Tamburlaine the Great Read Online

Me thinks, tis a great deale better than a consort of musicke.

TAMBURLAINE. Yet musicke woulde doe well to cheare up Zenocrate: pray thee tel, why art thou so sad? If thou wilt have a song, the Turke shall straine his voice: but why is it?

ZENOCRATE.

My lord, to see my fathers towne besieg'd,

The countrie wasted where my selfe was borne,

How can it but afflict my verie soule?

If any love remaine in you my Lord,

Or if my love unto your majesty

May merit favour at your highnesse handes,

Then raise your siege from faire Damascus walles,

And with my father take a frindly truce.

TAMBURLAINE.

Zenocrate, were Egypt Joves owne land,

Yet would I with my sword make Jove to stoope.

I will confute those blind Geographers

That make a triple region in the world,

Excluding Regions which I meane to trace,

And with this pen reduce them to a Map,

Calling the Provinces, Citties and townes

After my name and thine Zenocrate:

Here at Damascus will I make the Point

That shall begin the Perpendicular.

And wouldst thou have me buy thy Fathers love

With such a losse? Tell me Zenocrate?

ZENOCRATE.

Honor still waight on happy Tamburlaine:

Yet give me leave to plead for him my Lord.

TAMBURLAINE.

Content thy selfe, his person shall be safe,

And all the friendes of faire Zenocrate,

If with their lives they will be pleasde to yeeld,

Or may be forc'd, to make me Emperour.

For Egypt and Arabia must be mine.

Feede you slave, thou maist thinke thy selfe happie to be fed from my trencher.

BAJAZETH.

My empty stomacke ful of idle heat,

Drawes bloody humours from my feeble partes,

Preserving life, by hasting cruell death.

My vaines are pale, my sinowes hard and drie,

My jointes benumb'd, unlesse I eat, I die.

ZABINA. Eat Bajazeth. Let us live in spite of them, looking some happie power will pitie and inlarge us.

TAMBURLAINE. Here Turk, wilt thou have a cleane trencher?

BAJAZETH. I Tyrant, and more meat.

TAMBURLAINE. Soft sir, you must be dieted, too much eating will make you surfeit.

THERIDAMAS. So it would my lord, specially having so smal a walke, and so litle exercise.

Enter a second course of Crownes.

TAMBURLAINE. Theridamas, Techelles and Casane, here are the cates you desire to finger, are they not?

THERIDAMAS. I (my Lord) but none save kinges must feede with these.

TECHELLES. Tis enough for us to see them, and for Tamburlaine onely to enjoy them.

TAMBURLAINE. Wel, here is now to the Souldane of Egypt, the King of Arabia, and the Govetnour of Damascus. Now take these three crownes, and pledge me, my contributorie Kings. I crowne you here (Theridamas) King of Argier: Techelles King of Fesse, and Usumcasane King of Morocus. How say you to this (Turke) these are not your contributorie kings.

BAJAZETH.

Nor shall they long be thine, I warrant them.

TAMBURLAINE.

Kings of Argier, Morocus, and of Fesse,

You that have martcht with happy Tamburlaine,

As far as from the frozen plage of heaven,

Unto the watry mornings ruddy bower,

And thence by land unto the Torrid Zone,

Deserve these tytles I endow you with,

By valure and by magnanimity.

Your byrthes shall be no blemish to your fame,

For vertue is the fount whence honor springs.

And they are worthy she investeth kings.

THERIDAMAS.

And since your highnesse hath so well vouchsaft,

If we deserve them not with higher meeds

Then erst our states and actions have retain'd,

Take them away againe and make us slaves.

TAMBURLAINE.

Wel said Theridamas, when holy Fates

Shall stablish me in strong Egyptia,

We meane to traveile to th'Antartique Pole,

Conquering the people underneath our feet.

And be renowm'd, as never Emperours were.

Zenocrate, I will not crowne thee yet,

Until with greater honors I be grac'd.

V.i

[Enter] The Governour of Damasco, with three or foure Citizens, and foure Virgins, with branches of Laurell in their hands.

GOVERNOUR.

Stil dooth this man or rather God of war,

Batter our walles, and beat our Turrets downe.

And to resist with longer stubbornesse,

Or hope of rescue from the Souldans power,

Were but to bring our wilfull overthrow,

And make us desperate of our threatned lives:

We see his tents have now bene altered,

With terrours to the last and cruelst hew:

His cole-blacke collours every where advaunst,

Threaten our citie with a generall spoile:

And if we should with common rites of Armes,

Offer our safeties to his clemencie,

I feare the custome proper to his sword,

Which he observes as parcell of his fame,

Intending so to terrifie the world:

By any innovation or remorse,

Will never be dispenc'd with til our deaths.

Therfore, for these our harmlesse virgines sakes,

Whose honors and whose lives relie on him:

Let us have hope that their unspotted praiers,

Their blubbered cheekes and hartie humble mones

Will melt his furie into some remorse:

And use us like a loving Conquerour.

1. VIRGIN.

If humble suites or imprecations,

(Uttered with teares of wretchednesse and blood,

Shead from the heads and hearts of all our Sex,

Some made your wives, and some your children)

Might have intreated your obdurate breasts,

To entertaine some care of our securities,

Whiles only danger beat upon our walles,

These more than dangerous warrants of our death,

Had never bene erected as they bee,

Nor you depend on such weake helps as we.

GOVERNOUR.

Wel, lovely Virgins, think our countries care,

Our love of honor loth to be enthral'd

To forraine powers, and rough imperious yokes:

Would not with too much cowardize or feare,

Before all hope of rescue were denied,

Submit your selves and us to servitude.

Therefore in that your safeties and our owne,

Your honors, liberties and lives were weigh'd

In equall care and ballance with our owne,

Endure as we the malice of our stars,

The wrath of Tamburlain, and power of warres.

Or be the means the overweighing heavens

Have kept to quallifie these hot extreames,

And bring us pardon in your chearfull lookes.

2. VIRGIN.

Then here before the majesty of heaven,

And holy Patrones of Egyptia,

With knees and hearts submissive we intreate

Grace to our words and pitie to our lookes,

That this devise may proove propitious,

And through the eies and eares of Tamburlaine,

Convey events of mercie to his heart:

Graunt that these signes of victorie we yeeld

May bind the temples of his conquering head,

To hide the folded furrowes of his browes,

And shadow his displeased countenance,

With happy looks of ruthe and lenity.

Leave us my Lord, and loving countrimen,

What simple Virgins may perswade, we will.

GOVERNOUR.

Farewell (sweet Virgins) on whose safe return

Depends our citie, libertie, and lives.

Exeunt. [Manent Virgins.]

[Enter] Tamburlaine, Techelles, Theridamas, Usumcasane, with others: Tamburlaine all in blacke, and verie melancholy.

TAMBURLAINE.

What, are the Turtles fraide out of their neastes?

Alas poore fooles, must you be first shal feele

The sworne destruction of Damascus.

They know my custome: could they not as well

Have sent ye out, when first my milkwhite flags

Through which sweet mercie threw her gentle beams,

Reflexing them on your disdainfull eies:

As now when furie and incensed hate

Flings slaughtering terrour from my coleblack tents.

And tels for trueth, submissions comes too late.

1. VIRGIN.

Most happy King and Emperour of the earth,

Image of Honor and Nobilitie.

For whome the Powers divine have made the world,

And on whose throne the holy Graces sit.

In whose sweete person is compriz'd the Sum

Of natures Skill and heavenly majestie.

Pittie our plightes, O pitie poore Damascus:

Pitie olde age, within whose silver haires

Honor and reverence evermore have raign'd,

Pitie the mariage bed, where many a Lord

In prime and glorie of his loving joy,

Embraceth now with teares of ruth and blood,

The jealous bodie of his fearfull wife,

Whose cheekes and hearts so punisht with conceit,

To thinke thy puisant never staied arme

Will part their bodies, and prevent their soules

From heavens of comfort, yet their age might beare,

Now waxe all pale and withered to the death,

As well for griefe our ruthlesse Governour

Have thus refusde the mercie of thy hand,

(Whose scepter Angels kisse, and Furies dread)

As for their liberties, their loves or lives.

O then for these, and such as we our selves,

For us, for infants, and for all our bloods,

That never nourisht thought against thy rule,

Pitie, O pitie, (sacred Emperour)

The prostrate service of this wretched towne.

And take in signe thereof this gilded wreath,

Whereto ech man of rule hath given his hand,

And wisht as worthy subjects happy meanes,

To be investers of thy royall browes,

Even with the true Egyptian Diadem.

TAMBURLAINE.

Virgins, in vaine ye labour to prevent

That which mine honor sweares shal be perform'd:

Behold my sword, what see you at the point?

2. VIRGIN.

Nothing but feare and fatall steele my Lord.

TAMBURLAINE.

Your fearfull minds are thicke and mistie then,

For there sits Death, there sits imperious Death,

Keeping his circuit by the slicing edge.

But I am pleasde you shall not see him there:

He now is seated on my horsmens speares,

And on their points his fleshlesse bodie feedes.

Techelles, straight goe charge a few of them

To chardge these Dames, and shew my servant death,

Sitting in scarlet on their armed speares.

OMNES.

O pitie us.

TAMBURLAINE.

Away with them I say and shew them death.

They [Techelles and soldiers] take them away.

I will not spare these proud Egyptians,

Nor change my Martiall observations,

For all the wealth of Gehons golden waves.

Or for the love of Venus, would she leave

The angrie God of Armes, and lie with me.

They have refusde the offer of their lives,

And know my customes are as peremptory

As wrathfull Planets, death, or destinie.

Enter Techelles.

What, have your horsmen shewen the virgins Death?

TECHELLES.

They have my Lord, and on Damascus wals

Have hoisted up their slaughtered carcases.

TAMBURLAINE.

A sight as banefull to their soules I think

As are Thessalian drugs or Mithradate.

But goe my Lords, put the rest to the sword.

Exeunt. [Manet Tamburlaine.]

Ah faire Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate,

Faire is too foule an Epithite for thee,

That in thy passion for thy countries love,

And feare to see thy kingly Fathers harme,

With haire discheweld wip'st thy watery cheeks:

And like to Flora in her mornings pride,

Shaking her silver tresses in the aire,

Rain'st on the earth resolved pearle in showers,

And sprinklest Saphyrs on thy shining face,

Wher Beauty, mother to the Muses sits,

And comments vollumes with her Yvory pen:

Taking instructions from thy flowing eies,

Eies when that Ebena steps to heaven,

In silence of thy solemn Evenings walk,

Making the mantle of the richest night,

The Moone, the Planets, and the Meteors light.

There Angels in their christal armours fight

A doubtfull battell with my tempted thoughtes,

For Egypts freedom and the Souldans life:

His life that so consumes Zenocrate,

Whose sorrowes lay more siege unto my soule,

Than all my Army to Damascus walles.

And neither Perseans Soveraign, nor the Turk

Troubled my sences with conceit of foile,

So much by much, as dooth Zenocrate.

What is beauty, saith my sufferings then?

If all the pens that ever poets held,

Had fed the feeling of their maisters thoughts,

And every sweetnes that inspir'd their harts,

Their minds, and muses on admyred theames:

If all the heavenly Quintessence they still

From their immortall flowers of Poesy,

Wherein as in a myrrour we perceive

The highest reaches of a humaine wit:

If these had made one Poems period

And all combin'd in Beauties worthinesse,

Yet should ther hover in their restlesse heads,

One thought, one grace, one woonder at the least,

Which into words no vertue can digest:

But how unseemly is it for my Sex,

My discipline of armes and Chivalrie,

My nature and the terrour of my name,

To harbour thoughts effeminate and faint?

Save onely that in Beauties just applause,

With whose instinct the soule of man is toucht,

And every warriour that is rapt with love

Of fame, of valour, and of victory,

Must needs have beauty beat on his conceites.

I thus conceiving and subduing both:

That which hath stoopt the tempest of the Gods,

Even from the fiery spangled vaile of heaven,

To feele the lovely warmth of shepheards flames,

And martch in cottages of strowed weeds:

Shal give the world to note, for all my byrth,

That Vertue solely is the sum of glorie,

And fashions men with true nobility.

Who's within there?

Enter two or three.

Hath Bajazeth bene fed to day?

ATTENDANT. I, my Lord.

TAMBURLAINE. Bring him forth, and let us know if the towne be ransackt.

[Exeunt attendants.]

Enter Techelles, Theridamas, Usumcasane, and others.

TECHELLES.

The town is ours my Lord, and fresh supply

Of conquest, and of spoile is offered us.

TAMBURLAINE.

Thats wel Techelles, what's the newes?

TECHELLES.

The Souldan and the Arabian king together

Martch on us with such eager violence,

As if there were no way but one with us.

TAMBURLAINE.

No more there is not I warrant thee Techelles.

They bring in the Turke [in his cage, and Zabina].

THERIDAMAS.

We know the victorie is ours my Lord,

But let us save the reverend Souldans life,

For faire Zenocrate, that so laments his state.

TAMBURLAINE.

That will we chiefly see unto, Theridamas,

For sweet Zenocrate, whose worthinesse

Deserves a conquest over every hart:

And now my footstoole, if I loose the field,

You hope of libertie and restitution:

Here let him stay my maysters from the tents,

Till we have made us ready for the field.

Pray for us Bajazeth, we are going.

Exeunt. [Manent Bajazeth and Zabina.]

BAJAZETH.

Go, never to returne with victorie:

Millions of men encompasse thee about,

And gore thy body with as many wounds.

Sharpe forked arrowes light upon thy horse:

Furies from the blacke Cocitus lake,

Breake up the earth, and with their firebrands,

Enforce thee run upon the banefull pikes.

Volleyes of shot pierce through thy charmed Skin,

And every bullet dipt in poisoned drugs,

Or roaring Cannons sever all thy joints,

Making thee mount as high as Eagles soare.

ZABINA.

Let all the swords and Lances in the field,

Stick in his breast, as in their proper roomes.

At every pore let blood comme dropping foorth,

That lingring paines may massacre his heart.

And madnesse send his damned soule to hell.

BAJAZETH.

Ah faire Zabina, we may curse his power,

The heavens may frowne, the earth for anger quake,

But such a Star hath influence in his sword,

As rules the Skies, and countermands the Gods:

More than Cymerian Stix or Distinie.

And then shall we in this detested guyse,

With shame, with hungar, and with horror aie

Griping our bowels with retorqued thoughtes,

And have no hope to end our extasies.

ZABINA.

Then is there left no Mahomet, no God,

No Feend, no Fortune, nor no hope of end

To our infamous monstrous slaveries?

Gape earth, and let the Feends infernall view

A hell, as hoplesse and as full of feare,

As are the blasted banks of Erebus:

Where shaking ghosts with ever howling grones,

Hover about the ugly Ferriman,

To get a passage to Elisian.

Why should we live, O wretches, beggars, slaves,

Why live we Bajazeth, and build up neasts,

So high within the region of the aire,

By living long in this oppression,

That all the world will see and laugh to scorne,

The former triumphes of our mightines,

In this obscure infernall servitude?

BAJAZETH.

O life more loathsome to my vexed thoughts,

Than noisome parbreak of the Stygian Snakes,

Which fils the nookes of Hell with standing aire,

Infecting all the Ghosts with curelesse griefs:

O dreary Engines of my loathed sight,

That sees my crowne, my honor and my name,

Thrust under yoke and thraldom of a thiefe.

Why feed ye still on daies accursed beams,

And sink not quite into my tortur'd soule.

You see my wife, my Queene and Emperesse,

Brought up and propped by the hand of fame,

Queen of fifteene contributory Queens,

Now throwen to roomes of blacke abjection,

Smear'd with blots of basest drudgery:

And Villanesse to shame, disdaine, and misery:

Accursed Bajazeth, whose words of ruth,

That would with pity chear Zabinas heart,

And make our soules resolve in ceasles teares:

Sharp hunger bites upon and gripes the root,

From whence the issues of my thoughts doe breake:

O poore Zabina, O my Queen, my Queen,

Fetch me some water for my burning breast,

To coole and comfort me with longer date,

That in the shortned sequel of my life,

I may poure foorth my soule into thine armes,

With words of love: whose moaning entercourse

Hath hetherto bin staid, with wrath and hate

Of our expreslesse band inflictions.

ZABINA.

Sweet Bajazeth, I will prolong thy life,

As long as any blood or sparke of breath

Can quench or coole the torments of my griefe.

She goes out.

BAJAZETH.

Now Bajazeth, abridge thy banefull daies,

And beat thy braines out of thy conquer'd head:

Since other meanes are all forbidden me,

That may be ministers of my decay.

O highest Lamp of everliving Jove,

Accursed day infected with my griefs,

Hide now thy stained face in endles night,

And shut the windowes of the lightsome heavens.

Let ugly darknesse with her rusty coach

Engyrt with tempests wrapt in pitchy clouds,

Smother the earth with never fading mistes:

And let her horses from their nostrels breathe

Rebellious winds and dreadfull thunderclaps:

That in this terrour Tamburlaine may live.

And my pin'd soule resolv'd in liquid ayre,

May styl excruciat his tormented thoughts.

Then let the stony dart of sencelesse colde,

Pierce through the center of my withered heart,

And make a passage for my loathed life.

He brains himself against the cage.

Enter Zabina.

ZABINA.

What do mine eies behold, my husband dead?

His Skul al rivin in twain, his braines dasht out?

The braines of Bajazeth, my Lord and Soveraigne?

O Bajazeth, my husband and my Lord,

O Bajazeth, O Turk, O Emperor.

Give him his liquor? Not I, bring milk and fire, and my blood I bring him againe, teare me in peeces, give me the sworde with a ball of wildefire upon it. Downe with him, downe with him. Goe to, my child, away, away, away. Ah, save that Infant, save him, save him. I, even I speake to her. The Sun was downe. Streamers white, Red, Blacke. Here, here, here. Fling the meat in his face. Tamburlaine, Tamburlaine. Let the souldiers be buried.