Such good successe happen to Bajazeth.

Base Concubine, must thou be plac'd by me

That am the Empresse of the mighty Turke?

To Tamburlaine the great Tartarian thiefe?

And sue to thee? I tell thee shamelesse girle,

Thou shalt be Landresse to my waiting maid.

How lik'st thou her Ebea , will she serve?

Now Mahomet, solicit God himselfe,

And make him raine down murthering shot from heaven

To dash the Scythians braines, and strike them dead,

That dare to manage armes with him,

That offered jewels to thy sacred shrine,

When first he war'd against the Christians.

Thou art deceiv'd, I heard the Trumpets sound,

As when my Emperour overthrew the Greeks:

And led them Captive into Affrica

Straight will I use thee as thy pride deserves:

Prepare thy selfe to live and die my slave.

No Tamburlain, though now thou gat the best,

Thou shalt not yet be Lord of Affrica .

Injurious villaines, thieves, runnagates,

How dare you thus abuse my Maiesty?

Though he be prisoner, he may be ransomed.

O cursed Mahomet that makest us thus

The slaves to Scythians rude and barbarous.