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.