Pity, oh pity, sacred emperor,

The prostrate service of this wretched town, And take in sign thereof this gilded wreath; Whereto each man of rule hath given his hand,

And wished, as worthy subjects, happy

means

To be investers of thy royal brows
Even with the true Egyptian diadem!
Tamb. Virgins, in vain you labour to
prevent

That which mine honour swears shall be performed.

Behold my sword! what see you at the point?

1 Virg. Nothing but fear, and fatal steel, my lord.

Tamb. Your fearful minds are thick and misty then ;

For there sits Death; there sits imperious
Death

Keeping his circuit by the slicing edge.
But I am pleased you shall not see him there;
He now is seated on my horsemen's spears,
And on their points his fleshless body feeds.
Techelles, straight go charge a few of them
To charge these dames, and shew my ser-
vant, Death,

Sitting in scarlet on their armed spears.
All. O pity us!

Tamb. Away with them, I say, and show
them Death.

[The Virgins are taken out. I will not spare these proud Egyptians, Nor change my martial observations For all the wealth of Gihon's golden waves, Or for the love of Venus, would she leave The angry god of arms and lie with me. They have refused the offer of their lives, And know my customs are as peremptory As wrathful planets, death, or destiny.

Enter Techelles.

What, have your horsemen shown the virgins Death ?

Tech. They have, my lord, and on Damascus' walls,

Have hoisted up their slaughtered carcases.
Tamb. A sight as baneful to their souls,
I think,

As are Thessalian drugs or Mithridate :
But go, my lords, put the rest to the sword.
[Exeunt Lords.
Ah, fair Zenocrate !-divine Zenocrate !—
Fair is too foul an epithet for thee,
That in thy passion for thy country's love,
And fear to see thy kingly father's harm,

cheeks;

And, like to Flora in her morning pride,
Shaking her silver tresses in the car,
Rain'st on the earth resolved pearl in
showers,

And sprinklest sapphires on thy shining face,
Where beauty, mother to the Muses, sits
And comments volumes with her ivory pen,
Taking instructions from thy flowing eyes,
Eyes, when that Ebena steps to heaven,
In silence, of thy solemn evening's walk,
Making the mantle of the richest night,
The moon, the planets, and the meteors,
light;

These angels, in their crystal armours fight
A doubtful battle with my tempted thoughts
For Egypt's freedom, and the Soldan's life;
His life that so consumes Zenocrate,
Whose sorrows lay more siege unto my soul,
Than all my army to Damascus' walls:
And neither Persia's sovereign, nor the Turk
Troubled my senses with conceit of foil
So much by much as doth Zenocrate.
What is beauty, saith my sufferings, then?
If all the pens that ever poets held
Had fed the feeling of their masters'
thoughts,

And every sweetness that inspired their hearts,

Their minds, and muses on admired themes;
If all the heavenly quintessence they still
From their immortal flowers of poesy,
Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive
The highest reaches of a human wit;
If these had made one poem's period,
And all combined in beauty's worthiness,
Yet should there hover in their restless heads
One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the
least,

Which into words no virtue can digest:
But how unseemly is it for my sex,
My discipline of arms and chivalry,
My nature, and the terror of my name,
To harbour thoughts effeminate and faint!
Save only that in beauty's just applause,
With whose instinct the soul of man
touched;

And every warrior that is rapt with love
Of fame, of valour, and of victory,
Must needs have beauty beat on his con-
ceits.

I thus conceiving and subduing both
That which hath stoopt the chiefest of the
gods,*

Mr. Dyce and others have done their best to make this speech intelligible. The old text is hopelessly corrupt.

Even from the fiery-spangled veil of Heaven, To feel the lowly warmth of shepherds' flames,

And mask in cottages of strowèd reeds,
Shall give the world to note for all my birth,
That virtue solely is the sum of glory,
And fashions men with true nobility.-
Who's within there?

Enter Attendants.

Hath Bajazet been fed to-day?
Atten. Aye, my lord.

Tamb. Bring him forth; and let us know if the town be ransacked.

[Exeunt Attendants.

Enter Techelles, Theridamas, Usumcåsane, and others.

Tech. The town is ours, my lord, and fresh supply

Of conquest and of spoil is offered us.

Tamb. That's well, Techelles; what's the news?

Tech. The Soldan and the Arabian king together,

March on us with such eager violence,
As if there were no way but one with us.
Tamb. No more there is not, I warrant
thee, Techelles.

Bajazet and Zabina are brought in. Ther. We know the victory is ours, my lord;

But let us save the reverend Soldan's life,
For fair Zenocrate that so laments his state.
Tamb. That will we chiefly see unto,
Theridamas,

For sweet Zenocrate, whose worthiness
Deserves a conquest over every heart.
And now, my footstool, if I lose the field,
You hope of liberty and restitution?

Here let him stay, my masters, from the tents,

Till we have made us ready for the field.
Pray for us, Bajazet; we are going.

[Exeunt Tamburlaine, Techelles, Usum-
casane, and Persians.

Baj. Go, never to return with victory. Millions of men encompass thee about, And gore thy body with as many wounds! Sharp, forked arrows light upon thy horse! Furies from the black Cocytus lake,

Break up the earth, and with their firebrands,

Enforce thee run upon the baneful pikes! Volleys of shot pierce through thy charmed skin,

And every bullet dipt in poisoned drugs!
Or, roaring cannons sever all thy joints,

Making thee mount as high as eagles soar! Zab. Let all the swords and lances in the field

Stick in his breast as in their proper rooms! At every pore let blood come dropping forth,

That lingering pains may massacre his heart, And madness send his damned soul to hell! Baj. Ah, fair Zabina! we may curse his

power;

The heavens may frown, the earth for anger quake:

But such a star hath influence in his sword, As rules the skies and countermands the gods

More than Cimmerian Styx or Destiny; And then shall we in this detested guise, With shame, with hunger, and with horror stay,

Griping our bowels with retorquèd thoughts,
And have no hope to end our ecstasies.

Zab. Then is there left no Mahomet, no
God,

No fiend, no fortune, nor no hope of end
To our infamous, monstrous slaveries.
Gape earth, and let the fiends internal view
A hell as hopeless and as full of fear
As are the blasted banks of Erebus,
Where shaking ghosts with ever-howling

Smeared with blots of basest drudgery, And villainess to shame, disdain, and misery. Accursed Bajazet, whose words of truth, (That would with pity cheer Zabina's heart, And make our souls resolve in ceaseless tears ;)

Sharp hunger bites upon, and gripes the root,

From whence the issues of my thoughts do break!

O, Bajazet, my husband and my lord! O Bajazet! O Turk! O Emperor ! Give him his liquor? not I. Bring milk and fire, and my blood I bring him again.-Tear me in pieces-give me the sword with a ball of wild-fire upon it.-Down with him!, Down with him!-Go to, my child! Away! Away! Away!-Ah, save that infant! save him, save him!-I, even I, speak to her.The sun was down-streamers white, red, black-here, here, here !-Fling the meat in his face-Tamburlaine.-Tamburlaine !Let the soldiers be burn'd.-Hell! Death, Tamburlaine, Hell!-Make ready my coach, my chair, my jewels.-I come! I come! I [She runs against the cage and brains herself.

course

Hath hitherto been stayed with wrath and hate,

Of our expressless bann'd inflictions.

Zab. Sweet Bajazet, I will prolong thy life,

As long as any blood or spark of breath Can quench or cool the torments of my grief. [She goes out. Baj. Now, Bajazet, abridge thy baneful days,

And beat thy brains out of thy conquered head,

Since other means are all forbidden me,
That may be ministers of my decay.
O, highest lamp of ever-living Jove,
Accursed day 1 infected with my griefs,
Hide now thy stained face in endless night,
And shut the windows of the lightsome
Heavens!

Let ugly Darkness with her rusty coach,
Engirt with tempests, wrapt in pitchy clouds,
Smother the earth with never-fading mists!
And let her horses from their nostrils
breathe

Rebellious winds and dreadful thunderclaps !

That in this terror Tamburlaine may live, And my pined soul, resolved in liquid air, May still excruciate his tormented thoughts! Then let the stony dart of senseless cold Pierce through the centre of my withered heart,

And make a passage for my loathed life! [He brains himself against the cage.

Enter Zenocrate with Anippe.

Zeno. Wretched Zenocrate that liv'st to see

Damascus' walls dyed with Egyptians' blood,

Thy father's subjects and thy countrymen ; Thy streets strowed with dissevered joints of

men

And wounded bodies gasping yet for life: But most accurst, to see the sun-bright troop

Of heavenly virgins and unspotted maids, (Whose looks might make the angry god of

arms

To break his sword and mildly treat of love)

On horsemen's lances to be hoisted up
And guiltlessly endure a cruel death:
For every fell and stout Tartarian steed,
That stampt on others with their thundering
hoofs,

When all their riders charged their quivering spears,

Began to check the ground and rein themselves

Gazing upon the beauty of their looks.Oh, Tamburlaine ! wert thou the cause of this

That term'st Zenocrate thy dearest love?
Whose lives were dearer to Zenocrate
Than her own life, or aught save thine own
love.

But see another bloody spectacle !
Ah, wretched eyes, the enemies of my heart,
How are ye glutted with these grievous
objects,

And tell my soul more tales of bleeding ruth!

See, see, Anippe, if they breathe or no. Anippe. No breath, nor sense, nor motion in them both;

In fear and feeling of the like distress
Behold the Turk and his great Emperess!
Ah, mighty Jove and holy Mahomet,
Pardon my love !-Oh, pardon his contempt
Of earthly fortune and respect of pity,
And let not conquest, ruthlessly pursued,
Be equally against his life incensed

n this great Turk and hapless Emperess!
And pardon me that was not moved with ruth
To see them live so long in misery!
Ah, what may chance to thee, Zenocrate?
Anippe. Madam, content yourself, and
be resolved

Your love hath Fortune so at his command, That she shall stay and turn her wheel no more,

As long as life maintains his mighty arm That fights for honour to adorn your head.

Enter Philemus, a Messenger.

Zeno. What other heavy news now brings Philemus?

Phil. Madam, your father, and the Arabian king

The first affecter of your excellence,
Come now, as Turnus 'gainst Æneas did,
Armed with lance into the Egyptian fields,
Ready for battle 'gainst my lord, the king.
Zeno. Now shame and duty, love and fear
present

A thousand sorrows to my martyred soul.
Whom should I wish the fatal victory

When my poor pleasures are divided thus

My father and my first-betrothed love
Must fight against my life and present love;
Wherein the change I use condemns my
faith,

And makes my deeds infàmous through the world :

But as the gods, to end the Trojans' toil
Prevented Turnus of Lavinia
And fatally enriched Æneas' love,
So for a final issue to my griefs,
To pacify my country and my love
Must Tamburlaine by their resistless pow'rs
With virtue of a gentle victory
Conclude a league of honour to my hope;
Then, as the Powers divine have pre-
ordained,

With happy safety of my father's life
Send like defence of fair Arabia.

[They sound to the battle: and Tamburlaine enjoys the victory; after, the King of Arabia enters wounded. K. of Arab. What cursed power guides the murdering hands

Of this infàmous tyrant's soldiers,
That no escape may save their enemies,
Nor fortune keep themselves from victory?
Lie down, Arabia, wounded to the death,
And let Zenocrate's fair eyes behold
That, as for her thou bear'st these wretched
arms,

Even so for her thou diest in these arms,
Leaving thy blood for witness of thy love.
Zeno. Too dear a witness for such love,
my lord!

Behold Zenocrate! the cursed object, Whose fortunes never mastered her griefs; Behold her wounded, in conceit, for thee, As much as thy fair body is for me.

K. of Arab. Then shall I die with full, contented heart,

Having beheld divine Zenocrate,
Whose sight with joy would take away my
life

As now it bringeth sweetness to my wound,
If I had not been wounded as I am.
Ah! that the deadly pangs, I suffer now,
Would lend an hour's licence to my tongue,
To make discourse of some sweet accidents
Have chanced thy merits in this worthless
bondage;

And that I might be privy to the state
Of thy deserved contentment, and thy love;
But, making now a virtue of thy sight,
To drive all sorrow from my fainting soul,
Since death denies me farther cause of joy,
Deprived of care, my heart with comfort dies,
Since thy desirèd hand shall close mine eyes.
[He dies.

ness,

Even by this hand that shall establish them, Shall now, adjoining all their hands with mine,

Invest her here my Queen of Persia.
What saith the noble Soldan and Zenocrate?
Sold. I yield with thanks and protesta-
tions

Of endless honour to thee for her love. Tamb. Then doubt I not but fair Zeno crate

Will soon consent to satisfy us both.

Zeno. Else should I much forget myself my lord.

Ther. Then let us set the crown upon her head,

That long hath lingered for so high a seat.

Tech. My hand is ready to perform the

deed;