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Now in their glories shine the golden crownes
Of these proud Turks, much like so many suns
That halfe dismay the majesty of heaven:
Now brother, follow we our fathers sword,
That flies with fury swifter than our thoughts,
And cuts down armies with his conquering wings.
Call foorth our laisie brother from the tent,
For if my father misse him in the field,
Wrath kindled in the furnace of his breast,
Wil send a deadly lightening to his heart.
Brother, ho, what, given so much to sleep
You cannot leave it, when our enemies drums
And ratling cannons thunder in our eares.
Our proper ruine, and our fathers foile?
Away ye fools, my father needs not me,
Nor you in faith, but that you wil be thought
More childish valourous than manly wise:
If halfe our campe should sit and sleepe with me,
My father were enough to scar the foe:
You doo dishonor to his majesty,
To think our helps will doe him any good.
What, dar'st thou then be absent from the fight,
Knowing my father hates thy cowardice,
And oft hath warn'd thee to be stil in field,
When he himselfe amidst the thickest troopes
Beats downe our foes to flesh our taintlesse swords?
I know sir, what it is to kil a man,
It works remorse of conscience in me,
I take no pleasure to be murtherous,
Nor care for blood when wine wil quench my thirst.
O cowardly boy, fie for shame, come foorth.
Thou doost dishonor manhood, and thy house.
Goe, goe tall stripling, fight you for us both,
And take my other toward brother here,
For person like to proove a second Mars.
Twill please my mind as wel to heare both you
Have won a heape of honor in the field,
And left your slender carkasses behind,
As if I lay with you for company.
You wil not goe then?
You say true.
Were all the lofty mounts of Zona mundi,
That fill the midst of farthest Tartary,
Turn'd into pearle and proffered for my stay,
I would not bide the furie of my father:
When made a victor in these hautie arms,
He comes and findes his sonnes have had no shares
In all the honors he proposde for us.
Take you the honor, I will take my ease,
My wisedome shall excuse my cowardise:
I goe into the field before I need?
Alarme, and Amyras and Celebinus run in.
The bullets fly at random where they list.
And should I goe and kill a thousand men,
I were as soone rewarded with a shot,
And sooner far than he that never fights.
And should I goe and do nor harme nor good,
I might have harme, which all the good I have
Join'd with my fathers crowne would never cure.
Ile to cardes: Perdicas.
Here my Lord.
Come, thou and I wil goe to cardes to drive away the
Content my Lord, but what shal we play for?
Who shal kisse the fairest of the Turkes Concubines
first, when my father hath conquered them.
Agreed yfaith. They play.
They say I am a coward, (Perdicas) and I feare as litle
their tara, tantaras, their swordes or their cannons, as I doe a
naked Lady in a net of golde, and for feare I should be affraid,
would put it off and come to bed with me. Perdicas
Such a feare (my Lord) would never make yee retire.
I would my father would let me be put in the front of
such a battaile once, to trie my valour. Alarme.
What a coyle they keepe, I beleeve there will be some hurt done
anon amongst them. [They go in the tent.]
Enter [with Souldiers] Tamburlain, Theridamas, Techelles, Usumcasane, Amyras, Celebinus, leading the Turkish kings.
See now ye slaves, my children stoops your pride
And leads your glories sheep-like to the sword.
Bring them my boyes, and tel me if the warres
Be not a life that may illustrate Gods,
And tickle not your Spirits with desire
Stil to be train'd in armes and chivalry?
Shal we let goe these kings again my Lord
To gather greater numbers gainst our power,
That they may say, it is not chance doth this,
But matchlesse strength and magnanimity?
No, no Amyras, tempt not Fortune so,
Cherish thy valour stil with fresh supplies:
And glut it not with stale and daunted foes.
But wher's this coward, villaine, not my sonne,
But traitor to my name and majesty.
He goes in and brings him out.
Image of sloth, and picture of a slave,
The obloquie and skorne of my renowne,
How may my hart, thus fired with mine eies,
Wounded with shame, and kill'd with discontent,
Shrowd any thought may horde my striving hands
From martiall justice on thy wretched soule.
Yet pardon him I pray your Majesty.
Techelles and Usumcasane
Let al of us intreat your highnesse pardon.
Stand up, ye base unworthy souldiers,
Know ye not yet the argument of Armes?
Good my Lord, let him be forgiven for once,
And we wil force him to the field hereafter.
Stand up my boyes, and I wil teach ye arms,
And what the jealousie of warres must doe.
O Samarcanda, where I breathed first,
And joy'd the fire of this martiall flesh,
Blush, blush faire citie, at thine honors foile,
And shame of nature which Jaertis streame,
Embracing thee with deepest of his love,
Can never wash from thy distained browes.
Here Jove, receive his fainting soule againe,
A Forme not meet to give that subject essence,
Whose matter is the flesh of Tamburlaine,
Wherein an incorporeall spirit mooves,
Made of the mould whereof thy selfe consists,
Which makes me valiant, proud, ambitious,
Ready to levie power against thy throne,
That I might moove the turning Spheares of heaven,
For earth and al this aery region
Cannot containe the state of Tamburlaine.
By Mahomet, thy mighty friend I sweare,
In sending to my issue such a soule,
Created of the messy dregges of earth,
The scum and tartar of the Elements,
Wherein was neither corrage, strength or wit,
But follie, sloth, and damned idlenesse:
Thou hast procur'd a greater enemie,
Than he that darted mountaines at thy head,
Shaking the burthen mighty Atlas beares:
Whereat thou trembling hid'st thee in the aire,
Cloth'd with a pitchy cloud for being seene.
And now ye cankred curres of Asia,
That will not see the strength of Tamburlaine,
Although it shine as brightly as the Sun.
Now you shal feele the strength of Tamburlain,
And by the state of his supremacie,
Approove the difference twixt himself and you.
Thou shewest the difference twixt our selves and thee
In this thy barbarous damned tyranny.
Thy victories are growne so violent,
That shortly heaven, fild with the meteors
Of blood and fire thy tyrannies have made,
Will poure down blood and fire on thy head:
Whose scalding drops wil pierce thy seething braines,
And with our bloods, revenge our bloods on thee.
Villaines, these terrours and these tyrannies
(If tyrannies wars justice ye repute)
I execute, enjoin'd me from above,
To scourge the pride of such as heaven abhors:
Nor am I made Arch-monark of the world,
Crown'd 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 terrour of the world,
I must apply my selfe to fit those tearmes,
In war, in blood, in death, in crueltie,
And plague such Pesants as resist in me
The power of heavens eternall majesty.
Theridamas, Techelles, and Casane,
Ransacke the tents and the pavilions
Of these proud Turks, and take their Concubines,
Making them burie this effeminate brat,
For not a common Souldier shall defile
His manly fingers with so faint a boy.
Then bring those Turkish harlots to my tent,
And Ile dispose them as it likes me best,
Meane while take him in.
We will my Lord.
[Exeunt with the body of Calyphas.]
O damned monster, nay a Feend of Hell,
Whose cruelties are not so harsh as shine,
Nor yet imposd, with such a bitter hate.
Revenge it Radamanth and Eacus,
And let your hates extended in his paines,
Expell the hate wherewith he paines our soules.
May never day give vertue to his eies,
Whose sight composde of furie and of fire
Doth send such sterne affections to his heart.
May never spirit, vaine or Artier feed
The cursed substance of that cruel heart,
But (wanting moisture and remorsefull blood)
Drie up with anger, and consume with heat.
Wel, bark ye dogs. Ile bridle al your tongues
And bind them close with bits of burnisht steele,
Downe to the channels of your hatefull throats,
And with the paines my rigour shall inflict,
Ile make ye roare, that earth may eccho foorth
The far resounding torments ye sustaine,
As when an heard of lusty Cymbrian Buls,
Run mourning round about the Femals misse,
And stung with furie of their following,
Fill all the aire with troublous bellowing:
I will with Engines, never exercisde,
Conquer, sacke, and utterly consume
Your cities and your golden pallaces,
And with the flames that beat against the clowdes
Incense the heavens, and make the starres to melt,
As if they were the teares of Mahomet
For hot consumption of his countries pride:
And til by vision, or by speech I heare
Immortall Jove say, Cease my Tamburlaine,
I will persist a terrour to the world,
Making the Meteors, that like armed men
Are seene to march upon the towers of heaven,
Run tilting round about the firmament,
And breake their burning Lances in the aire,
For honor of my woondrous victories.
Come bring them in to our Pavilion.