On age-worn brains; tho' skies and seas may smile,
And steadfast favouring Fortune sit serene,
Guiding the helm of State, but well thou knowest--
None better in my realm--through what wild waves,
Quicksands, and rock-fanged straits, our Bosphorus,
Laden with all our love, reels madly on
To shipwreck and to ruin. From the North,
Storm-cloud on storm-cloud issuing vollies forth
Fresh thunderbolts of war. The Emperor
Dallies within his closed seraglios,
Letting his eunuchs waste the might of Rome,
While the fierce Scythian, in a surge of blood,
Bursts on our bare-swept plains. Upon the South,
Our rival Cherson, with a jealous eye,
Waits on our adverse chances, taking joy
Of her republican guile in every check
And buffet envious Fortune deals our State,
Which doth obey a King. Of all our foes
I hate and dread these chiefly, for I fear
Lest, when my crown falls from my palsied brow,
My son Asander's youth may prove too weak
To curb these crafty burghers. Speak, I pray thee,
Most trusty servant. Can thy loyal brain
Devise some scheme whereby our dear-loved realm
May break the mesh of Fate?

_Lys._ Indeed, my liege,
Too well I know our need, and long have tossed
Through sleepless nights, if haply I might find
Some remedy, but that which I have found
Shows worse than the disease.

_King._ Nay, speak; what is it?
I know how wise thy thought.

_Lys._ My liege, it chances
The Archon Lamachus is old and spent.
He has an only child, a daughter, Gycia,
The treasure of his age, who now blooms forth
In early maidenhood. The girl is fair
As is a morn in springtide; and her father
A king in all but name, such reverence
His citizens accord him. Were it not well
The Prince Asander should contract himself
In marriage to this girl, and take the strength
Of Cherson for her dowry, and the power
Of their strong fleets and practised arms to thrust
The invading savage backward?

_King._ Nay, my lord;
No more of this, I pray. There is no tribe
Of all the blighting locust swarms of war,
Which sweep our wasted fields, I would not rather
Take to my heart and cherish than these vipers.
Dost thou forget, my lord, how of old time,
In the brave days of good Sauromatus,
These venomous townsmen, shamelessly allied
With the barbarian hosts, bro