TAMBURLAINE

These words assure me boy, thou art my son, When I am old and cannot manage arms, Be thou the scourge and terror of the world, Be all a scourge and terror to the world, Or else you are not sons of Tamburlaine. Bastardly boy, sprung from ̄ some cowards lions: And not the issue of great Tamburlaine, Of all the provinces I have subdued Thou shalt not have a foot, unless thou bear A mind corragious and invincible: For he shall wear the crown of Persea, Whose head hath deepest scars, whose breast most wounds, Which being wrath, sends lightning from his eyes. And in the furrows of his frowning brows, Harbors revenge, war, death and cruelty: For in a field whose superfluities Is covered with a liquid purple veil, And sprinkled with the brains of slaughtered men, My royal chair of state shall be advanced: And he that means to place himself therein Must armed wade up to the chin in blood. Well lovely boys, you shall be Emperors both Stretching your conquering arms from east to west: And sirrah, if you mean to wear a crown, When we shall meet the Turkish Deputy And all his Viceroys, snatch it from his head, And cleave his Pericranion with thy sword. Thanks good theridamas. Well said Argier, receive thy crown again. Thanks king of Morocus, take your crown a gain. Thanks king of Fesse, take here thy crown a gain Your presence (loving friends and fellow kings) Makes me to surfeit in conceiving joy, If all the crystal gates of Jove's high court Were opened wide, and I might enter in To see the state and majesty of heaven, It could not more delight me than your sighed. Now will we banquet on these plains a while, And aster march to Turkey with our Camp, In number more than are the drops that fallen When Boreas rends a thousand swelling clouds, And proud Orcanes of Natoliam, With all his viceroys shall be so afraid, That though the stones, as at Deucalion's flood, Were turned to men, he should be overcome: Such lavish will I make of Turkish blood, That Jove shall send his winged Messenger To bid me sheath my sword, and leave the field: The Sun unable to sustain the sighed, Shall hide his head in Thetis watery lap, And leave his steeds to fair Boetes charge: For half the world shall perish in this fight: But now my friends, let me examine you, How have you spent your absent time from me: Tell me, how fares my fair Zenocrate: May never such a change transfourme my love In whose sweet being I repose my life, Whose heavenly presence beautified with health, Gives light to Phœbus and the fixed stars, Whose absence make the sun and Moon as dark As when opposed in one Diamiter: Their Spheres are mounted on the serpents head, Or else descended to his winding train: Live still my Love and so conserve my life, Or dying, be the anchor of my death. Proud fury and intollorable fit, That dares torment the body of my Love, And scourge the Scourge of the immortal God: Now are those Spheres where Cupid used to fit, Wounding the world with wonder and with love, Sadly supplied with pale and ghastly death: Whose darts do pierce the Centre of my soul, Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heaven, And had she lived before the siege of Troy, Hellen, whose beauty sommond Greece to arms, And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, Had not be named in Homers Iliads: Her name had be in every line he wrote: Or had those wanton Poets, for whose birth Old Room was proud, but gazed a while on her, Nor Lesbian, nor Corrinna had be named, zenocrate had be the argument Of every Epigram or Eligie. What, is she dead? Techelles, draw thy sword, And wound the earth, that it may cleave in twain, And we descend into infernal vaults, To hail the fatal Sisters by the hair, And throw them in the triple more of Hell, For taking hence my fair zenocrate. Casane and theridamas to arms, Raise Caualieros higher than the clouds: And with the cannon break the frame of heaven, Batter the shining palace of the Sun, And shiver all the starry strmament: For amdrous Jove hath snatched my love from hence, Meaning to make her stately Queen of heaven, What God so ever holds thee in his arms, Giving thee Nectar and Ambrosia, Behold me here divine zenocrate, Raving, impatient, desperate and mad, Breaking my steeled lance, with which I burst The rusty beams of Janus Temple doors, Letting out death and tyrannising war: To march with me under this bloody flag, And if thou pitiest Tamburlain the great, Come down from heaven and live with me again. For she is dead: thy words do pierce my soul Ah sweet theridamas, say so no more, Though she be dead, yet let me think she lives, And feed my mind that die for want of her: Where ere her soul be, thou shalt stay with me Embalmed with Cassia, Amber Greece and Myrrh, Not leapt in led but in a sheet of gold, And till I die thou shalt not be interred. Then in as rich a tomb as Mausolus, We both will rest and have one Epitaph Writ in as many several languages, As I have conquered kingdoms with my sword, This cursed town will I consume with fire, Because this place bereft me of my Love: The houses burned, will look as if they mourned And here will I set up her stature, And march about it with my mourning camp, Drooping and pining for zenocrate. And here the picture of zenocrate, To show her beauty, which the world admired, Sweet picture of divine Zenocrate, That hanging here, will draw the Gods from heaven: And cause the stars fixed in the Southern ark, Whose lovely faces never any viewed, That have not passed the Centers latitude. As Pilgrimss travel to our Hemisphere. Only to gaze upon Zenocrate. Thou shalt not beautify Larissa plains. But keep within the circle of mine arms. At every town and castle I besiege, Thou shalt be set upon my royal tent. And when I meet and army in the field, Whose looks will shed such influence in my camp, As if Bellona, Goddess of the war Threw naked swords and sulphur bals of fire, Upon the heads of all our enemies. And now my Lords, advance your spears again, Sorrow no more my sweet Casane now: Boys leave to mourn, this town shall ever mourn, Being burned to cinders for your mother's death. Villain, art thou the son of Tamburlaine, And fearest to die, or with a Curtle-axe To hew thy flesh and make a gaping wound: Hast thou beheld a peal of ordinance strike A ring of pikes, mingled with shot and horse, Whose shattered limbs, being tossed as high as heaven, Hang in the air as thick as sunny motes, And canst thou Coward stand in fear of death: Hast thou not seen my horsemen charge the foe, Shot through the arms, cut overthwart the hands, Dying their lances with their streaming blood, And yet at night carouse within my tent, Filling their empty veins with airy wine, That being concocted, turns to crimson blood, And wilt thou shun the field for fear of wounds: View me thy father that hath conquered kings, And with his host march round about the earth, Quite void of skars, and clear from any wound, That by the wars lost not a dram of blood, And see him lance his flesh to teach you all. A wound is nothing be it never so deep, Blood is the God of Wars rich livery. Now look I Like a soldier, and this wound As great a grace and majesty to me, As if a chair of gold enameled, Enchased with Diamonds, Sapphires, Rubies And fairest pearl of wealthy India Were mounted here under a Canapie: And I sat down, clothed with the massy robe, That late adorned the Africa Potentate. Whom I brought bound unto Damascus walls. Come boys and with your fingers search my wound, And in my blood wash all your hands at once, While I fit smiling to behold the sighed. Now my boys, what think you of a wound? Come sirrah, give me your arm. It shall suffice thou darest abide a wound My boy, Thou shalt not lose a drop of blood, Before we meet the army ef the Turk. But then run desperate through the thickest throngs, Dreadless of blows, of bloody wounds and death: And let the burning of Larissa walls My speech of war, and this my wound you see Teach you my boys to bear courageous minds, Fit for the followers of great tamburlaine. Vsumeasane now come let us march Towards Techelles and Theridamas, That we have sent before to fire the towns, The towers and cities of these hateful Turks, And hunt that Coward, faintheart, runaway, With that accursed traitor Almeda, Till fire and sword have found them at a bay. Well sirs, diet your selves, you know I shall have occasion shortly to journey you. Villain, traitor, damned fugitive, I'll make thee wish the earth had swallowed thee: Seest thou not death within my wrathful looks. Go villain, cast thee headlong from a rock, Or rip thy bowels, and rend out thy heart, T'appease my wrath, or else I'll torture thee, Searing thy hateful flesh with burning irons, And drops of scalding led, while all thy joints Be racked and Beatrice asunder with the wheel, For if thou livest, not any Element Shall shroud thee from the wrath of tamburlaine Go too sirrah, take your crown, and make up the half dozen. So sirrah, now you are a king you must give arms. Well, now you see he is a king, look to him theridamas, when we are fighting, least he hide his crown as the foolish king of Persea did. You know not sir: But now my followers and my loving friends, Fight as you ever did, Like Conquerors, The glory of this happy day is yours: My stern aspect shall make fair Victory, Hovering betwixt our armies, light on me, Laden with Laurel wreathes to crown us all. Stand up, you base unworthy soldiers, Know you not yet the argument of Arms? Stand up my boys, and I will teach you arms, And what the jealousy of wars must do. Oh Samarcanda, where I breathed first, And joyed the fire of this martial flesh, Blush, blush fair city, at thine honours foil, And shame of nature with Iaertis stream, Embracing thee with deepest of his love, Can never wash from thy distained brows. Here Jove, receive his fainting soul again, A Form not meet to give that subject essence, Whose matter is the flesh of Tamburlain, Wherein and incorporeal spirit moves, Made of the mould whereof of thy self consists. Which makes me valiant, proud, ambitious, Ready to levy power against thy throne, That I might move the turning Spheres of heave ̄ , For earth and all this aery region Cannot contain the state of Tamburlaine. By Mahomet, thy mighty friend I swear, In sending to my issue such a soul, Created of the massy dregs of earth, The scum and tartar of the Elements, Wherein was neither courage, strength or wit, But folly, sloth, and damned idleness: Thou hast procured a greater enemy, Than he that darted mountains at thy head. Shaking the burden mighty Atlas bears: Whereat thou trembling hidest thee in the air. Clothed with a pitchy cloud for being seen. And now you cankered curs of Asia, That will not see the strength of Tamburlaine, Although it shine as brightly as the Sun. Now you shall feel the strength of Tamburlain, And by the state of his supremacy, Approve the difference betwixt himself and you. Well, bark you dogs, I'll bridle all your tongues And bind them close with bits of burnished steel, Down to the channels of your hateful throats, And with the pains my rigour shall inflict, I'll make you roar, that earth may echo forth The far resounding torments you sustain, As when and herd of lusty Cymbrian Bulls, Run mourning round about, the Females miss, And stung with fury of their following, Fill all the air with troublous bellowing: I will with Engines, never exercised, Conquer, sack, and utterly consume Your cities and your golden palaces, And with the flames that Beatrice against the clouds Incense the heavens. and make the stars to melt, As if they were the tears of Mahomet For hight consumption of his countries pride: And till by viston, or by speech I hear Immortal Jove say, Cease my Tamburlaine, I will persist a terror to the world, Making the Meteors, that Like armed men Are seen to march upon the towers of heaven, Run tilting round about the firmament, And break their burming Lances in the air, For honour of my wondrous victories. Come bring them in to our Pavilion. Thy youth for bids such ease my kingly boy, They shall to morrow draw my chariot, While these their fellow kings may be refreshed, Brawl not (I warn yond for your lechery, For every man that so offends shall die, Are you not gone you villains with your spoils? And now themselves shall make our Pageant, And common soldiers jest with all their Truls, Let them take pleasure soundly in their spoils, Till we prepare our march to Babylon, Whither we next make expedition. We will techelles, forward then you Jades: Now crouch you kings of greatest Asia, And tremble when you hear this Scourge will come, That whips down cities, and controwleth crowns, Adding their wealth and treasure to my store, The Euxine sea North to Natoliam, The Terrene west, the Caspian north northeast, And on the south Senus Arabicus. Shall all be laden with the martial spoils We will convey with us to Persea. Then shall my native city Samarcanda And crystal waves of fresh Iaertis stream, The pride and beauty of her princely seat, Be famous through the furthest continents, For there my Palace royal shall be placed: Whose shining Turrets shall dismay the heavens, And cast the fame of Ilions Tower to hell. Thorough the streets with troops of conquered kings, I'll ride in golden armour Like the Sun, And in my helm a triple plume shall spring, Spangled with Diamonds dancing in the air, To note me Emperor of the threefold world. Like to and almond tree mounted high, Upon the lofty and celestial mount, Of every green Selinus quaintly dect With blooms more white than Hericinas brows, Whose tender blossoms tremble every one, At every little breath that thorough heaven is blown: Then in my coach Like Saturn's royal son, Mounted his shining chariots, gilded with fire. And drawn with princely Eagles through the path, Paved with bright Crystal, and enchased with stars, When all the Gods stand and gazing at his pomp. So will I ride through Samarcanda streets, Until my soul dissevered from this flesh, Shall mount the milkwhite way and meet him there. To Babylon my Lords, to Babylon. Go bind the villain, he shall hang in chains, Upon the ruins of this conquered town, Sirrah, the view of our vermilion tents, Which threatened more than if the region Next underneath the Element of fire, Were full of Comets and of blazing stars, Whose flaming trains should reach down to the earth Could not affright you, no, nor I my self, The wrathful messenger of mighty Jouc, That with his sword hath quailed all earthly kings. Could not perswadé you to submission, But still the ports were shut: villain I say, Should I but touch the rusty gates of hell, The triple headed Cerberus would howl, And wake black Jove to crouch and kneel to me. But I have sent volleys of shot to you, Yet could not enter till the breach was made, Well, now I'll make it quake, go draw him up, Hang him up in chains upon the city walls, And let my soldiers shoot the slave to death. Up with him then, his body shall be scared. Then for all your valour, you would save your life, Where about lies it? Come Asian Viceroys, to your tasks a while And take such fortune as your fellows felt. Bridle them, and let me to my coach. 'Tis brave indeed my boy, well done, Shoot first my Lord, and then the rest shall follow. No, though Asphaltis lake were liquid gold, And offered me as ransom for thy life, Yet shouldst thou die, shoot at him all at once. So now he hangs Like Bagdets Governor, Having as many bullets in his flesh, As there be breaches in her battered wall. Go now and bind the Burghers hand and foot, And cast them headlong in the cities lake: Tartars and Perseans shall inhabit there, And to command the city, I will built A Cytadell, that all Africa Which hath be subject to the Persean king, Shall pay me tribute for, in Babylon. Now Casane, where's the Turkish Alcaron, And all the heaps of superstitious books, Found in the Temples of that Mahomet? Whom I have thought a God, they shall be burned. Well said, let there be a fire presently, In vain I see men worship Mahomet, My sword hath sent millions of Turks to hell. Slew all his Priests, his kinsmen, and his friends, And yet I live untouched by Mahomet: There is a God full of revenging wrath, From whom the thunder and the lightning breaks, Whose Scourge I am, and him will I obey. So Casane, fling them in the fire. Now Mahomet, if thou have any power, Come down thy self and work a miracle, Thou art not worthy to be worshipped, That suffers flames of fire to burn the writ Wherein the sum of thy religion rests. Why send 'st thou not a furious whyrlwind down, To blow thy Alcaron up to thy throne, Where men report, thou sittest by God himself, Or vengeance on the head of Tamburlain, That shakes his sword against thy majesty. And spurns the Abstracts of thy foolish laws. Well soldiers, Mahomet remains in hell, He cannot hear the voice of Tamburlain, Seek out another Godhead to adore, The God that sits in heaven, if any God, For he is God alone, and none but he. Well then my friendly Lords what now re Maines But that we leave sufficient garrison And presently depart to Persea, To triumph after all our victories. Let it be so, about it soldiers: But stay, I feel my self distempered suddenly. Something techelles but I know not what, But forth you vassals, what so ere it be, Sickness or death can never conquer me. What daring God torments my body thus, And seeks to conquet mighty Tamburlaine, Shall sickness prove me now to be a man, That have be termed the terror of the world? Techelles and the rest, come take your swords, And threaten him whose hand afflicts my soul, Come let us march against the powers of heaven, And set black streamers in the firmament, To signify the slaughter of the Gods, Ah friends, what shall I do I cannot stand, Come carry me to war against the Gods, That thus envy the health of Tamburlaine, Why shall I fit and languish in this pain, No, strike the drums, and in revenge of this, Come let us charge our spears and pierce his breast, Whose shoulders bear the Axis of the world, That if I perish, heaven and earth may fade, theridamas, haste to the court of Jove, Will him to send Apollo hither straight, To cure me, or I'll fetch him down my self. Not last techelles, no, for I shall die, See where my slave, the ugly monster death Shaking and quivering, pale and won for fear, Stands aiming at me with his murdering dart, Who flies away at every glance I give, And when I look away, comes stealing on: Villain away, and High thee to the field, I and mine army come to load thy bark With souls of thousand mangled carcases, Look where he goes, but see, he comes again Because I stay, techelles let us march, And weary Death with bearing souls to hell. Tell me, what think you of my sickness now? Then will I comfort all my vital parts, And live in spite of death above a day. But sons, this subject not of force enough, To hold the fiery spirit it contains, must partly, imparting his impressions, By equal portions into both your breasts: My flesh divided in your precious shapes, Shall still retain my spirit, though I die, And live in all your seeds immortally: Then now remove me, that I may resign My place and proper title to my son: First take my Scourge and my imperial Crown, And mount my royal chariot of estate, That I may see thee crowned before I die, Help me (my Lords) to make my last remove. Fit up my son, let me see how well Thou wilt become thy father's majesty. Let not thy love exceed thine honour son, Nor bar thy mind that magnanimity, That nobly must admit necessity; Fit up my boy, and with those silken reins, Bridle the steeled stomachs of those Jades. Now fetch the hearse of fair Zenocrate, Let it be placed by this my fatal chair, And serve as parcel of my funeral. When heaven shall cease to move on both the poles & when the ground whereon my soldiers march Shall rise aloft and touch the horned Moon, And not before my sweet zenocrate: Fit up and rest thee Like a lovely Queen. So, now she sits in pomp and majesty: When these my sons, more procious in mine eyes Than all the wealthy kingdoms I subdued: Placed by her side, look on their mother's face, But yet me thinks their looks are amorous, Not martial as the sons of Tamburlaine Water and air being symbolised in one: Argue their want of courage and of wit, Their hair as white as milk and soft as Down. Which should be Like the quills of Porcupines. As black as Jeat, and hard as Iron or steel, Bewrays they are too dainty for the wars. Their fingers made to quaver on a Lute, Their arms to hang about a Ladies neck: Their legs to dance and caper in the air: Would make me think them Bastards, not my sons, But that I know they issued from thy womb, That never looked on man but Tamburlaine. Well done my boy, thou shalt have shield and lance Armour of proof, horse, helm, & Cuttle-axe And I will teach thee how to charge thy foe, And harmless run among the deadly pikes. If thou wilt love the wars and follow me, Thou shalt be made a King and reign with me. Keeping in iron cages Emperors. If thou exceed thy elder Brother's worth, And shine in complete virtue more than they, Thou shalt be king before them, and thy seed Shall issue crowned from their mother's womb, They shall Casane, and 'tis time i'faith. Then let us see if coward Calapine Dare levy arms against our puissance, That we may tread upon his captive neck, And Triple all his father's slaveries. HOw now Casane? See a knot of kings, Sitting as if they were a telling tidles. Sirrah, Callapine, I'll hang a clog about your neck for running away again, you shall not trou ble me thus to come and fetch you. But as for you (Viceroy) you shall have bits, And harnessed Like my horses, draw my coach: And when you stay, be lashed with whips of wier, I'll have you learn to feed on prouander, And in a stable lie upon the planks: See now you slaves, my children ̄ stoops your pride And leads your glories sheeplike to the sword. Bring them my boys, and tell me if the wars Be not a life that may illustrate Gods, And tickle not your Spirits with desire Still to be trained in arms and chivalry: HOlla, you pampered Jades of Asia: What, can you draw but twenty miles a day, And have so proud a chariot at your heals, And such a Coachman as great Tamburlaine? But from Asphaltis, where I conquered you, To Byron here where thus I honour you: The horse that guide the golden cy of heaven, And blow the morning from their nosterils, Making their fiery gate above the clouds, Are not so honoured in their Governor, As you (you slaves) in mighty Tamburlain. The headstrong Jades of Thrace, Alcides tamed, That King Egeus fed with human flesh, And made so wanton that they knew their strengths, Were not subdued with valour more divine, Than you by this unconquered arm of mine. To make you fierce, and fit my appetite, You shall be fed with flesh as raw as blood, And drink in pails the strongest Muscadel: If you can live with it, then live, and draw My chariot swifter than the racking clouds: If not, then die Like beasts, and fit for nought But perches for the black and fatal Ravens. Thus am I right the Scourge of highest Jove, And see the figure of my dignity, By which I hold my name and majesty. I Turk, I tell thee, this same Boy is he, That must (advanced in higher pomp than this) Rifle the kingdoms I shall leave unsacked. If Jove esteeming me too good for earth, Raise me to match the fair Aldeboran, Above the threefold Astracisme of heaven, Before I conquer all the triple world. New fetch me out the Turkish Concubines, I will prefer them for the funeral They have bestowed on my abortive son. Where are my common soldiers now that fought So Lion-like upon Asphaltis plains? Hold you tal soldiers, take you Queen's apiece (I mean such Queen's as were kings Concubines) Take them, divide them and their jewels too, And let them equally serve all your turns. Live content then (you slaves) and meet not me With troops of harlots at your sloothful heals Save your honours? it but time indeed, Lost long before you knew what honour meant. The stately buildings of fair Babylon, Whose lofty Pillars, higher than the clouds, Were wont to guide the seaman in the deep. Being carried thither by the cannons force, Now fill the mouth of Limnasphaltes lake, And make a bridge unto the battered walls, Where Belus, Ninus and great Alexander Have road in triumph, triumphs Tamburlaine, Whose chariot wheels have burst the Assyrians bones, Drawn with these kings on heaps of carcases, Now in the place where fair Semiramis, Courted by kings and peers of Asia, Hath trodden the Meisures, do my soldiers march, And in the streets, where brave Assyrian Dams Have rid in pomp Like rich Saturnia, With furious words and frowning visages, My horsemen brandish their unruly blades. Who have you there my Lords? See my Physicians now, how Jove hath sent, A present medicince to recure my pain: My looks shall make them fly, and might I follow, There should not one of all the villains power Live to give offer of another fight. I know it will Casane: draw you slaves, In spite of death I will go show my face. Thus are the villains, cowards fled for fear, Like Summer's vapours, vanished by the Sun. And could I but a while pursue the field, That Callapine should be my slave again. But I perceive my martial strength is spent, In vain I strive and rail against those powers, That mean invest me in a higher throne, As much too high for this disdainful earth. Give me a Map, then let me see how much Is left for me to conquer all the world, That these my boys may finish all my wants, Here I began to march towards Persea, Along Armenia and the Caspian sea, And thence unto Bythinia, where I took The Turk and his great Empress priseners, Then martcht I into Egypt and Arabia, And here not far from Alexandria, Whereas the Terren and the read sea meet, Being distant less than still a hundred leagues, I meant to cut a channel to them both, That men might quickly sail to India. From thence to Nubia near Borno Lake, And so along the Ethiopian sea, Cutting the Tropic line of Capricorn, I conquered all as far as Zansibar, Then by the Northern partly of Africa. I came at last to Graeciam, and from thence To Asia, where I stay against my will, Which is from Scythia, where I first began, Backward and forward never five thousand leagues, Look here my boys, see what a world of ground, Lies westward from the amid of Cancers line, Unto the rising of this earthly globe, Whereas the Sun declining from our sighed, Begins the day with our Antypodes: And shall I die, and this unconquered? Lo here my sons, are all the golden Mines, Inestimable drugs and precious stones, More worth than Asia, and the world beside, And from antarctic Pole, Eastward behold As much more land, which never was descried, Wherein are rocks of Pearl, that shine as bright As all the Lamps that beautify the Sky, And shall I die, and this unconquered? Here lovely boys, what death forbids my life, That let your lives command in spite of death. Now bright zenocrate, the world's fair eye, Whose beams illuminate the lamps of heave ̄ , Whose cheerful looks do clear the cloudy air And cloth it in a crystal livery, Now rest thee here on fair Larissa Plains, Where Egypt and the Turkish Empire parts, Between thy sons that shall be Emperors, And every one Commander of a world. WElcome Theridamas, king of Argier, KIngs of Morocus and of Fesse, welcome. Well done Techelles: what says Theridamas: SO, burn the turrets of this cursed town, Flame to the highest region of the air: And kindle heaps of exhalations, That being fiery meteors, may presage, Death and destruction to inhabitants Over my Zenith hang a blazing star, That may endure till heaven be dissolved, Fed with the fresh supply of earthly dregs, Threatening a death and famine to this land, Flying Dragons, lightning, fearful thunderclaps, sing these fair plains, and make them seem as black As is the Island where the Furies mask Compassed with Lethe, Styx and Phlegeton, Because my deer Zenocrate is dead. But now my boys, leave off, and is't to me, That mean to teach you rudiments of war: I'll have you learn to sleep upon the ground, March in your armour throw watery Fens, Sustain the scorching heat and freezing cold, Hunger and cold right adjuncts of the war. And after this, to scale a castle wall, Besiege a fort, to undermine a town, And make whole cities caper in the air. Then next, the way to fortify your men, In champion grounds, what figure serves you best, For with the quinque-angle form is meet, Because the corners there may fallen more flat: Whereas the Fort may fittest be assailde, And sharpest where th'assault is desperate. The ditches must be deep, the Counterscarps Narrow and steep, the walls made high and broad, The Bulwarks and the rampiers large and strong, With Caualieros and thick counterforts, And room within to lodge six thousand men. It must have privy ditches, countermines, And secret issuings to defend the ditch. It must have high Argins and covered ways To keep the bulwark fronts from battery, And Parapets to hide the Muscatiers: Casemates to place the great Artillery, And store of ordinance that from every flank May scour the outward curtains of the Fort, Dismount the Cannon of the adverse partly, Murder the Foe and save their walls from breach. When this is learned for service on the land, By plain and easy demonstration, I'll teach you how to make the water mount, That you may dryfoot march through Lake's & pools, Deep rivers, havens, creeks, and little seas, And make a Fortress in the raging waves, Fenced with the concave of a monftrous rock, Invincible by nature of the place. When this is done, then are you soldiers, And worthy sounes of Tamburlain the great, Villain, the shepherd's issue, at whose birth Heaven did afford a gracious aspect, And joined those stars that shall be opposite, Even till the dissolution of the world; And never meant to make a Conqueror; So famous as is mighty Tamburlain: Shall so torment thee and that Callapine, That Like a roguish runaway, suborned That villain there, that slave, that Turkish dog, To false his service to his Sovereign, As you shall curse the birth of Tamburlaine. Villains, these terrors and these tyrannies (If tyrannies wars justice you repute) I execute, enjoined me from above: To scourge the pride of such as heaven abhors, Nor am I made Arch-monarch of the world, Crowned and invested by the hand of Jove, For deeds of bounty or nobility: But since I exercise a greater name, The Scourge of God and terror of the world, I must apply my self to fit those tearnies, In war, in blood, in death, in cruelty, And plague such Peasants as resisting me, The power of heavens eternal majesty. Theridamas, techelles, and Casane, Ransack the tents and the pavilions Of these proud Turks, and take their Concubines. Making them bury this effeminate brat, For not a common Soldier shall defile His manly fingers with so faint a boy. Then bring those Turkish harlots to my tent, And I'll dispose them as it likes me best, Mean while take him in. Take them away Theridamas, see them dispatched. Hold him, and cleave him too, or I'll cleave thee For we will march against them presently. Theridamas, Techelles, and Casane Promised to meet me on Larissa plains With hosts apiece against this Turkish crew, For I have sworn by sacred Mahomet, To make it parcel of my Empery, The trumpets found Zenocrate, they come. Then will we triumph, banquet and carouse, Cooks shall have pensions to provide us eats, And glut us with the dainties of the world, Lachrima Christi and Calabrian wines Shall common Soldiers drink in quaffing bouls, I, liquid gold when we have conquered him. Mingled with coral and with oriental pearls: Come let us banquet and carouse the while. Why, so he is Casane, I am here, But yet I'll sane their lives and make them slaves. You petty kings of Turkye I am come, As Hector did into the Grecian camp. To overdare the pride of Groecia. And set his warlike petson to the view Of fierce Achilles, rival of his fame, I do you honour in the simile. For if I should as Hector did Achilles, (The worthiest knight that ever brandish sword) Challenge in combat any of you all, I see how fearfully you would refuse, And fly my glove as from a Scorpion. No, let him hang a bunch of keys on his stan derd, to put him in remembrance he was a Jailor, that when I take him, I may knock out his brains with them, and lock you in the stable, when you shall come sweating from my chariot. Sirrah, prepare whips, and bring my chariot to my Tent: For as soon as the battle is done, I'll ride in triumph through the Camp. How now you petty kings, lo, here are Bugs Will make the hair stand upright on your heads, And cast your crowns in slavery at their feet. Welcome theridamas and techelles both, See you this rout, and know you this same king: You shall be princes all immediately: Come fight you Turks, or yield us victory. No, no Amyras, tempt not Fortune so, Cherish thy valour still with fresh supplies: And glut it not with stale and daunted foes, But where's this coward, villain, not my son, But traitor to my name and majesty. Image of sloth, and and picture of a slave, The obloquy and scorn of my renown, How may my heart, thus fired with mine eyes, Wounded with shame, and killed with discontent, Shroud any thought may hold my striving hands From martial justice on thy wretched soul. Casane no, the Monarch of the earth, And eielesse Monster that torments my soul, Cannot behold the tears you shed for me, And therefore still augments his cruelty. Black is the beauty of the brightest day, The golden ball of heavens eternal fire, That danced with glory on the silver waves: Now wants the fuel that inflame his beams And all with faintness and for foul disgrace, He binds his temples with a frowning cloud, Ready to darken earth with endless night: Zenocrate that gave him light and life, Whose eyes shot fire from their Ivory bowers, And tempered every soul with lively heat, Now by the malice of the angry Skies, Whose jealousy admits no second Mate, Draws in the comfort of her latest breath All dassed with the hellish mists of death. Now walk the angels on the walls of heaven, As Centinels to warn th'immortall souls, To entertain divine Zenocrate. Apollo Cynthia, and the ceaseless lamps That gently looked upon this loathsome earth, Shine downwards now no more, but deck the heavens To entertain divine Zenocrate. The crystal springs whose taste illuminates Refined eyes with and eternal sighed, Like tried silver runs through Paradise To entertain divine zenocrate. The Cherubins and holy Seraphins That sing and play before the king of kings, We all their voices and their instruments To entertain divine Zenocrate. And in this sweet and currious harmony, The God that tunes this music to our souls: Holds out his hand in highest majesty To entertain divine Zenocrate. Then let some holy trance convey my thoughts, Up to the palace of imperial heaven: That this my life may be as short to me As are the days of sweet Zenocrate: Physicians, will no physic do her good? Go thither some of you and take his gold, The rest forward with execution, Away with him hence, let him speak no more: I think I make your courage something quail, When this is done, we'll march from Babylon, And make our greatest haste to Persea: These Jades are broken winded, and half tired, Unharness them, and let me have fresh horse: So, now their best is done to honour me, Take them, and hang them both up presently. Now eyes, enjoy your latest benefit, And when my soul hath virtue of your sighed, Pierce through the fin and the sheet of gold, And glut your longings with a heaven of joy. So, reign my son, scourge and control those slaves Guiding thy chariot with thy Father's hand. As precious is the charge thou undertakest As that which Clymens brainsick son did guide, When wandering Phoebes Ivory cheeks were scortcht And all the earth Like Aetna breathing fire: Be warned by him, then learn with awful eye To sway a throne as dangerous as his: For if thy body thrive not full of thoughts As pure and fiery as Phyteus beams, The nature of these proud rebelling Jades Will take occasion by the slenderest hair, And draw thee piecemeal Like Hyppolitus, Through rocks more steep and sharp than Caspian cliftes. The nature of thy chariot will not bear A guide of baser temper than my self, More then heavens coach, the pride of Phaeton. Fa l my boys, my dearest friends, farewell, My body feels, my soul doth weep to see Your sweet desires deprived my company, For Tamburlaine, the Scourge of God must die. Techelles, Drown them all, man, woman, and child, Leave not a Babylonian in the town.