BAJAZETH

High thee my Bassoe fast to Persea, Tell him thy Lord the Turkish Emperor, Dread Lord of Africa, Europe and Asia. Great King and conqueror of Greciam, The Ocean, Terrene, and the coalblack sea, The high and higest Monarch of the world. Wills and Commands (for say not I entreat) Not once to set his foot in Africa, Or spread his colours in Greciam. Least he incur the fury of my wrath. Tell him, I am content to take a truce, Because I hear he bears a valiant mind. But if presuming on his silly power, He be so mad to manage Arms with me, Then stay thou with him, say I bid thee so. And if before the Sun have measured heaven With triple circuit thou regreet us not, We mean to take his morning's next arise. For messenger, he will not be reclaimed, And mean to fetch thee in despite of him. True (Argier) and tremble at my looks. All this is true as holy Mahomet, And all the trees are blasted with our breathes. I will the captive Pioneers of Argier, Cut of the water, that by leaden pipes Runs to the city from the mountain Carnon, Two thousand horse shall forage up and down, That no relief or succour come by Land. And all the sea my Galleys countermand. Then shall our footmen lie within the trench, And with their Cannons mouthed Like Orcus gulf Batter the walls, and we will enter in: And thus the Grccians shall be conquered. Bassoes and Janissaires of my Guard, Attend upon the person of your Lord, The greatest Potentate of Africa. Kings of Fesse, Moroccus and Argier, He calls me Baiazeth, whom you call Lord. Note the presemption of this Scythian slave: I tell thee villain, those that led my horse Have to their names titles of dignity, And darest thou bluntly call me Baiazeth? By Mahomet, my Kinsmans sepulcher. And by the holy Alcaron I swear, He shall be made a chased and lustless Eunuk , And in my Sarell tend my Concubines: And all his Captaincs that thus stoutly stand, Shall draw the chariot of my Empress. Whom I have brought to see their overthrow. Well said my stout contributory kings, Your threefold army and my hugy host, Shall swallow up these base born Perseans, Zabina, mother of three braver boys, Than Hercules, that in his infancy Did pash the jaws of Serpents venomous: Whose hands are made to gripe a warlike Lance. Their shoulders broad, for complete armour fit, Their limbs more large and of a bigger size Than all the brats ysprong from Typhon's loins: Who, when they come unto their father's age, Will batter Turrets with their manly sists. And on thy head wear my Imperial crown, Until I bring this sturdy tamburlain, And all his Captains bound in captive chains. Now shalt thou feel the force of Turkish arms, Which lately made all Europe quake for searc: I have of Turks, Arabians, Moors and Jews Enough to cover all Bythinia, Let thousands die, their slaughtered Carcases Shall serve for walls and bulwarks to the rest: And as the heads of Hydra, so my power Subdued, shall stand as mighty as before: If they should yield their necks unto the sword, Thy soldiers arms could not endure to strike So many blows as I have heads for thee. Thou knowest not (foolish hardy Tamburlaine) What 'tis to meet me in the open field, That leave no ground for thee to march upon. Come Kings and Bassoes let us glut our swords That thirst to drink the Feeble Perseans blood. Thou, by the fortune of this damned foil, Ah fair zabina, we have lost the field. And never had the Turkish Emperor So great a foil by any foreign foe. Now will the Christian nusc reants be glad, Ringing with joy their superstitious bells: And making bonfires for my overthrow. But ere I die those foul Idolaters Shall make me bonfires with their filthy bones, For though the glory of this day be lost. Affrik and Greece have garrisons enough To make me Sovereign of the earth again. Yet set a ransom on me tamburlaine. Ah villains, dare you touch my sacred arms. Oh Mahomet, O sleepy Mahomet. First shalt thou rip my bowels with thy sword, And sacrifice my heart to death and hell, Before I yield to such a slavery. Then as I look down to the damned Fiends. Fiends look on me, and thou dread God of hell. With Evan Sceptre strike this hateful earth, And make it swallow both of us at once. Great tamburlaine, great in my overthrow, Ambitious pride shall make thee fallen as low. For treading on the back of Baiazeth, That should be horsed on four mighty kings. Is this a place for mighty Baiazeth? Confusion light on him that helps thee thus. I, such a stomach (cruel tamburlane ) as I could Willingly feed upon thy blood-raw heart. Fallen to, and never may your meat digest, You Furies that can mask invisible, Dive to the bottom of Avernas pool, And in your hands bring hellish poison up. And squease it in the cup of tamburlain. Or winged snakes of Lerna cast your stings, And leave your venoms in this Tyrants dish. First legions of devils shall tear thee in pieces. My empty stomach full of idle heat, Draws bloody humours from my feeble parts, Preserving life, by hasting cruel death. My veins are pale, my sinews hard and dry, My joints benumbed, unless I eat, I die. I Tyrant, and more meat. Nor shall they long be thine, I warrant them. Go, never to return with victory: Millions of men encompass thee about. And gore thy body with as many wounds, Sharp forked arrows light upon thy horse: Furies from the black Cocitus lake, Break up the earth, and with their firebrands, Enforce thee run upon the baneful pikes. Volleys of shot pierce through thy charmed Skin. And every bullet dipped in poisoned drugs, Or roaring Cannons sever all thy joints. Making thee mount as high as Eagles soar. Ah fair zabina, we may curse his power, The heavens may frown, the earth for anger quake, But such a Star hath influence in his sword, As rules the Skies, and countermands the Gods, More than Cymerian Stix or Destiny: And then shall we in this detested guise, With shame, with hunger, and with horror aye Gripping our bowels with retorqued thoughts, And have no hope to end our ecstasies. Oh life more loathsome to my vexed thoughts, Than noisome parbreak of the Stygian Snakes, Which fills the nooks of Hell with standing air, Infecting all the Ghosts with cureless griefs: Oh dreary Engines of my loathed sighed, That sees my crown, my honour and my name, Thrust under yoke and thraldom of a thief. Why feed you still on days accursed beams, And sink not quite into my tortured soul. You see my wife, my Queen and Empress, Brought up and propped by the hand of fame, Queen of fifteen contributory Queen's, Now thrown to rooms of black abjection, Smeared with blots of basest drudgery: And Villanesse to shame, disdain, and misery: Accursed Baiazeth, whose words of ruth, That would with pity cheer zabinas heart: And make our souls resolve in ceases tears, Sharp hunger bites upon and gripes the root: From whence the issues of my thoughts do break, Oh poor zabina, Oh my Queen, my Queen, Fetch me some water for my burning breast, To cool and comfort me with longer date, That in the shortened sequel of my life, I may pour forth my soul into thine arms, With words of love: whose moaning intercourse Hath hitherto been stayed, with wrath and hate Of our expreslesse band inflictions: Now Baiazeth, abridge thy baneful days, And Beatrice thy brains out of thy conquered head: Since other means are all forbidden me, That may be ministers of my decay. Oh highest Lamp of everliving Jove, Accursed day infected with my griefs, Hide now thy stained face in endless night, And shut the windows of the lightsome heavens, Let ugly darkness with her rusty coach Engyrt with tempests wrapped in pitchy clouds, Smother the earth with never fading mists: And let her horses from their nostrils breathe Rebellious winds and dreadful thunderclaps: That in this terror tamburlaine may live. And my pined soul resolved in liquid ay, May Still excruciate his tormented thoughts. Then let the stony dart of senseless cold, Pierce through the centre of my withered heart, And make a passage for my loathed life. GReat Kings of Barbary, and my portly Bassoes, We hear, the Tartars & the Eastern thieves Under the conduct of one Tamburlaine, Presume a bickering with your Emperor: And thinks to rouse us from our dreadful siege Of the famous Grecian Constantinople. You know our Army is invincible: As many circumcised Turks we have, And warlike bans of Christians renied, As hath the Ocean or the Terrene sea Small drops of water, when the Maon begins To join in one her semicircled horns: Yet would we not be braved with foreign power, Nor raise our siege before the Gretians yield. Or breathless lie before the city walls. You holy Priests of heavenly Mahomet, That sacrificing slice and cut your flesh, Staining his Altars with your purple blood: Make heaven to frown and every fired star To suck up poison from the moorish Fens, And pour it in this glorious Tyrants throat.