I, such a stomacke (cruel Tambulaine) as I could willinglyfeed upon thy blood-raw hart.

Fall to, and never may your meat digest.

Ye Furies that can maske invisible,

Dive to the bottome of Avernus poole,

And in your hands bring hellish poison up,

And squease it in the cup of Tamburlain

Or winged snakes of Lerna cast your stings,

And leave your venoms in this Tyrants dish.

First legions of devils shall teare thee in peeces.

My empty stomacke ful of idle heat,

Drawes bloody humours from my feeble parses,

Preserving life, by hastingquell death.

My vaines are pale, my sinowes hard and drie,

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

I Tyrant, and more meat.

Nor shall they long be shine, I warrant them.