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And crown me emperor of Africa.

ZAB. No, Tamburlaine: though now thou got the best,

Thou shalt not yet be lord of Africa.

THER. Give her the crown, Turkess; you were best.

[He takes it from her, and gives it to Zenocrate. ZAB. Injurious villains!—thieves !—runagates! How dare you thus abuse my majesty?

THER. [To Zenocrate.] Here, madam, you are empress; she is none.

TAMB. Not now, Theridamas; her time is past. The pillars that have bolster'd up those terms, Are fall'n in clusters at my conq'ring feet.

ZAB. Though he be pris'ner, he may be ransom'd. TAMB. Not all the world shall ransom Bajazet. BAJ. Ah, fair Zabina, we have lost the field; And never had the Turkish emperor

So great a foil by any foreign foe.

Now will the Christian miscreants be glad,
Ringing with joy their superstitious bells,
And making bonfires for my overthrow.
But, ere I die, those foul idolaters

Shall make me bonfires with their filthy bones.
For though the glory of this day be lost,
Afric and Greece have garrisons enough
To make me sovereign of the earth again.
TAMB. Those walled garrisons will I subdue,
And write myself great lord of Africa.

So from the East unto the furthest West
Shall Tamburlaine extend his puissant arm.
The gallies and those pilling brigandines,
That yearly sail to the Venetian gulf,

And hover in the Streights for Christian wreck,
Shall lie at anchor in the isle Asant,

Until the Persian fleet and men of war,

Sailing along the oriental sea,

Have fetch'd about the Indian continent,

Even from Persepolis to Mexico,

And thence unto the straights of Gibraltar;
Where they shall meet and join their force in one,
Keeping in awe the bay of Portugal,

And all the ocean by the British shore;

And by this means I'll win the world at last.

BAJ. Yet set a ransom on me, Tamburlaine.

TAMB. What, think'st thou, Tamburlaine esteems

thy gold?

I'll make the kings of India, ere I die,

Offer their mines (to sue for peace) to me,

And dig for treasure to appease my wrath.

Come, bind them both, and one lead in the Turk ; The Turkess, let my love's maid lead away.

[They bind them. BAJ. Ah, villains!-dare ye touch my sacred


XO Mahomet !—O sleepy Mahomet!

ZAB. O cursed Mahomet, that makes us thus
The slaves to Scythians, rude and barbarous !

TAMB. Come, bring them in; and for this happy


Triumph and solemnize a martial feast.




Enter the SOLDAN of EGYPT, CAPOLINE, Lords, and a MESSENGER.

SOLD. Awake, ye men of Memphis!-hear the clang

Of Scythian trumpets!-hear the basilisks,

That, roaring, shake Damascus' turrets down!
The rogue of Volga holds Zenocrate,
The Soldan's daughter, for his concubine,
And with a troop of thieves and vagabonds,
Hath spread his colours to our high disgrace,
While you, faint-hearted, base Egyptians,
Lie slumb'ring on the flow'ry banks of Nile,
As crocodiles that unaffrighted rest,
While thund'ring cannons rattle on their skins.
MESS. Nay, mighty soldan, did your greatness see
The frowning looks of fiery Tamburlaine,
That with his terror and imperious eyes,
Commands the hearts of his associates,
It might amaze your royal majesty.

SOLD. Villain, I tell thee, were that Tamburlaine As monstrous as [the] gorgon prince of hell,

The soldan would not start a foot from him.

But speak, what pow'r hath he?

MESS. Mighty lord,

Three hundred thousand men in armour clad,
Upon their prancing steeds disdainfully,

With wanton paces trampling on the ground:
Five hundred thousand footinen threat'ning shot,
Shaking their swords, their spears, and iron bills,
Environing their standard round, that stood
As bristle pointed as a thorny wood:

Their warlike engines and munition
Exceed the forces of their martial men.

SOLD. Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars,

Or ever-drizzling drops of April show'rs,

Or wither'd leaves that Autumn shaketh down,
Yet would the Soldan, by his conq'ring pow'r
So scatter and consume them in his rage,

That not a man should live to rue their fall.

CAPO. So might your highness, had you time to


Your fighting men, and raise your royal host;
But Tamburlaine, by expedition,

Advantage takes of your unreadiness.

SOLD. Let him take all th' advantages he can,
Were all the world conspir'd to fight for him,
Nay, were he devil, as he is no man,

Yet in revenge of fair Zenocrate,
Whom he detaineth in despite of us,

This arm should send him down to Erebus,

To shroud his shame in darkness of the night.
MESS. Pleaseth your Mightiness to understand,
His resolution far exceedeth all.

The first day when he pitcheth down his tents,
White is their hue, and on his silver crest,
A snowy feather spangled white he bears,
To signify the mildness of his mind,
That, satiate with spoil, refuseth blood.

But when Aurora mounts the second time

As red as scarlet is his furniture;

Then must his kindled wrath be quench'd with blood,
Not sparing any that can manage arms;
But if these threats move not submission,
Black are his colours, black, his pavilions;

His spear, his shield, his horse, his armour, plumes,
And petty feathers, menace death and hell;
Without respect of sex, degree, or age,

He razeth all his foes with fire and sword.
SOLD. Merciless villain !-peasant, ignorant
Of lawful arms or martial discipline!
Pillage and murder are his usual trades.
The slave usurps the glorious name of war.
See, Capoline, the fair Arabian king,
That hath been disappointed by this slave
Of my fair daughter, and his princely love,
May have fresh warning to go war with us,
And be reveng'd for her disparagement.


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