here are some of their precious citizens at last.

_Enter_ Citizens _hurriedly._

_1st Citizen._ I pray you, forgive us, gentlemen. We thought the
Prince would take the land at the other quay, and had prepared our
welcome accordingly.

_Meg._ Who are these men?

_1st Court._ They are honourable citizens of Cherson.

_Meg._ Citizens! They will not do for me. The Count of the Palace
should be here with the Grand Chamberlain to meet my Master.

_1st Cit._ Your Master? Oh! then you are a serving man, as it would
seem. Well, my good man, when comes your Master?

_Meg._ Oh, the impertinent scoundrel! Do you know, sir, who I am?

_1st Cit._ Probably the Prince's attendant, his lackey, or possibly
his steward. I neither know nor care.

_Meg._ Oh, you barbarian! Where is the Count of the Palace, I say?

_1st Cit._ Now, citizen, cease this nonsense. We have not, thank
Heaven, any such foolish effeminate functionary.

_Meg._ No Count of the Palace? Heavens! what a crew! Well, if there
is none, where are your leading nobles? where the Respectable and
Illustrious? You are certainly not Illustrious nor Respectable; you
probably are not even Honourable, or if you are you don't look it.

_1st Cit._ What, you wretched popinjay of a serving man! You dare
address a Greek citizen in that way? Take that, and that! [_Beats
him._

_1st Court._ Draw, gentlemen! These are ruffians!

[_They fight._

_Enter_ ASANDER.

_Asan._ Put up your swords, gentlemen. Why, fellows, what is this? Is
this your hospitality to your guests?

_1st Cit._ Nay, sir; but this servant of yours has been most
insolent, and has abused and insulted our State and its manners. He
told us that we were not men of honour; and some of us, sir, are
young, and have hot blood, and, as Greek citizens of Cherson, will
not bear insults.

_Asan._ Insolent upstarts, you are not worthy of our swords! Come, my
Lord Megacles, heed them not. Here is their master.

_Enter_ LAMACHUS _and_ Senators.

_Lama._ We bid you heartfelt welcome, Prince, to Cherson.
That we have seemed to fail to do you honour
Comes of the spite of fortune. For your highness,
Taking the land at the entrance of the port,
Missed what of scanty pomp our homely manners
Would fain have offered; but we pray you think
'Twas an untoward accident, no more.
Welcome to Cherson, Prince!

_Asan._ Methinks, my lord,
Scarce in the meanest State is it the cust