The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Tamburlaine Part 2


Act: 3 Scene: 1<< <>>>
Enter the kings of Trebisond and Soria , one bringing a sword, and another a scepter: Next Natolia and Jerusalem with the Emperiall crowne: After Calapine, and after him other Lordes [and Almeda]: Orcanes and Jerusalem crowne him, and the other give him the scepter.
Calepinus Cyricelibes, otherwise Cybelius, son and successive heire to the late mighty Emperour Bajazeth, by the aid of God and his friend Mahomet, Emperour of Natolia, Jerusalem, Trebizon, Soria , Amasia, Thracia, Illyrie, Carmonia and al the hundred and thirty Kingdomes late contributory to his mighty father. Long live Callepinus, Emperour of Turky .
Thrice worthy kings of Natolie, and the rest,
I will requite your royall gratitudes
With all the benefits my Empire yeelds:
And were the sinowes of th'imperiall seat
So knit and strengthned, as when Bejezeth
My royall Lord and father fild the throne,
Whose cursed fate hath so dismembred it,
Then should you see this Thiefe of Scythia,
This proud usurping king of Persea,
Do us such honor and supremacie,
Bearing the vengeance of our fathers wrongs,
As all the world should blot our dignities
Out of the booke of base borne infamies.
And now I doubt not but your royall cares
Hath so provided for this cursed foe,
That since the heire of mighty Bajezeth
(An Emperour so honoured for his vertues)
Revives the spirits of true Turkish hearses,
In grievous memorie of his fathers shame,
We shall not need to nourish any doubt,
But that proud Fortune, who hath followed long
The martiall sword of mighty Tamburlaine,
Will now retaine her olde inconstancie,
And raise our honors to as high a pitch
In this our strong and fortunate encounter.
For so hath heaven provided my escape,
From al the crueltie my soule sustaind,
By this my friendly keepers happy meanes,
That Jove surchardg'd with pity of our wrongs,
Will poure it downe in showers on our heads:
Scourging the pride of cursed Tamburlain.
I have a hundred thousand men in armes,
Some, that in conquest of the perjur'd Christian,
Being a handfull to a mighty hoste,
Thinke them in number yet sufficient,
To drinke the river Nile or Euphrates,
And for their power, ynow to win the world.
And I as many from Jerusalem,
Judæa , Gaza, and Scalonians bounds,
That on mount Sinay with their ensignes spread,
Looke like the parti-coloured cloudes of heaven,
That shew faire weather to the neighbor morne.
And I as many bring from Trebizon,
Chio, Famastro, and Amasia,
All bordring on the Mare-major sea:
Riso, Sancina, and the bordering townes,
That touch the end of famous Euphrates.
Whose courages are kindled with the flames,
The cursed Scythian sets on all their townes,
And vow to burne the villaines quell heart.
From Soria with seventy thousand strong,
Tane from Aleppo, Soldino, Tripoly,
And so unto my citie of Damasco,
I march to meet and aide my neigbor kings,
All which will joine against this Tamburlain,
And bring him captive to your highnesse feet.
Our battaile then in martiall maner pitcht,
According to our ancient use, shall beare
The figure of the semi-circled Moone:
Whose homes shall sprinkle through the tainted aire,
The poisoned braines of this proud Scythian.
Wel then my noble Lords, for this my friend,
That freed me from the bondage of my foe:
I thinke it requisite and honorable,
To keep my promise, and to make him king,
That is a Gentleman (I know) at least.
That's no matter sir, for being a king, for Tamburlain came up of nothing.
Your Majesy may choose some pointed time,
Perfourming all your promise to the full:
Tis nought for your majesty to give a kingdome.
Then wil I shortly keep my promise Almeda.
Why, I thank your Majesty.
Exeunt.

Act: 3 Scene: 2<< <>>>
[Enter] Tamburlaine with Usumcasane, end his three sons, [Calyphas, Amyras, and Celibinus,] foure bearing the hearse of Zenocrate, and the drums sounding a dolefull martch, the Towne burning.
So, burne the turrets of this cursed towne,
Flame to the highest region of the aire:
And kindle heaps of exhalations,
That being fiery meteors, may presage,
Death and destruction to th'inhabitants.
Over my Zenith hang a blazing star,
That may endure till heaven be dissolv'd,
Fed with the fresh supply of earthly dregs,
Threatning a death and famine to this land,
Flieng Dragons, lightning, fearfull thunderclaps,
Sindge these fair plaines, and make them seeme as black
As is the Island where the Furies maske,
Compast with Lethe, Styx, and Phlegeton,
Because my deare Zenocrate is dead.
This Piller plac'd in memorie of her,
Where in Arabian, Hebrew, Greek, is writ
This towne being burnt by Tamburlaine the great,
Forbids the world to build it up againe.
And here this mournful streamer shal be plac'd
Wrought with the Persean and Egyptian armes,
To signifie she was a princesse borne,
And wife unto the Monarke of the East.
And here this table as a Register
Of all her vertues and perfections.
And here the picture of Zenocrate,
To shew her beautie, which the world admyr'd,
Sweet picture of divine Zenocrate,
That hanging here, wil draw the Gods from heaven:
And cause the stars fixt in the Southern arke,
Whose lovely faces never any viewed,
That have not past the Centers latitude,
As Pilgrimes traveile to our Hemi-spheare,
Onely to gaze upon Zenocrate.
Thou shalt not beautifie Larissa plaines,
But keep within the circle of mine armes.
At every towne and castle I besiege,
Thou shalt be set upon my royall tent.
And when I meet an armie in the field,
Those looks will shed such influence in my campe,
As if Bellona, Goddesse of the war
Threw naked swords and sulphur teals of fire,
Upon the heads of all our enemies.
And now my Lords, advance your speares againe,
Sorrow no more my sweet Casane now:
Boyes leave to mourne, this towne shall ever mourne,
Being burnt to cynders for your mothers death.
If I had wept a sea of teares for her,
It would not ease the sorrow I sustaine.
As is that towne, so is my heart consum'd,
With griefe and sorrow for my mothers death.
My mothers death hath mortified my mind,
And sorrow stops the passage of my speech.
But now my boies, leave off, and list to me,
That meane to teach you rudiments of war:
Ile have you learne to sleepe upon the ground,
March in your armour thorowe watery Fens,
Sustaine the scortching heat and freezing cold,
Hunger and thirst, right adjuncts of the war.
And after this, to scale a castle wal,
Besiege a fort, to undermine a towne,
And make whole cyties caper in the aire.
Then next, the way to fortifie your men,
In champion grounds, what figure serves you best,
For which the quinque-angle fourme is meet:
Because the corners there may fall more flat,
Whereas the Fort may fittest be assailde,
And sharpest where th'assault is desperate.
The ditches must be deepe, the Counterscarps
Narrow and steepe, the wals made high and broad,
The Bulwarks and the rampiers large and strong,
With Cavalieros and thicke counterforts,
And roome within to lodge sixe thousand men.
It must have privy ditches, countermines,
And secret issuings to defend the ditch.
It must have high Argins and covered waies
To keep the bulwark fronts from battery,
And Parapets to hide the Muscatters:
Casemates to place the great Artillery,
And store of ordinance that from every flanke
May scoure the outward curtaines of the Fort,
Dismount the Cannon of the adverse part,
Murther the Foe and save the walles from breach.
When this is learn'd for service on the land,
By plaine and easie demonstration,
Ile teach you how to make the water mount,
That you may dryfoot martch through lakes and pooles,
Deep rivers, havens, creekes, and litle seas,
And make a Fortresse in the raging waves,
Fenc'd with the concave of a monstrous rocke,
Invincible by nature of the place.
When this is done, then are ye souldiers,
And worthy sonnes of Tamburlain the great.
My Lord, but this is dangerous to be done,
We may be slaine or wounded ere we learne.
Villain, art thou the sonne of Tamburlaine,
And fear'st to die, or with a Curtle-axe
To hew thy flesh and make a gaping wound?
Hast thou beheld a peale of ordinance strike
A ring of pikes, mingled with shot and horse,
Whose shattered rims, being tost as high as heaven,
Hang in the aire as thicke as sunny motes,
And canst thou Coward stand in feare of death?
Hast thou not scene my horsmen charge the foe,
Shot through the armes, cut overthwart the hands,
Dieng their lances with their streaming blood,
And yet at night carrouse within my tent,
Filling their empty vaines with aiery wine,
That being concocted, turnes to crimson blood,
And wilt thou shun the field for feare of woundes?
View me thy father that hath conquered kings,
And with his hoste martcht round about the earth,
Quite voice of skars, and cleare from any wound,
That by the warres lost not a dram of blood,
And see him lance his flesh to teach you all. He cuts his arme.
A wound is nothing be it nere so deepe,
Blood is the God of Wars rich livery.
Now look I like a souldier, and this wound
As great a grace and majesty to me,
As if a chaire of gold enamiled,
Enchac'd with Diamondes, Saphyres, Rubies
And fairest pearle of welthie India
Were mounted here under a Canapie:
And I sat downe, cloth'd with the massie robe,
That late adorn'd the Affrike Potentate,
Whom I brought bound unto Damascus walles.
Come boyes and with your fingers search my wound,
And in my blood wash all your hands at once,
While I sit smiling to behold the sight.
Now my boyes, what think you of a wound?
I know not what I should think of it. Me thinks tis a pitifull sight.
Tis nothing: give me a wound father.
And me another my Lord.
Come sirra, give me your arme.
Here father, cut it bravely as you did your own.
It shall suffice thou darst abide a wound.
My boy, Thou shalt not loose a drop of blood,
Before we meet the armie of the Turke.
But then run desperate through the thickest throngs,
Dreadlesse of blowes, of bloody wounds and death:
And let the burning of Larissa wals,
My speech of war, and this my wound you see,
Teach you my boyes to beare couragious minds,
Fit for the followers of great Tamburlaine.
Usumcasane now come let us martch
Towards Techelles and Theridamas,
That we have sent before to fire the townes,
The towers and cities of these hateful! Turks,
And hunt that Coward, faintheart runaway,
With that accursed traitor Almeda,
Til fire and sword have found them at a bay.
I long to pierce his bowels with my sword,
That hath betraied my gracious Soveraigne,
That curst and damned Traitor Almeda.
Then let us see if coward Calapine
Dare levie armes against our puissance,
That we may tread upon his captive necke,
And treble all his fathers slaveries.
Exeunt.

Act: 3 Scene: 3<< <>>>
[Enter] Techelles, Theridamas and their traine.
Thus have wee martcht Northwarde from Tamburlaine,
Unto the frontier point of Soria :
And this is Balsera their chiefest hold,
Wherein is all the treasure of the land.
Then let us bring our light Artilery,
Minions, Fauknets, and Sakars to the trench,
Filling the ditches with the walles wide breach,
And enter in, to seaze upon the gold:
How say ye Souldiers, Shal we not?
Yes, my Lord, yes, come lets about it.
But stay a while, summon a parle, Drum,
It may be they will yeeld it quietly,
Knowing two kings, the friends to Tamburlain,
Stand at the walles, with such a mighty power.
Summon the battell.
[Enter above] Captaine with his wife [Olympia] and sonne.
What requier you my maisters?
Captaine, that thou yeeld up thy hold to us.
To you? Why, do you thinke me weary of it?
Nay Captain, thou art weary of thy life,
If thou withstand the friends of Tamburlain.
These Pioners of Argier in Affrica ,
Even in the cannons face shall raise a hill
Of earth and fagots higher than thy Fort,
And over thy Argins and covered waies
Shal play upon the bulwarks of thy hold
Volleies of ordinance til the breach be made,
That with his wine fils up all the trench.
And when we enter in, not heaven it selfe
Shall ransome thee, thy wife and family.
Captaine, these Moores shall cut the leaden pipes,
That bring fresh water to thy men and thee:
And lie in trench before thy castle walles,
That no supply of victuall shall come in,
Nor any issue foorth, but they shall die:
And therefore Captaine, yeeld it quietly.
Were you that are the friends of Tamburlain ,
Brothers to holy Mahomet himselfe,
I would not yeeld it: therefore doo your worst.
Raise mounts, batter, intrench, and undermine,
Cut off the water, all convoies that can,
Yet I am resolute, and so farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Pioners away, and where I stuck the stake,
Intrench with those dimensions I prescribed:
Cast up the earth towards the castle wall,
Which til it may defend you, labour low:
And few or none shall perish by their shot.
We will my Lord.
Exeunt.
A hundred horse shall scout about the plaines
To spie what force comes to relieve the horde.
Both we (Theridamas) wil intrench our men,
And with the Jacobs staffe measure the height
And distance of the castle from the trench,
That we may know if our artillery
Will carte full point blancke unto their wals.
Then see the bringing of our ordinance
Along the trench into the battery,
Where we will have Gabions of sixe foot broad,
To save our Cannoniers from musket shot,
Betwixt which, shall our ordinance thunder foorth,
And with the breaches fall, smoake, fire, and dust,
The cracke, the Ecchoe and the souldiers crie
Make deafe the aire, and dim the Christall Sky.
Trumpets and drums, alarum presently,
And souldiers play the men, the hold is yours.
[Exeunt.]

Act: 3 Scene: 4<< <>>>
Enter [below] the Captaine with [Olympia] his wife and sonne.
Come good my Lord, and let us haste from hence
Along the cave that leads beyond the foe,
No hope is left to save this conquered hold.
A deadly bullet gliding through my side,
Lies heavy on my heart, I cannot live.
I feele my liver pierc'd and all my vaines,
That there begin and nourish every part,
Mangled and tome, and all my entrals bath'd
In blood that straineth from their orifex.
Farewell sweet wife, sweet son farewell, I die.
[Dies.]
Death, whether art thou gone that both we live?
Come back again (sweet death) and strike us both:
One minute end our daies, and one sepulcher
Containe our bodies: death, why comm'st thou not?
Wel, this must be the messenger for thee. [Dagger.]
Now ugly death stretch out thy Sable wings,
And carte both our soules, where his remaines.
Tell me sweet boie, art thou content to die?
These barbarous Scythians full of cruelty,
And Moores, in whom was never pitie found,
Will hew us peecemeale, put us to the wheele,
Or els invent some torture worse than that.
Therefore die by thy loving mothers hand,
Who gently now wil lance thy Ivory throat,
And quickly rid thee both of paine and life.
Mother dispatch me, or Ile kil my selfe,
For think ye I can live, and see him dead?
Give me your knife (good mother) or strike home:
The Scythians shall not tyrannise on me.
Sweet mother strike, that I may meet my father.
She stabs him.
Ah sacred Mahomet, if this be sin,
Intreat a pardon of the God of heaven,
And purge my soule before it come to thee.
[Burns the bodies.]
Enter Theridamas, Techelles and all their traine.
How now Madam, what are you doing?
Killing my selfe, as I have done my sonne,
Whose body with his fathers I have burnt,
Least quell Scythians should dismember him.
Twas bravely done, and like a souldiers wife.
Thou shalt with us to Tamburlaine the great,
Who when he heares how resolute thou wert,
Wil match thee with a viceroy or a king.
My Lord deceast, was dearer unto me,
Than any Viceroy, King or Emperour.
And for his sake here will I end my daies.
But Lady goe with us to Tamburlaine,
And thou shalt see a man greater than Mahomet ,
In whose high lookes is much more majesty
Than from the Concave superficies,
Of Joves vast pallace the imperiall Orbe,
Unto the shining bower where Cynthia sits,
Like lovely Thetis in a Christall robe:
That treadeth Fortune underneath his feete,
And makes the mighty God of armes his slave:
On whom death and the fatall sisters waite,
With naked swords and scarlet liveries:
Before whom (mounted on a Lions backe)
Rhamnusia beares a helmet ful of blood,
And strowes the way with braines of slaughtered men:
By whose proud side the ugly furies run,
Harkening when he shall bid them plague the world.
Over whose Zenith cloth'd in windy aire,
And Eagles wings join'd to her feathered breast,
Fame hovereth, sounding of her golden Trumpe:
That to the adverse poles of that straight line,
Which measureth the glorious frame of heaven,
The name of mightie Tamburlain is spread:
And him faire Lady shall thy eies behold.
Come.
Take pitie of a Ladies ruthfull teares,
That humbly craves upon her knees to stay,
And cast her bodie in the burning flame,
That feeds upon her sonnes and husbands flesh.
Madam, sooner shall fire consume us both,
Then scortch a face so beautiful as this,
In frame of which, Nature hath shewed more skill,
Than when she gave eternall Chaos forme,
Drawing from it the shining Lamps of heaven.
Madam, I am so far in love with you,
That you must goe with us, no remedy.
Then carie me I care not where you will,
And let the end of this my fatall journey,
Be likewise end to my accursed life.
No Madam, but the beginning of your joy,
Come willinglie, therfore.
Souldiers now let us meet the Generall,
Who by this time is at Natolie,
Ready to charge the army of the Turke.
The gold, the silver, and the pearle ye got,
Rifling this Fort, device in equall shares:
This Lady shall have twice so much againe,
Out of the coffers of our treasurie.
Exeunt.

Act: 3 Scene: 5<< <>>>
[Enter] Callepine, Orcanes, Jerusalem, Trebizon, Soria , Almeda, with their traine. [To them the Messenger.]
Renowmed Emperour, mighty Callepine,
Gods great lieftenant over all the world:
Here at Alepo with an hoste of men
Lies Tamburlaine, this king of Persea:
In number more than are the quyvering leaves
Of Idas forrest, where your highnesse hounds,
With open crie pursues the wounded Stag:
Who meanes to gyrt Natolias walles with siege,
Fire the towne and overrun the land.
My royal army is as great as his,
That from the bounds of Phrigia to the sea
Which washeth Cyprus with his brinish waves,
Covers the tails, the valleies and the plainest
Viceroles and Peeres of Turky play the men,
Whet all your swords to mangle Tamburlain ,
His sonnes, his Captaines and his followers,
By Mahomet not one of them shal live.
The field wherin this battaile shall be fought,
For ever terme, the Perseans sepulchre,
In memorie of this our victory.
Now, he that cals himself the scourge of Jove,
The Emperour of the world, and earthly God,
Shal end the warlike progresse he intends,
And traveile hedlong to the lake of hell:
Where legions of devils (knowing he must die
Here in Natolie, by your highnesse hands)
All brandishing their brands of quenchlesse fire,
Streching their monstrous pawes, grin with their teeth,
And guard the gates to entertaine his soule.
Tell me Viceroies the number of your men,
And what our Army royall is esteem'd.
From Palestina and Jerusalem,
Of Hebrewes, three score thousand fighting men
Are come since last we shewed your majesty.
So from Arabia desert, and the bounds
Of that sweet land, whose brave Metropolis
Reedified the faire Semyramis,
Came forty thousand warlike foot and horse,
Since last we numbred to your Majesty.
From Trebizon in Asia the lesse,
Naturalized Turks and stout Bythinians
Came to my bands full fifty thousand more,
That fighting, knowes not what retreat doth meane,
Nor ere returne but with the victory,
Since last we numbred to your majesty.
Of Sorians from Halla is repair'd
And neighbor cities of your highnesse land,
Ten thousand horse, and thirty thousand foot,
Since last we numbred to your majestie:
So that the Army royall is esteem'd
Six hundred thousand valiant fighting men.
Then welcome Tamburlaine unto thy death.
Come puissant Viceroies, let us to the field,
(The Perseans Sepulchre) and sacrifice
Mountaines of breathlesse men to Mahomet ,
Who now with love opens the firmament,
To see the slaughter of our enemies.
[Enter] Tamburlaine with his three sonnes, Usumcasane with other.
How now Casane? See a knot of kings,
Sitting as if they were a telling ridles.
My Lord, your presence makes them pale and wan.
Poore soules they looke as if their deaths were neere.
Why, so he is Casane, I am here,
But yet Ile save their lives and make them slaves.
Ye petty kings of Turkye I am come,
As Hector did into the Grecian campe,
To overdare the pride of Græcia ,
And set his warlike person to the view
Of fierce Achilles, rivall of his fame.
I doe you honor in the simile ,
For if I should as Hector did Achilles,
(The worthiest knight that ever brandisht sword)
Challenge in combat any of you all,
I see how fearfully ye would refuse,
And fly my glove as from a Scorpion.
Now thou art fearfull of thy armies strength,
Thou wouldst with overmatch of person fight,
But Shepheards issue, base borne Tamburlaine,
Thinke of thy end, this sword shall lance thy throat.
Villain, the shepheards issue, at whose byrth
Heaven did affoord a gratious aspect,
And join'd those stars that shall be opposite,
Even till the dissolution of the world,
And never meant to make a Conquerour,
So famous as is mighty Tamburlain:
Shall so torment thee and that Callapine,
That like a roguish runnaway, suborn'd
That villaine there, that slave, that Turkish dog,
To false his service to his Soveraigne,
As ye shal curse the byrth of Tamburlaine.
Raile not proud Scythian, I shall now revenge
My fathers vile abuses and mine owne.
By Mahomet he shal be tied in chaines,
Rowing with Christians in a Brigandine,
About the Grecian Isles to rob and spoile:
And turne him to his ancient trade againe.
Me thinks the slave should make a lusty theefe.
Nay, when the battaile ends, al we wil meet,
And sit in councell to invent some paine,
That most may vex his body and his soule.
Sirha, Callapine, Ile hang a clogge about your necke for running away againe, you shall not trouble me thus to come and fetch you.
But as for you (Viceroy) you shal have bits,
And harnest like my horses, draw my coch,
And when ye stay, be lasht with whips of wier:
Ile have you learne to feed on provender,
And in a stable lie upon the planks.
But Tamburlaine, first thou shalt kneele to us
And humbly crave a pardon for thy life.
The common souldiers of our mighty hoste
Shal bring thee bound unto the Generals tent.
And all have jointly sworne thy quell death,
Or bind thee in eternall torments wrath.
Wel sirs, diet your selves, you knowe I shall have occasion shortly to journey you.
See father, how Almeda the Jaylor lookes upon us.
Villaine, traitor, damned fugitive,
Ile make thee wish the earth had swallowed thee:
Seest thou not death within my wrathfull looks?
Goe villaine, cast thee headlong from a rock,
Or rip thy bowels, and rend out thy heart,
T'appease my wrath, or els Ile torture thee,
Searing thy hatefull flesh with burning yrons,
And drops of scalding lead, while all thy joints
Be racks and beat asunder with the wheele,
For if thou livest, not any Element
Shal shrowde thee from the wrath of Tamburlaine.
Wel, in despight of thee he shall be king:
Come Almeda, receive this crowne of me,
I here invest thee king of Ariadan,
Bordering on Mare Roso neere to Meca.
What, take it man.
Good my Lord, let me take it.
Doost thou aske him leave? Here, take it.
Go too sirha, take your crown, and make up the halfe dozen. So sirha, now you are a king you must give armes.
So he shal, and weare thy head in his Scutchion.
No, let him hang a bunch of keies on his standerd, to put him in remembrance he was a Jailor, that when I take him, I may knocke out his braines with them, and lock you in the stable, when you shall come sweating from my chariot.
Away, let us to the field, that the villaine may be slaine.
Sirha, prepare whips, and bring my chariot to my Tent: For as soone as the battaile is done, Ile ride in triumph through the Camp. Enter Theridamas, Techelles, and their traine.
How now ye pety kings, foe, here are Bugges
Wil make the haire stand upright on your heads,
And cast your crownes in slavery at their feet.
Welcome Theridamas and Techelles both,
See ye this rout, and know ye this same king?
Wel, now you see hee is a king, looke to him.
I, my Lord, he was Calapines keeper. Theridamas, when we are fighting, least hee hide his crowne as the foolish king of Persea did.
No Tamburlaine, hee shall not be put to that exigent , I warrant thee.
You knowe not sir:
But now my followers and my loving friends,
Fight as you ever did, like Conquerours,
The glorie of this happy day is yours:
My sterne aspect shall make faire Victory,
Hovering betwixt our armies, light on me,
Loden with Lawrell wreathes to crowne us all.
I smile to think, how when this field is fought,
And rich Natolia ours, our men shall sweat
With carrieng pearle and treasure on their backes.
You shall be princes all immediatly:
Come fight ye Turks, or yeeld us victory.
No, we wil meet thee slavish Tamburlain.
Exeunt.
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