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But I am pleas'd you shall not see him there;
He now is seated on my horsemen's spears,
And on their points his fleshless body feeds.
Techelles, straight go charge a few of them
To charge these dames, and shew my servant, Death,
Sitting in scarlet on their armed spears.
All. O pity us!
Tamb. Away with them, I say, and shew them
Death. [The Virgins are taken out.
I will not spare these proud Egyptians,
Nor change my martial observations
For all the wealth of Gehon's golden waves,
Or for the love of Venus, would she leave
The angry god of arms and lie with me.
They have refus'd the offer of their lives,
And know my customs are as peremptory
As wrathful planets, death, or destiny.
What, have your horsemen shown the virgins' death? Tech. They have, my lord, and on Damascus'
walls Have hoisted up their slaughter'd carcases.
Tamb. A sight as baneful to their souls, I think, As are Thessalian drugs or Mithridate: But go, my lords, put the rest to the sword.
Ah, fair Zenocrate!—divine Zenocrate!—
Fair is too foul an epithet for thee,
That in thy passion for thy country's love,
And fear to see thy kingly father's harm,
With hair dishevell'd wip'st thy wat'ry cheeks;
And, like to Flora in her morning pride,
Shaking her silver tresses in the air,
Rain'st on the earth resolved pearl in showers,
And sprinklest sapphires on thy shining face,
Where beauty, mother to the Muses, sits
And comments volumes with her iv'ry pen,
Taking instructions from thy flowing eyes,
Eyes, when that Ebena steps to heaven,
In silence, of thy solemn evening's walk,
Making the mantle of the richest night,
fhe moon, the planets, and the meteors, light;
These angels, in their chrystal armours fight
A doubtful battle with my tempted thoughts
For Egypt's freedom, and the Soldan's life;
His life that so consumes Zerocrate,
Whose sorrows lay more siege unto my soul,
Than all my army to Damascus' walls:
And neither Persia's* sovereign, nor the Turk
Troubled my senses with conceit of foil
So much by much as doth Zenocrate.
What is beauty, saith my sufferings, then?
If all the pens that ever poets held
Had fed the feeling of their master's thoughts,
And ev'ry sweetness that inspir'd their hearts,
Their minds, and muses on admired themes;
If all the heavenly quintessence they still
From their immortal flowers of poesy,
'Old copies, Fenians.
Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive
The highest reaches of a human wit;
If these had made one poem's period,
And all combin'd in beauty's worthiness,
Yet should there hover in their restless heads
One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least,
Which into words no virtue can digest:
But how unseemly is it for my sex,
My discipline of arms and chivalry,
My nature, and the terror of my name,
To harbour thoughts effeminate and faint!
Save only that in beauty's just applause,
With whose instinct the soul of man is touch'd;
And ev'ry warrior that is wrapt with love
Of fame, of valour, and of victory,
Must needs have beauty beat on his conceits.
I thus conceiving and subduing both
That which hath stopt the tempest of the Gods,*
Even from the fiery-spangled veil of Heaven,
To feel the lovely warmth of shepherds' flames,
And march in cottages of strowed weeds,
Shall give the world to note for all my birth,
That virtue solely is the sum of glory,
And fashions men with true nobility.—
Who's within there?
Enter Anippe. Hath Bajazet been fed to-day?
, A line appears to have been omitted in both the old copies, after the word "Gods." The reader will easily supply the gense.
An. Aye, my lord.
Tamb. Bring him forth; and let us know if the town be ransack'd. [Exit An.
Enter Techelles, Theridamas, Usumcasane, and others.
Tech. The town is our's, my lord, and fresh supply Of conquest and of spoil is offered us.
Tamb. That's well, Techelles;—what's the news?
Tech. The Soldan and the Arabian king together March on us with such eager violence, As if there were no way but one with us.
Tamb. No more there is not, I warrant thee, Tech-
Bajazet and Zabina, are brought in.
Ther. We know the victory is ours, my lord;
But let us save the reverend Soldan's life,
For fair Zenocrate that so laments his state.
Tamb. That will we chiefly see unto, Theridamas,
For sweet Zenocrate, whose worthiness
Deserves a conquest over ev'ry heart.
And now, my footstool, if I lose the field,
You hope of liberty and restitution?
Here let him stay, my masters, from the tents,
Till we have made us ready for the field.
Pray for us, Bajazet; we are going.
[Exeunt Tamburlaine, Techellet, Vsumcasane, and Persians.
Baz. Go! never to return with victory. Millions of men encompass thee about, And gore thy body with as many wounds!
Sharp, forked arrows light upon thy horse!
Furies from the black Cocytus lake,
Break up the earth, and with their fire-brands,
Enforce thee run upon the baneful pikes!
Vollies of shot pierce through thy charmed skin,
And ev'ry bullet dipt in poison'd drugs!
Or, roaring cannons sever all thy joints,
Making thee mount as high as eagles soar!
Zab. Let all the swords and lances in the field
Stick in his breast as in their proper rooms!
At ev'ry pore let blood come dropping forth,
That ling'ring pains may massacre his heart,
And madness send his damned soul to hell!
J. Ah, fair Zabina! we may curse his power;
C heav'ns may frown, the earth for anger quake:
But such a star hath influence on his sword,
As rules the skies and countermands the Gods,
More than Cimmerian Styx or destiny:
And then shall we in this detested guise,
With shame, with hunger, and with horror live,*
Griping our bowels with retorqued thoughts,
And have no hope to end our extacies.
Zab. Then is there left no Mahomet, no God,
No fiend, no fortune, nor no hope of end
To our infamous, monstrous slaveries.
Gape, earth, and let the fiends infernal view
A hell as hopeless and as full of fear
As are the blasted banks of Erebus,
• live is here substituted for aie in the 8vo. and aye in the 4to.