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.-
O 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 ;
Ah, madam! this their slavery hath enforced,
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 slippery 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 wavering 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 !-O, pardon his contempt Of earthly fortune and respect of pity, And let not conquest, ruthlessly pursued, Be equally against his life incensed In 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?
makes the great compromise
Your love hath Fortune so at his command,
Anippe. Madam, content yourself, and be resolved-connecte. To his
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? 380 Phil. Madam, your father, and the Arabian king, The first affecter of your excellence,
Comes 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 And racked 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 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 final1 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 cursèd power guides the murdering
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 thy1 blood for witness of thy love.
Zeno. Too dear a witness for such love, my lord! Behold Zenocrate! the cursèd object,
Whose fortunes never masterèd 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
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.
Enter TAMBURLAINE, leading the SOLDAN, TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE, 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 calmed the fury of my sword,
Which had ere this been bathed in streams of blood As vast and deep as Euphrates or Nile.
Zeno. O sight thrice welcome to my joyful soul,
see the King, my father, issue safe From dangerous battle of my conquering 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, And add more strength to your dominions Than ever yet confirmed the Egyptian crown. The God of war resigns his room to me, Meaning to make me general of the world: Jove, viewing me in arms, looks pale and wan, Fearing my power 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 arrived with my triumphant host,
Have swelling clouds, drawn from wide-gasping wounds, Been oft resolved in bloody purple showers,
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