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King of Amasia, now our mighty hoste,
Marcheth in Asia major, where the streames,
Of Euphrates and Tigris swiftly runs,
And here may we behold great Babylon,
Circled about with Limnasphaltis Lake,
Where Tamburlaine with all his armie lies,
Which being faint and weary with the siege,
Wee may lie ready to encounter him,
Before his hoste be full from Babylon,
And so revenge our latest grievous losse,
If God or Mahomet send any aide.
Doubt not my lord, but we shal conquer him.
The Monster that Hath drunke a sea of blood,
And yet gapes stil for more to quench his thirst,
Our Turkish swords shal headlong send to hell,
And that vile Carkasse drawne by warlike kings,
The Foules shall eate, for never sepulchre
Shall grace that base-borne Tyrant Tamburlaine.
When I record my Parents slavish life,
Their cruel death, mine owne captivity,
My Viceroies bondage under Tamburlaine,
Me thinks I could sustaine a thousand deaths,
To be reveng'd of all his Villanie.
Ah sacred Mahomet, thou that hast seene
Millions of Turkes perish by Tamburlaine,
Kingdomes made waste, brave cities sacks and burnt,
And but one hoste is left to honor thee:
Aid thy obedient servant Callapine,
And make him after all these overthrowes,
To triumph over cursed Tamburlaine.
Feare not my Lord, I see great Mahomet
Clothed in purple clowdes, and on his head
A Chaplet brighter than Apollos crowne,
Marching about the ayer with armed men,
To joine with you against this Tamburlaine.
Renowmed Generall mighty Callapine,
Though God himselfe and holy Mahomet,
Should come in person to resist your power,
Yet might your mighty hoste incounter all,
And pull proud Tamburlaine upon his knees,
To sue for mercie at your highnesse feete.
Captaine, the force of Tamburlaine is great,
His fortune greater, and the victories
Wherewith he hath so sore dismaide the world,
Are greatest to discourage all our drifts,
Yet when the pride of Cynthia is at full,
She waines againe, and so shall his I hope,
For we have here the chiefe selected men
Of twenty severall kingdomes at the least:
Nor plowman, Priest, nor Merchant staies at home,
All Turkie is in armes with Callapine.
And never wil we sunder camps and armes,
Before himselfe or his be conquered.
This is the time that must eternize me,
For conquering the Tyrant of the world.
Come Souldiers, let us lie in wait for him
And if we find him absent from his campe,
Or that it be rejoin'd again at full,
Assaile it and be sure of victorie.