« ZurückWeiter »
Of India, where raging Lantchidol
In all your names desir'd a truce of me?
SIG. Then here I sheath it, and give thee my hand, Never to draw it out, or manage arms Against thyself or thy confederates, But whilst I live will be at truce with thee. ORc. But, Sigismund, confirm it with an oath, And swear in sight of heav'n and by thy Christ. Sig. By Him that made the world and sav'd my soul, The Son of God and issue of a maid, Sweet Jesus Christ, I solemnly protest And vow to keep this peace inviolable. ORc. By sacred Mahomet, the friend of God, Whose holy alcoran remains with us, Whose glorious body, when he left the world, Clos'd in a coffin mounted up the air, And hung on stately Mecca's temple-roof, I swear to keep this truce inviolable; Of whose condition and our solemn oaths, Sign'd with our hands each shall retain a scroll As memorable witness of our league. Now Sigismund, if any Christian king Encroach upon the confines of thy realm, Send word, Orcanes of Natolia Confirm'd this league beyond Danubius' stream, And they will (trembling) sound a quick retreat; So am I fear'd among all nations. Sig. If any heathen potentate or king Invade Natolia, Sigismund will send A hundred thousand horse train'd to the war, And back'd by stout lancers of Germany,
The strength and sinews of the Imperial seat.
SCENE II. CALLAPIN E with ALM EDA, his Keeper, discovered. Call. Sweet Almeda, pity the ruthful plight Of Callapine, the son of Bajazet, Born to be monarch of the western world, Yet here detain'd by cruel Tamburlaine. AlM. My lord, I pity it, and with all my heart Wish your release; but he whose wrath is death, My sovereign lord, renowned Tamburlaine, Forbids you farther liberty than this. CALL. Ah, were I now but half so eloquent To paint in words what I'll perform in deeds, I know thou would'st depart from hence with me. AlM. Not for all Afric: therefore move me not. Call. Yet hear me speak, my gentle Almeda. ALM. No speech to that end, by your favour, sir. Call. By Cairo runs— AlM. No talk of running, I tell you, sir.
CALL. A little farther, gentle Almeda.
ALM. Well, sir, what of this?
CALL. By Cairo runs to Alexandria bay Darote's streams, wherein at anchor lies A Turkish gallery of my royal fleet, Waiting my coming to the river's side, Hoping by some means l shall be releas'd, Which, when I come aboard, will hoist up sail, And soon put forth into the Tyrrhene sea, Whence,” '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 gallies, mann'd with Christian slaves, I freely give thee, which shall cut the straits, And bring armados from the coasts of Spain Fraughted with gold of rich America; The Grecian virgins shall attend on thee, Skilful in musick and in am’rous lays, As fair as was Pygmalion's ivory girl Or lovely Io metamorphosed. 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,
* Where, in both the old editions.