NAAMAN: 
  My lord the King,
  The bearer of thy sword is here.

BENHADAD:  [Giving NAAMAN his hand, and sitting down.]
        Welcome,
  My strong right arm that never failed me yet! 
  I am in doubt,—­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;
  Our host is weakened, and our old allies
  Have left us.  Can we face this raging Bull
  Alone, and beat him back?  Give me your counsel.