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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The stately buildings of faire Babylon,

Whose lofty Pillers, higher than the cloudes,

Were woont to guide the seaman in the deepe,

Being carried thither by the cannons force,

Now fil the mouth of Limnasphaltes lake,

And make a bridge unto the battered walles.

Where Belus, Ninus and great Alexander

Have rode in triumph, triumphs Tamburlaine,

Whose chariot wheeles have burst th'Assirians bones,

Drawen with these kings on heaps of carkasses.

Now in the place where faire Semiramis,

Courted by kings and peeres of Asia,

Hath trode the Meisures, do my souldiers martch,

And in the streets, where brave Assirian Dames

Have rid in pompe like rich Saturnia,

With furious words and frowning visages,

My horsemen brandish their unruly blades.

Enter [below] Theridamas and Techelles bringing the Governour of Babylon.

Who have ye there my Lordes?

Go bind the villaine, he shall hang in chaines,

Upon the ruines of this conquered towne.

Sirha, the view of our vermillion tents,

Which threatned more than if the region

Next underneath the Element of fire,

Were full of commtes and of blazing stars,

Whose flaming traines should reach down to the earth

Could not affright you , no, nor I my selfe,

The wrathfull messenger of mighty Jove,

That with his sword hath quail'd all earthly kings,

Could not perswade you to submission,

But stil the ports were shut: villaine I say,

Should I but touch the rusty gates of hell,

The triple headed Cerebus would howle,

And wake blacke Jove to crouch and kneele to me,

But I have sent volleies of shot to you,

Yet could not enter till the breach was made.

Wel, now Ile make it quake, go draw him up,

Hang him up in chaines upon the citie walles,

And let my souldiers shoot the slave to death.

Up with him then, his body shalbe scard.

Then for all your valour, you would save your life.

Where about lies it?

Go thither some of you and take his gold,

The rest forward with execution,

Away with him hence, let him speake no more:

I think I make your courage something quaile.

[Exeunt souldiers several ways, some with Governour.]

When this is done, we'll martch from Babylon,

And make our greatest haste to Persea:

These Jades are broken winded, and halfe tyr'd,

Unharnesse them, and let me have fresh horse:

So, now their best is done to honour me,

Take them, and hang them both up presently.

Take them away Theridamas, see them dispatcht.

Come Asian Viceroies, to your taskes a while

And take such fortune as your fellowes felt.

Bridle them, and let me to my coach.

Tis brave indeed my boy, wel done,

Shoot first my Lord, and then the rest shall follow.

No, though Asphaltis lake were liquid gold,

And offer'd me as ransome for thy life,

Yet shouldst thou die, shoot at him all at once. They shoote.

So now he hangs like Bagdets Governour,

Having as many bullets in his flesh,

As there be breaches in her battered wall.

Goe now and bind the Burghers hand and foot,

And cast them headlong in the cities lake:

Tartars and Perseans shall inhabit there,

And to command the citie, I will build

A Cytadell, that all Assiria

Which hath bene subject to the Persean king,

Shall pay me tribute for, in Babylon.

Techelles, Drowne them all, man, woman, and child,

Leave not a Babylonian in the towne.

Now Casane, wher's the Turkish Alcaron,

And all the heapes of supersticious bookes,

Found in the Temples of that Mahomet ,

Whom I have thought a God? they shal be burnt.

Wel said, let there be a fire presently.

In vaine I see men worship Mahomet,

My sword hath sent millions of Turks to hell,

Slew all his Priests, his kinsmen, and his friends,

And yet I live untoucht by Mahomet:

There is a God full of revenging wrath,

From whom the thunder and the lightning breaks,

Whose Scourge I am, and him will I obey.

So Casane, fling them in the fire.

Now Mahomet, if thou have any power,

Come downe thy selfe and worke a myracle,

Thou art not woorthy to be worshipped,

That suffers flames of fire to burne the writ

Wherein the sum of thy religion rests.

Why send'st thou not a furious whyrlwind downe,

To blow thy Alcaron up to thy throne,

Where men report, thou sitt'st by God himselfe,

Or vengeance on the head of Tamburlain,

That shakes his sword against thy majesty,

And spurns the Abstracts of thy foolish lawes.

Wel souldiers, Mahomet remaines in hell,

He cannot heare the voice of Tamburlain,

Seeke out another Godhead to adore,

The God that sits in heaven, if any God,

For he is God alone, and none but he.

Wel then my friendly Lordes, what now remaines

But that we leave sufficient garrison

And presently depart to Persea,

To triumph after all our victories.

Let it be so, about it souldiers:

But stay, I feele my selfe distempered sudainly.

Something Techelles, but I know not what,

But foorth ye vassals, what so ere it be,

Sicknes or death can never conquer me.

Tamburlaine Part 2