Your tentes of white now pitch'd before the gates

And gentle flags of amitie displaid.

I doubt not but the Governour will yeeld,

Offering Damascus to your Majesty.

But if his highnesse would let them be fed, it would doe them more good.

He stamps it under his feet my Lord.

Doost thou think that Mahomet wil suffer this?

Me thinks, tis a great deale better than a consort of musicke.

So it would my lord, specially having so smal a walke, and so litle exercise.

I (my Lord) but none save kinges must feede with these.

And since your highnesse hath so well vouchsaft,

If we deserve them not with higher meeds

Then erst our states and actions have retain'd,

Take them away againe and make us slaves.