BISHOP

To men aspiring thoughts, how sweet is hope Which makes them (Like Chameleons) live on air And hug their slender plots: till coo e despair Does so benumme his thoughts, that he falls dead From his sublime height, and his lofty head Which leveled at the skies, does drop below His humble feet, this hath experience taught In that men headlong ruin, whose proud thoughts Aimed at the Turkish Diadem; but now cross Fates Have forced his stubborn Fates to bow. What speaks your entrance? Let Zemes die by and un imely death, Else for our love you shall provoke our hate. He's not our brother, but our hated foe: And in his death you shall prevent our woe. Return our service back: tell Bajazet What he hath given in charge; shall by my hand Be carefully dispatched. Imperious Turk, Am I not Gods Vize-gerent here on earth, And darest thou send thy letters of command? Or speak to me in threatening menaces? It grates my patience to obey this monster, Yet must I murder Zemes, what do I know Whither my father's oule did transmigrate Into his breast or no? be dumb remorse, The Turk is great and powerful, if I win His love by this, will prove a happy sin. Now I could curse what mine own hand hath done, And wish that he would vomit out the draught Of direful poison, which infects his blood. Ambitious fire? why it's as clean extinct, As if his heart were set beneath his feet, Grief hath boiled out the humours of vain pride, And he was mere contrition. What's the news? If your intents be virtuous, and desire Of eminent place quite banished from your thoughts, My house shall be your Cast e: that I deny My men and Arms to aid you in your broils, Think it kind usage: should my Holinesle Feed your ambition, and make strong your hand Against your brother 'twere too light a brand Of flaming hight dissension, and to set The world in a combustion: all would then Quarrel by my example: No sweet Prince Rome's holy Bishop must not so transgress. If you will dwell within my sacred roof Set e irregular Passion, and begin A quiet life, repentance wipes out sin. Cannot my words add solace to your thoughts? O! you are gulft too deep in a desire Of sovereign pomp, and your high thoughts aspire. All the unshadowed plainen sse of my life Does but contract thick wrinkles of mislike In your Majestic brow, and you distaste Moral receipts, which I have ministered To cool Ambitions Fever. It grieves my soul: let Bajazet know this Could our own shortened life, but lengthen his By often sighs I would transfuse my breath Into his breast, and call him back from death.