(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 ev'ry fell and stout Tartarian steed,
That stampt on others with their thund'ring hoofs,
When all their riders charg'd their quiv'ring spears,
Began to check the ground and rein themselves
Gazing upon the beauty of their looks.-
Oh, Tamburlainé! wert thou the cause of this
That term'st Zenocrate thy dearest love?
Whose lives were dearer to Zenocrate
Than her own life; or ought save thine own love.
But see another bloody spectacle!
Ah, wretched eyes, the en'mies of my heart, X
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;
Ah, madam! this their slav'ry hath enforc❜d,
And ruthless cruelty of Tamburlaine.
ZENO. Earth, cast up fountains from thy entrails,
And wet thy cheeks for their untimely deaths!
Shake with their weight in sign of fear and grief!
Blush, Heaven, that gave them honour at their birth
And let them die a death so barbarous !
Those that are proud of fickle empery
And place their chiefest good in earthly pomp,
Behold the Turk and his great Emperess!
Ah, Tamburlaine! my love! sweet Tamburlaine!
That fight'st for sceptres and for fickle crowns,
Behold the Turk and his great Emperess!
Thou, that in conduct of thy happy stars
Sleep'st every night with conquests on thy brows
And yet would'st shun the wav'ring turns of war,
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 pursu❜d,
Be equally against his life incens'd,
In this great Turk and hapless Emperess!
And pardon me that was not mov'd with ruth
To see them live so long in misery!
Ah, what may chance to thee, Zenocrate?
ANIPPE. Madam, content yourself, and be resolv'd 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 th' Arabian king The first affecter of your excellence,
Come now, as Turnus 'gainst Æneas did,
Armed with lance into th' 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
And rack'd by duty from my cursed heart?
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 infamous through the world:
But as the gods, to end the Trojans' toil
Prevented Turnus of Lavinia
And fatally enrich'd 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 Pow'rs divine have pre-ordain'd,
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 murd'ring hands
Of this infamous 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, Ev'n 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 chanc'd thy merits in this worthless bondage;
And that I might be privy to the state
Of thy deserv'd 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,
Depriv'd of care, my heart with comfort dies,
Since thy desired hand shall close mine eyes.
[He dies. Enter TAMBURLAINE, leading the SOLDAN;
TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, with others.
TAMB. Come, happy father of Zenocrate,
A title higher than thy Soldan's name.
Though my right hand has thus enthralled thee,
Thy princely daughter here shall set thee free;
She that hath calm'd the fury of my sword,
Which had ere this been bath'd in streams of blood,
As vast and deep as Euphrates or Nile.
ZENO. O sight thrice welcome to my joyful soul,
To see the king, my father, issue safe
From dang'rous battle of my conq'ring love!
SOLD. Well met, my only dear Zenocrate,
Though with the loss of Egypt and my crown.
TAMB. Twas I, my lord, that got the victory,
And therefore grieve not at your overthrow,
Since I shall render all into your hands, X
And add more strength to your dominions
Than ever yet confirm'd the Egyptian crown.
The God of war resigns his room to me,
Meaning to make me gen'ral of the world:
Jove, viewing me in arms, looks pale and wan,
Fearing my pow'r should pull him from his throne.
Where'er I come the fatal sisters sweat,
And grisly Death, by running to and fro,
To do their ceaseless homage to my sword;
And here in Afric, where it seldom rains;
Since I arriv'd with my triumphant host,
Have swelling clouds, drawn from wide-gasping wounds,
Been oft resolv'd in bloody, purple show'rs,
A meteor that might terrify the earth,
And make it quake at every drop it drinks.
Millions of souls sit on the banks of Styx,
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