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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

See now ye slaves, my children stoops your pride

And leads your glories sheep-like to the sword.

Bring them my boyes, and tel me if the warres

Be not a life that may illustrate Gods,

And tickle not your Spirits with desire

Stil to be train'd in armes and chivalry?

No, no Amyras, tempt not Fortune so,

Cherish thy valour stil with fresh supplies:

And glut it not with stale and daunted foes.

But wher's this coward, villaine, not my sonne,

But traitor to my name and majesty.

He goes in and brings him out.

Image of sloth, and picture of a slave,

The obloquie and skorne of my renowne,

How may my hart, thus fired with mine eies,

Wounded with shame, and kill'd with discontent,

Shrowd any thought may horde my striving hands

From martiall justice on thy wretched soule.

Stand up, ye base unworthy souldiers,

Know ye not yet the argument of Armes?

Stand up my boyes, and I wil teach ye arms,

And what the jealousie of warres must doe.

O Samarcanda, where I breathed first,

And joy'd the fire of this martiall flesh,

Blush, blush faire citie, at thine honors foile,

And shame of nature which Jaertis streame,

Embracing thee with deepest of his love,

Can never wash from thy distained browes.

Here Jove, receive his fainting soule againe,

A Forme not meet to give that subject essence,

Whose matter is the flesh of Tamburlaine,

Wherein an incorporeall spirit mooves,

Made of the mould whereof thy selfe consists,

Which makes me valiant, proud, ambitious,

Ready to levie power against thy throne,

That I might moove the turning Spheares of heaven,

For earth and al this aery region

Cannot containe the state of Tamburlaine.

[Stabs Calyphas.]

By Mahomet, thy mighty friend I sweare,

In sending to my issue such a soule,

Created of the messy dregges of earth,

The scum and tartar of the Elements,

Wherein was neither corrage, strength or wit,

But follie, sloth, and damned idlenesse:

Thou hast procur'd a greater enemie,

Than he that darted mountaines at thy head,

Shaking the burthen mighty Atlas beares:

Whereat thou trembling hid'st thee in the aire,

Cloth'd with a pitchy cloud for being seene.

And now ye cankred curres of Asia,

That will not see the strength of Tamburlaine,

Although it shine as brightly as the Sun.

Now you shal feele the strength of Tamburlain,

And by the state of his supremacie,

Approove the difference twixt himself and you.

Villaines, these terrours and these tyrannies

(If tyrannies wars justice ye repute)

I execute, enjoin'd me from above,

To scourge the pride of such as heaven abhors:

Nor am I made Arch-monark of the world,

Crown'd and invested by the hand of Jove,

For deeds of bounty or nobility:

But since I exercise a greater name,

The Scourge of God and terrour of the world,

I must apply my selfe to fit those tearmes,

In war, in blood, in death, in crueltie,

And plague such Pesants as resist in me

The power of heavens eternall majesty.

Theridamas, Techelles, and Casane ,

Ransacke the tents and the pavilions

Of these proud Turks, and take their Concubines,

Making them burie this effeminate brat,

For not a common Souldier shall defile

His manly fingers with so faint a boy.

Then bring those Turkish harlots to my tent,

And Ile dispose them as it likes me best,

Meane while take him in.

Wel, bark ye dogs. Ile bridle al your tongues

And bind them close with bits of burnisht steele,

Downe to the channels of your hatefull throats,

And with the paines my rigour shall inflict,

Ile make ye roare, that earth may eccho foorth

The far resounding torments ye sustaine,

As when an heard of lusty Cymbrian Buls,

Run mourning round about the Femals misse,

And stung with furie of their following,

Fill all the aire with troublous bellowing:

I will with Engines, never exercisde,

Conquer, sacke, and utterly consume

Your cities and your golden pallaces,

And with the flames that beat against the clowdes

Incense the heavens, and make the starres to melt,

As if they were the teares of Mahomet

For hot consumption of his countries pride:

And til by vision, or by speech I heare

Immortall Jove say, Cease my Tamburlaine,

I will persist a terrour to the world,

Making the Meteors, that like armed men

Are seene to march upon the towers of heaven,

Run tilting round about the firmament,

And breake their burning Lances in the aire,

For honor of my woondrous victories.

Come bring them in to our Pavilion.

Tamburlaine Part 2