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Act 2, Scene 1

[Enter] Cosroe, Menaphon, Ortygius, Ceneus, with other Souldiers.

Thus farre are we towards Theridamas,
And valiant Tamburlaine, the man of fame,
The man that in the forhead of his fortune,
Beares figures of renowne and myracle:
But tell me, that hast seene him, Menephon,
What stature wields he, and what personage?

Of stature tall, and straightly fashioned,
Like his desire, lift upwards and divine,
So large of lims, his joints so strongly knit,
Such breadth of shoulders as might mainely beare
Olde Atlas burthen. Twixt his manly pitch,
A pearle more worth, then all the world is plaste:
Wherein by curious soveraintie of Art,
Are fixt his piercing instruments of sight:
Whose fiery cyrcles beare encompassed
A heaven of heavenly bodies in their Spheares
That guides his steps and actions to the throne,
Where honor sits invested royally:
Pale of complexion: wrought in him with passion,
Thirsting with soverainty, with love of armes:
His lofty browes in foldes, do figure death,
And in their smoothnesse, amitie and life:
About them hangs a knot of Amber heire,
Wrapped in curles, as fierce Achilles was,
On which the breath of heaven delights to play,
Making it daunce with wanton majestie:
His armes andfingers long and sinowy,
Betokening valour and excesse of strength:
In every part proportioned like the man,
Should make the world subdued to Tamburlaine.

Wel hast thou pourtraid in thy tearms of life,
The face and personage of a woondrous man:
Nature doth strive with Fortune and his stars,
To make him famous in accomplisht woorth:
And well his merits show him to be made
His Fortunes maister, and the king of men,
That could perswade at such a sodaine pinch,
With reasons of his valour and his life,
A thousand sworne and overmatching foes:
Then when our powers in points of swords are join'd,
And closde in compasse of the killing bullet,
Though straight the passage and the port be made,
That leads to Pallace of my brothers life,
Proud is his fortune if we pierce it not.
And when the princely Persean Diadem,
Shall overway his wearie witlesse head,
And fall like mellowed fruit, with shakes of death,
In faire Persea noble Tamburlaine
Shall be my Regent, and remaine as King.

In happy hower we have set the Crowne
Upon your kingly head, that seeks our honor,
In joyning with the man, ordain'd by heaven
To further every action to the best.

He that with Shepheards and a litle spoile,
Durst in disdaine of wrong and tyrannie,
Defend his freedome gainst a Monarchie:
What will he doe supported by a king?
Leading a troope of Gentlemen and Lords,
And stuff with treasure for his highest thoughts?

And such shall wait on worthy Tamburlaine
Our army will be forty thousand strong,
When Tamburlain and brave Theridamas
Have met us by the river Araris:
And all conjoin'd to meet the witlesse King,
That now is marching neer to Parthia:
And with unwilling souldiers faintly arm'd,
To seeke revenge on me and Tamburlaine.
To whom sweet Menaphon, direct me straight.

I will my Lord.

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