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Shall give the world to note, for all my birth,
That virtue solely is the sum of glory,
And fashion men with true nobility.

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Act I., Scene 2.

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Tamb. Disdains Zenocrate to live with me?
Or you, my lord, to be my followers ?
Think you I weigh this treasure' more than you ?
Not all the gold in India's wealthy arms
Shall buy the meanest soldier in my train.
Zenocrate, lovelier than the love of Jove,
Brighter than is the silver Rhodope,
Fairer than whitest snow on Scythian hills,
Thy person is more worth to Tamburlaine
Than the possession of the Persian crown,
Which gracious stars have promis'd at my birth.
A hundred Tartars shall attend on thee,
Mounted on steeds swifter than Pegasus ;
Thy garments shall be made of Median silk,
Enchas'd with precious jewels

of mine own,
More rich and valurous than Zenocrate's ;
With milk-white harts upon an ivory sled
Thou shalt be drawn amidst the frozen pools,
And scale the icy mountains' lofty tops,
Which with thy beauty will be soon resolv'd :
My martial prizes, with five hundred men,
Won on the fifty-headed Volga's waves,
Shall we all offer to Zenocrate,
And then myself to fair Zenocrate.





Call. By Cairo runs to Alexandria Bay Darotes' stream, wherein at anchor lies A Turkish galley of my royal fleet, Waiting my coming to the river-side, Hoping by some means I shall be releas'd ; Which, when I come aboard, will hoist up sail, And soon put forth into the Terrene sea, Where, 'twixt the isles of Cyprus and of Crete, We quickly may in Turkish seas arrive. Then shalt thou see a hundred kings and more, Upon their knees, all bid me welcome home. Amongst so many crowns of burnish'd gold, Choose which thou wilt, all are at thy command : A thousand galleys, manned with Christian slaves, I freely give thee, which shall cut the Straits, And bring armadoes, from the coasts of Spain, Fraughted with gold of rich America : The Grecian virgins shall attend on thee, Skilful in music and in amorous lays, As fair as was Pygmalion's ivory girl, Or lovely lö metamorphosèd : With naked negroes shall thy coach be drawn, And, as thou rid'st in triumph through the streets, The pavement underneath thy chariot-wheels With Turkey-carpets shall be covered, And cloth of arras hung about the walls, Fit objects for thy princely eye to pierce : A hundred bassoes, cloth'd in crimson silk, Shall ride before thee on Barbarian steeds ; And, when thou goest, a golden canopy

Enchas'd with precious stones, which shine as bright
As that fair veil that covers all the world,
When Phoebus, leaping from his hemisphere,
Descendeth downward to th' Antipodes-
And more than this, for all I cannot tell.


Act II., SCENE 4.

Tamb. Black is the beauty of the brightest day ; The golden ball of heaven's eternal fire, That danc'd with glory on the silver waves, Now wants the fuel that inflam'd his beams; And all with faintness, and for foul disgrace, He binds his temples with a frowning cloud, Ready to darken earth with endless night. Zenocrate, that gave him light and life, Whose eyes shot fire from their ivory brows, And temper'd every soul with lively heat, Now by the malice of the angry skies, Whose jealousy admits no second mate, Draws in the comfort of her latest breath, All dazzled with the hellish mists of death. Now walk the angels on the walls of heaven, As sentinels to warn th' immortal souls To entertain divine Zenocrate : Apollo, Cynthia, and the ceaseless lamps That gently look'd upon this loathsome earth, Shine downwards now no more, but deck the heavens To entertain divine Zenocrate : The crystal springs, whose taste illuminates Refinèd eyes with an eternal sight,

Like tried silver run through Paradise
To entertain divine Zenocrate :
The cherubins and holy seraphins,
That sing and play before the King of Kings,
Use all their voices and their instruments
To entertain divine Zenocrate;
And, in this sweet and curious harmony,
The god that tunes this music to our souls
Holds out his hand in highest majesty
To entertain divine Zenocrate.
Then let some holy trance convey my thoughts
Up to the palace of th' empyreal heaven,
That this my life may be as short to me
As are the days of sweet Zenocrate. -
Physicians, will no physic do her good ?
First Phys. My lord, your majesty shall soon per-

An if she pass this fit, the worst is past.

Tamb. Tell me, how fares my fair Zenocrate ?

Zeno. I fare, my lord, as other empresses, That, when this frail and transitory flesh Hath suck'd the measure of that vital air That feeds the body with his dated health, Wane with enforc'd and necessary change.

Tamb. May never such a change transform my love, In whose sweet being I repose my life! Whose heavenly presence, beautified with health, Gives light to Phæbus and the fixed stars; Whose absence makes the sun and moon as dark As when, opposed in one diameter, Their spheres are mounted on the serpent's head, Or else descended to his winding train. Live still, my love, and so conserve my life, Or, dying, be the author of my death.

Zeno. Live still, my lord ; oh, let my sovereign

And sooner let the fiery element
Dissolve, and make your kingdom in the sky,
Than this base earth should shroud your majesty ;
For, should I but suspect your death by mine,
The comfort of my future happiness,
And hope to meet your highness in the heavens,
Turn'd to despair, would break iny wretched breast,
And fury would confound my present rest.
But let me die, my love ; yes, let me die ;
With love and patience let your true love die :
Your grief and fury hurts my second life.
Yet let me kiss my lord before I die,
And let me die with kissing of my lord.
But, since my life is lengthened yet a while,
Let me take leave of these my loving sons,
And of my lords, whose true nobility
Have merited my latest memory.
Sweet sons, farewell ! in death resemble me,
And in your lives your father's excellence.
Some music, and my fit will cease, my lord.

Tamb. Proud fury, and intolerable fit,
That dares torment the body of my love,
And scourge the scourge of the inmortal God !
Now are those spheres, where Cupid us’d to sit,
Wounding the world with wonder and with love,
Sadly supplied with pale and ghastly death,
Whose darts do pierce the centre of my soul.
Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heaven ;
And, had she liv'd before the siege of Troy,
Helen, whose beauty summon's Greece to arms,
And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos,
Had not been nam'd in Homer's Iliads-

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