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Act 3, Scene 1

[Enter] Bajazeth, the kings of Fesse,Moroco, and Argier,with others, in great pompe.

Great Kings of Barbary, and my portly Bassoes,
We heare, the Tartars and the Easterne theeves
Under the conduct of one Tamburlaine,
Presume a bickering with your Emperour:
And thinks to rouse us from our dreadful siege
Of the famous Grecian Constantinople
You know our Armie is invincible:
As many circumcised Turkes we have,
And warlike bands of Christians renied,
As hath the Ocean or the Terrene sea
Small drops of water, when the Moon begins
To joine in one her semi-circled homes:
Yet would we not be brav'd with forrain power,
Nor raise our siege before the Gretians yeeld,
Or breathles lie before the citie walles.

Renowmed Emperour, and mighty Generall,
What if you sent the Bassoes of your guard,
To charge him to remaine in Asia
Or els to threaten death and deadly armes,
As from the mouth of mighty Bajazeth.

Hie thee my Bassoe fast to Persea,
Tell him thy Lord the Turkish Emperour,
Dread Lord of Affrike, Europe and Asia,
Great King and conquerour of Grecia,
The Ocean, Terrene, and the cole-blacke sea,
The high and highest Monarke of the world,
Wils and commands (for say not I intreat)
Not once to set his foot in Affrica,
Or spread his collours in Grecia,
Least he incurre the furie of my wrath.
Tell him, I am content to take a truce,
Because I heare he beares a valiant mind.
But if presuming on his silly power,
He be so mad to manage Armes 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 meane to take his mornings next arise
For messenger, he will not be reclaim'd,
And meane to fetch thee in despight of him.

Most great and puisant Monarke of the earth,
Your Bassoe will accomplish your behest:
And show your pleasure to the Persean,
As fits the Legate of the stately Turk.
Exit Bassoe.

They say he is the King of Persea
But if he dare attempt to stir your siege,
Twere requisite he should be ten times more,
For all flesh quakes at your magnificence.

True (Argier) and tremble at my lookes.

The spring is hindred by your smoothering host,
For neither rain can fall upon the earth,
Nor Sun reflexe his vertuous beames thereon,
The ground is mantled with such multitudes.

All this is true as holy Mahomet,
And all the trees are blasted with our breathes.

What thinks your greatnes best to be atchiev'd
In pursuit of the Cities overthrow?

I wil the captive Pioners of Argrer,
Cut of the water, that by leaden pipes
Runs to the citie from the mountain Carnon.
Two thousand horse shall forrage up and downe,
That no reliefe or succour come by Land.
And all the sea my Gallies countermaund.
Then shall our footmen lie within the trench,
And with their Cannons mouth'd like Orcus gulfe
Batter the walles, and we will enter in:
And thus the Grecians shall be conquered.

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