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.
