For all the wealth of Gihon’s golden waves,
Or for the love of Venus, would she leave
The angry god of arms and lie with me.
They have refused the offer of their lives,
And know my customs are as peremptory
As wrathful planets, death, or destiny.
Enter TECHELLES.
What, have your horsemen shown the virgins Death?
TECHELLES
They have, my lord, and on Damascus’ walls
130 Have hoisted up their slaughtered carcasses.
TAMBURLAINE
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.
Exeunt; [TAMBURLAINE remains].
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 dishevelled wip’st thy watery cheeks,
And like to Flora in her morning’s pride,
140 Shaking her silver tresses in the air,
Rain’st on the earth resolvèd pearl in showers
And sprinklest sapphires on thy shining face
Where Beauty, mother to the Muses, sits
And comments volumes with her ivory 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,
The moon, the planets, and the meteors, light.
150 There angels in their crystal armours fight
A doubtful battle with my tempted thoughts
For Egypt’s freedom and the Sultan’s life –
His life that so consumes Zenocrate,
Whose sorrows lay more siege unto my soul
Than all my army to Damascus’ walls;
And neither Persians’ sovereign nor the Turk
Troubled my senses with conceit of foil
So much by much as doth Zenocrate.
160 What is beauty, saith my sufferings, then?
If all the pens that ever poets held
Had fed the feeling of their masters’ thoughts,
And every sweetness that inspired their hearts,
Their minds and muses on admirèd themes;
If all the heavenly quintessence they still
From their immortal flowers of poesy,
Wherein as in a mirror we perceive
The highest reaches of a human wit;
If these had made one poem’s period,
170 And all combined 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 touched,
180 And every warrior that is rapt 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 stopped 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 strewèd weeds,
Shall give the world to note, for all my birth,
That virtue solely is the sum of glory
190 And fashions men with true nobility.
Who’s within there?
Enter two or three [ATTENDANTS].
Hath Bajazeth been fed today?
ATTENDANT Ay, my lord.
TAMBURLAINE Bring him forth, and let us know if the town be ransacked.
[Exeunt ATTENDANTS.]
Enter TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE, and others.
TECHELLES
The town is ours, my lord, and fresh supply
Of conquest and of spoil is offered us.
TAMBURLAINE
That’s well, Techelles, what’s the news?
TECHELLES
The Sultan and the Arabian king together,
March on us with such eager violence
200 As if there were no way but one with us.
TAMBURLAINE
No more there is not, I warrant thee, Techelles.
They bring in the TURK [BAJAZETH, in his cage, followed by ZABINA].
We know the victory is ours, my lord.
But let us save the reverend Sultan’s life
For fair Zenocrate that so laments his state.
TAMBURLAINE
That will we chiefly see unto, Theridamas,
For sweet Zenocrate, whose worthiness
Deserves a conquest over every heart.
And now, my footstool, if I lose the field,
You hope of liberty and restitution.
210 Here let him stay, my masters, from the tents,
Till we have made us ready for the field.
Pray for us, Bajazeth, we are going.
Exeunt, [BAJAZETH and ZABINA remain.]
BAJAZETH
Go, never to return with victory!
Millions of men encompass thee about
And gore thy body with as many wounds!
Sharp, forkèd arrows light upon thy horse!
Furies from the black Cocytus lake
Break up the earth, and with their firebrands
220 Enforce thee run upon the baneful pikes!
Volleys of shot pierce through thy charmèd skin,
And every bullet dipped in poisoned drugs!
Or roaring cannons sever all thy joints,
Making thee mount as high as eagles soar!
ZABINA
Let all the swords and lances in the field
Stick in his breast as in their proper rooms!
At every pore let blood come dropping forth,
That ling’ring pains may massacre his heart
And madness send his damnèd soul to hell!
BAJAZETH
230 Ah, fair Zabina, we may curse his power,
The heavens may frown, the earth for anger quake,
But such a star hath influence in 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 aye
Griping our bowels with retorquèd thoughts,
And have no hope to end our ecstasies.
ZABINA
Then is there left no Mahomet, no God,
240 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,
Where shaking ghosts with ever-howling groans
Hover about the ugly ferryman
To get a passage to Elysium!
Why should we live, O, wretches, beggars, slaves,
Why live we, Bajazeth, and build up nests
250 So high within the region of the air,
By living long in this oppression,
That all the world will see and laugh to scorn
The former triumphs of our mightiness
In this obscure infernal servitude?
BAJAZETH
O life more loathsome to my vexèd thoughts
Than noisome parbreak of the Stygian snakes
Which fills the nooks of hell with standing air,
&nbs
p; Infecting all the ghosts with cureless griefs!
O dreary engines of my loathèd sight
That sees my crown, my honour, and my name
260 Thrust under yoke and thraldom of a thief,
Why feed ye still on day’s accursèd beams
And sink not quite into my tortured soul?
You see my wife, my queen and emperess,
Brought up and proppèd by the hand of fame,
Queen of fifteen contributory queens,
Now thrown to rooms of black abjection,
Smearèd with blots of basest drudgery,
And villeiness to shame, disdain, and misery.
Accursèd Bajazeth, whose words of ruth,
270 That would with pity cheer Zabina’s heart
And make our souls resolve in ceaseless tears,
Sharp hunger bites upon and gripes the root
From whence the issues of my thoughts do break.
O poor Zabina, O my queen, my queen,
Fetch me some water for my burning breast,
To cool and comfort me with longer date,
That, in the shortened sequel of my life,
I may pour forth my soul into thine arms
With words of love, whose moaning intercourse
280 Hath hitherto been stayed with wrath and hate
Of our expressless, banned inflictions.
ZABINA
Sweet Bajazeth, I will prolong thy life
As long as any blood or spark of breath
Can quench or cool the torments of my grief.
She goes out.
BAJAZETH
Now, Bajazeth, abridge thy baneful days
And beat thy brains out of thy conquered head,
Since other means are all forbidden me
That may be ministers of my decay.
290 O highest lamp of ever-living Jove,
Accursèd day, infected with my griefs,
Hide now thy stainèd face in endless night
And shut the windows of the lightsome heavens!
Let ugly Darkness with her rusty coach,
Engirt with tempests wrapped in pitchy clouds,
Smother the earth with never-fading mists,
And let her horses from their nostrils breathe
Rebellious winds and dreadful thunderclaps,
That in this terror Tamburlaine may live,
300 And my pined soul, resolved in liquid air,
May still excruciate his tormented thoughts!
Then let the stony dart of senseless cold
Pierce through the centre of my withered heart
And make a passage for my loathèd life!
He brains himself against the cage.
Enter ZABINA.
ZABINA
What do mine eyes behold? My husband dead!
His skull all riven in twain, his brains dashed out!
The brains of Bajazeth, my lord and sovereign!
O Bajazeth, my husband and my lord,
O Bajazeth, O Turk, O emperor – give him his liquor? Not I.
310 Bring milk and fire, and my blood I bring him again; tear me
in pieces, give me the sword with a ball of wildfire upon it.
Down with him, down with him! Go to my child. Away,
away, away! Ah, save that infant, save him, save him! I, even
I, speak to her. The sun was down. Streamers white, red,
black, here, here, here. Fling the meat in his face. Tamburlaine,
Tamburlaine! Let the soldiers be buried. Hell, death,
Tamburlaine, hell! Make ready my coach, my chair,
my jewels. I come, I come, I come!
She runs against the cage and brains herself.
[Enter] ZENOCRATE with ANIPPE.
ZENOCRATE
Wretched Zenocrate, that livest to see
Damascus’ walls dyed with Egyptian blood,
320 Thy father’s subjects and thy countrymen,
Thy streets strewed with dissevered joints of men
And wounded bodies gasping yet for life,
But most accurst to see the sun-bright troop
Of heavenly virgins and unspotted maids,
Whose looks might make the angry god of arms
To break his sword and mildly treat of love,
On horsemen’s lances to be hoisted up
And guiltlessly endure a cruel death!
For every fell and stout Tartarian steed,
330 That stamped on others with their thund’ring hoofs,
When all their riders charged their quivering spears,
Began to check the ground and rein themselves,
Gazing upon the beauty of their looks.
Ah, Tamburlaine, wert thou the cause of this,
That term’st Zenocrate thy dearest love,
Whose lives were dearer to Zenocrate
Than her own life, or aught save thine own love?
[She sees the bodies of BAJAZETH and ZABINA.]
But see, another bloody spectacle!
Ah, wretched eyes, the enemies of my heart,
340 How are ye glutted with these grievous objects,
And tell my soul more tales of bleeding ruth!
See, see, Anippe, if they breathe or no.
ANIPPE
No breath, nor sense, nor motion in them both.
Ah, madam, this their slavery hath enforced,
And ruthless cruelty of Tamburlaine.
ZENOCRATE
Earth, cast up fountains from thy entrails,
And wet thy cheeks for their untimely deaths;
Shake with their weight in sign of fear and grief;
Blush, heaven, that gave them honour at their birth,
350 And let them die a death so barbarous!
Those that are proud of fickle empery
And place their chiefest good in earthly pomp,
Behold the Turk and his great emperess!
Ah, Tamburlaine my love, sweet Tamburlaine,
That fight’st for sceptres and for slippery crowns,
Behold the Turk and his great emperess!
Thou that in conduct of thy happy stars,
Sleep’st every night with conquest on thy brows,
360 And yet wouldst shun the wavering turns of war,
In fear and feeling of the like distress,
Behold the Turk and his great emperess!
Ah, mighty Jove and holy Mahomet,
Pardon my love, O, pardon his contempt
Of earthly fortune and respect of pity,
And let not conquest ruthlessly pursued
Be equally against his life incensed
In this great Turk and hapless emperess!
And pardon me that was not moved with ruth
370 To see them live so long in misery.
Ah, what may chance to thee, Zenocrate?
ANIPPE
Madam, content yourself, and be resolved
Your love hath Fortune so at his command
That she shall stay, and turn her wheel no more
As long as life maintains his mighty arm
That fights for honour to adorn your head.
Enter [PHILEMUS,] a messenger.
ZENOCRATE
What other heavy news now brings Philemus?
PHILEMUS
Madam, your father and th’Arabian king,
The first affecter of your excellence,
380 Comes now as Turnus ‘gainst Aeneas did,
Armèd with lance into th’Egyptian fields,
Ready for battle ‘gainst my lord the king.
ZENOCRATE
Now shame and duty, love and fear, presents
A thousand sorrows to my martyred soul.
Whom should I wish the fatal victory,
When my poor pleasures are divided thus
And racked by duty from my cursèd heart?
My father and my first betrothèd love
Must fight against my life and present love,
Wherein the chang
e I use condemns my faith
390 And makes my deeds infamous through the world.
But as the gods, to end the Trojans’ toil,
Prevented Turnus of Lavinia
And fatally enriched Aeneas’ love,
So, for a final issue to my griefs,
To pacify my country and my love,
Must Tamburlaine, by their resistless powers,
With virtue of a gentle victory
Conclude a league of honour to my hope;
Then, as the powers divine have preordained,
400 With happy safety of my father’s life
Send like defence of fair Arabia.
They sound to the battle, and TAMBURLAINE enjoys the victory. After, [the KING OF] ARABIA enters wounded.
ARABIA
What cursèd power guides the murdering hands
Of this infamous tyrant’s soldiers,
That no escape may save their enemies,
Nor fortune keep themselves from victory?
Lie down, Arabia, wounded to the death,
And let Zenocrate’s fair eyes behold
That, as for her thou bear’st these wretched arms,
Even so for her thou diest in these arms,
410 Leaving thy blood for witness of thy love.
ZENOCRATE
Too dear a witness for such love, my lord.
Behold Zenocrate, the cursèd object
Whose fortunes never masterèd her griefs!
Behold her wounded in conceit for thee,
As much as thy fair body is for me.
ARABIA
Then shall I die with full contented heart,
Having beheld divine Zenocrate,
Whose sight with joy would take away my life,
420 As now it bringeth sweetness to my wound,
If I had not been wounded as I am.
Ah, that the deadly pangs I suffer now
Would lend an hour’s licence to my tongue
To make discourse of some sweet accidents
Have chanced thy merits in this worthless bondage,
And that I might be privy to the state
Of thy deserved contentment and thy love!
But, making now a virtue of thy sight
To drive all sorrow from my fainting soul,
430 Since death denies me further cause of joy,
Deprived of care, my heart with comfort dies,
Since thy desirèd hand shall close mine eyes.
[He dies.]
Enter TAMBURLAINE leading the SULTAN; TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE [bearing a crown for ZENOCRATE], with others.
TAMBURLAINE
Come, happy father of Zenocrate,
A title higher than thy Sultan’s name.
Though my right hand have thus enthrallèd thee,
Thy princely daughter here shall set thee free;
She that hath calmed the fury of my sword,
Which had ere this been bathed in streams of blood
As vast and deep as Euphrates or Nile.
ZENOCRATE