bt,--but stay thou close to me
While I decide this cause. Where are the envoys?
Let them appear and give their message.

[_Enter the Assyrian envoys; one in white and the other in red; both
with the golden Bull's head embroidered oh their robes. They come from
the right, rear, bow slightly before the throne, and take the centre of
the hall._]

WHITE ENVOY: [_Stepping forward._]
Greeting from Shalmaneser, Asshur's son,
The king who reigns at Nineveh
And takes his tribute from a thousand cities,
Unto Benhadad, monarch in Damascus!
The conquering Bull has come out of the north;
The south has fallen before him, and the west
His feet have trodden; Hamath is laid waste;
He pauses at your gate, invincible,--
To offer peace. The princes of your court,
The priests of Rimmon's house, and you, the King,
If you pay homage to your overlord,
Shall rest secure, and flourish as our friends.
Assyria sends to you this gilded yoke;
Receive it as the sign of proffered peace.

[_He lays a yoke on the steps of the throne._]

BENHADAD:
What of the city? Said your king no word
Of our Damascus, and the many folk
That do inhabit her and make her great?
What of the soldiers who have fought for us?
The people who have sheltered 'neath our shield?

WHITE ENVOY:
Of these my royal master did not speak.

BENHADAD:
Strange silence! Must we give them up to him?
Is this the price at which he offers us
The yoke of peace? What if we do refuse?

RED ENYOY: [_Stepping forward._]
Then ruthless war! War to the uttermost.
No quarter, no compassion, no escape!
The Bull will gore and trample in his fury
Nobles and priests and king,--none shall be spared!
Before the throne we lay our second gift;
This bloody horn, the symbol of red war.

[_He lays a long bull's horn, stained with blood on the steps of the
throne._]

WHITE ENVOY:
Our message is delivered. Grant us leave
And safe conveyance, that we may return
Unto our master. He will wait three days
To know your royal choice between his gifts.
Keep which you will and send the other back;
The red bull's horn your youngest page may bring;
But with the yoke, best send your mightiest army!

[_The ENVOYS retire, amid confused murmurs of the people, the King
silent, his head sunken on his breast._]

BENHADAD:
Proud words, a bitter message, hard to endure!
We are not now that force which feared no foe;