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Taking advantage of your slender power,
Comes marching on us, and determines straight
To bid us battle for our dearest lives.
Orc. Traitors ! villains ! damned Christians !
Have I not here the articles of peace,
And solemn covenants we've both confirm’d,
He by his Christ, and I by Mahomet?
Gaz. Hell and confusion light upon their heads,
That with such treason seek our overthrow,
And care so little for their prophet, Christ!
Orc. Can there be such deceit in Christians,
Or treason in the fleshly heart of man,
Whose shape is figure of the highest God!
Then, if there be a Christ, as Christians say,
But in their deeds deny him for their Christ,
If he be son to everliving Jove,
And hath the power of his outstretched arm;
If he be jealous of his name and honour,
As is our holy prophet, Mahomet;
Take here these papers as our sacrifice
And witness of thy servants' perjury.
[He tears to pieces the articles of peace.
Open, thou shining veil of Cynthia,
And make a passage from th' empyreal heaven,
That he that sits on high and never sleeps,
Nor in one place is circumscriptible,
But ev'ry where fills ev'ry continent
With strange infusion of his sacred vigour,
May in his endless power and purity,
Behold and 'venge this traitor's perjury !
Thou Christ, that art esteem'd omnipotent,
If thou wilt prove thyself a perfect God,
Worthy th worship of all faithful hearts,
Be now reveng'd upon this traitor's soul,
And make the power I have left behind,
(Too little to defend our guiltless lives)
Sufficient to discomfort and confound
The trustless force of those false Christians.
To arms, my lords! On Christ still let us cry!
If there be Christ, we shall have victory.
Alarums. – They go out.—Enter Sigis MUN D,
Sig. Discomfited is all the Christian host,
And God hath thunder'd vengeance from on high,
For my accurs'd and hateful perjury.
0, just and dreadful punisher of sin,
Let the dishonour of the pains I feel,
In this my mortal well-deserved wound,
End all my penance in my sudden death !
And let this death, wherein to sin I die,
Conceive a second life in endless mercy! [He dies.
Pater OR ca N Es, GAz F. Llus, URI Bass A, and others.
ORc. Now lie the Christians bathing in their bloods,
And Christ or Mahomet hath been my friend.
Gaz. See here the perjur'd traitor, Hungary,
Bloody and breathless for his villainy.
ORC. Now shall his barbarous body be a prey
To beasts and fowls, and all the winds shall breathe
Through shady leaves of ev'ry senseless tree,
Murmurs and hisses for his heinous sin.
Now scalds his soul in the Tartarian streams,
And feeds upon the baneful tree of hell,
That Zoacum", that fruit of bitterness,
That in the midst of fire is engraff'd,
Yet flourishes as Flora in her pride,
With apples like the heads of damned fiends.
The devils there, in chains of quenchless flame,
Shall lead his soul through Orcus' burning gulph,
From pain to pain, whose change shall never end.
What say'st thou yet, Gazellus, to his foil
Which we referr'd to justice of his Christ,
And to his power, which here appears as full
As rays of Cynthia to the clearest sight?
Gaz. 'Tis but the fortune of the wars, my lord, Whose power has often prov'd a miracle.
Orc. Yet in my thoughts shall Christ be honoured, Not doing Mahomet an injury, Whose pow'r had share in this our victory; And since this miscreant hath disgrac'd his faith, And died a traitor both to heaven and earth, We will, both watch and ward shall keep his trunk Amidst these plains for fowls to prey upon. Go, Uribassa, give it straight in charge. Uri. I will, my lord.
(Erit. Orc. And now, Gazellus, let us haste and meet Our army, and our brothers, of Jerusalem, Of Syria, Trebizond, and Amasia, And happily with full Natolian bowls Of Greekish wine, now let us celebrate Our happy conquest, and his angry fate.
fate. (Ereunt. Zoacum or Zakkúm.—The description of this tree is taken from a fable in the Koran, chap. 37.
SCENE III. ZeNocRAt E is discovered in her Bed of State; TAMbu RLA IN E sitting by her; three PHY's IcIANs about her bed, tempering potions; THERIDAMAs, Tech Elles, UsuMcAs AN E, and the three Sons. 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 bowers, 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 heav'n, As centinels to warn th’ immortal souls To entertain divine Zenocrate. Apollo, Cynthia, and the ceaseless lamps That gently look'd upon this loathsome earth Shine downward now no more, but deck the heavens To entertain divine Zenocrate. The crystal spring, whose taste illuminates Refined eyes with an eternal sight, Like tried silver, runs through Paradise,
To entertain divine Zenocrate.
The cherubims and holy seraphims,
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 heav'n,
That this my life may be as short to me
As are the days of sweet Zenocrate.
Physicians, will no physic do her good ?
Phys. My lord, your majesty shall soon perceive : And 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, oppos’d in one diameter, Their spheres are mounted on the serpent's head, Or else descended to his winding train.