk of feasting, nor of guards.
The Queen has sent Micaiah with the guards
To fetch poor Naboth here.

ASHOBAL.
Why?

PROPHET.
What to do?

PHARMAS.
I do not know; but not for any good.
“Fetch Naboth here before me,” was the order.
It has gone off by this.

ASHOBAL.
This is the end!

PROPHET.
What can she want with Naboth? Painted hag,
Thus to command a man.

ASHOBAL.
Was the guard ordered to suppress the feast?

PHARMAS.
No, but it is suppressed with Naboth taken.

ASHOBAL.
We shall be taken next, so save yourself.

PROPHET.
I will be gone. You know my hiding-place,
The old one near the wall; send word to me
There, if you have a message.  [_Exit._

MICAIAH.
Way for Her Majesty the Queen, make way! 
[_Enter_ MICAIAH. 
Set forth the chair of audience for the Queen.

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