She is my Handmaids slave, and she shal looke

That these abuses flow not from her tongue:

Chide her Anippe.

Yet would you have some pitie for my sake,

Because it is my countries, and my Fathers.

My Lord, how can you suffer these outragious curses bythese slaves of yours?

Yes, my Lord.

My lord, to see my fathers towne besieg'd,

The countrie wasted where my selfe was borne,

How can it but afflict my verie soule?

If any love remaine in you my Lord,

Or if my love unto your majesty

May merit favour at your highnesse handes,

Then raise your siege from faire Damascus walles,

And with my father take a frindly truce.

Honor still weight on happy Tamburlaine:

Yet give me leave to plead for him my Lord.