ints, do not alliances fall through for less? Are
not bloody wars fought for less? Do I not remember the sad plight of
the Grand Chamberlain, when the Illustrious Leo, the Pro-Consul of
Macedonia, had a meeting at Court with the Respectable the
Vice-Prefect of Pannonia? Now, the Pro-Consul should have taken four
steps forward, as being the most noble, the Vice-Prefect five. But,
the Vice-Prefect being a tall man, and the Pro-Consul a short one,
the Grand Chamberlain did not sufficiently measure their distances;
and so when they had taken but four steps each, there were the two
Dignitaries bolt upright, face to face, glaring at each other, and no
room to take the fraction of a foot pace more.

_1st Court._ Faith, a very laughable situation, good Megacles. Was it
hard to settle?

_Meg._ I should think it was hard to settle. No one could interfere;
the Book of Ceremonies was sent for, and was silent. There was
nothing for it but that the Emperor, after half an hour, broke up the
Court in confusion, and those two remained where they were till it
was quite dark, and then they got away, no one knows how. But what
came of it? For fifteen years there was war and bloodshed between the
provinces, and but for the invasion of the Goths, there would be to
this day. Matter little, indeed! Why, you foolish youngster, ceremony
is everything in life. To understand Precedence aright is to know the
secrets of nature. The order of Precedence is the order of Creation.
It is, in fact, a very cosmogony. Oh, a noble science! a noble
science!

_1st Court._ Right, good Megacles, to magnify your office. Bravery is
nothing; goodness is nothing; beauty is a foolish dream. Give us
Ceremony, Ceremony, more Ceremony; it is the salt of life.

_Meg._ A very intelligent youth. But here comes the King.

_Enter the_ KING, ASANDER, _and_ LYSIMACHUS.

_Asan._ My liege, I do your will,
Though with a heavy heart. Farewell, my father.
If I must bid farewell to this dear City,
Which nourished me from childhood, 'tis to save it,
Not otherwise, and thou my sire and King.
From thee I do not part, and oftentimes,
If the saints will, I yet shall welcome thee,
When all our foes are routed and our troubles
Fled like some passing storm-cloud, to my hearth,
And set thy heir upon thy knees, a Prince
Of Bosphorus and Cherson.

_King._ Good, my son.
I pray God keep you, for I dimly fear,
So dark a presage doth obs