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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Tamburlaine Part 2

Act: 4 Scene: 1

Yet pardon him I pray your Majesty.

Act: 4 Scene: 2

Wel met Olympia, I sought thee in my tent,

But when I saw the place obscure and darke,

Which with thy beauty thou wast woont to light,

Enrag'd I ran about the fields for thee,

Supposing amorous Jove had sent his sonne,

The winged Hermes, to convey thee hence:

But now I finde thee, and that feare is past.

Tell me Olympia, wilt thou graunt my suit?

Olympia, pitie him, in whom thy looks

Have greater operation and more force

Than Cynthias in the watery wildernes,

For with thy view my joyes are at the full,

And eb againe, as thou departst from me.

Nothing, but stil thy husband and thy sonne?

Leave this my Love, and listen more to me.

Thou shalt be stately Queene of faire Argier,

And cloth'd in costly cloath of messy gold,

Upon the marble turrets of my Court

Sit like to Venus in her chaire of state,

Commanding all thy princely eie desires,

And I will cast off armes and sit with thee,

Spending my life in sweet discourse of love.

Nay Lady, then if nothing wil prevaile,

Ile use some other means to make you yeeld,

Such is the sodaine fury of my love,

I must and wil be pleasde, and you shall yeeld:

Come to the tent againe.

What is it?

Why Madam, thinke ye to mocke me thus palpably?

Why gave you not your husband some of it,

If you loved him, and it so precious?

I wil Olympia, and will keep it for

The richest present of this Easterne world.

Here then Olympia. [Stabs her.]

What, have I slaine her? Villaine, stab thy selfe:

Cut off this arme that murthered my Love:

In whom the learned Rabies of this age,

Might find as many woondrous myracles,

As in the Theoria of the world.

Now Hell is fairer than Elisian,

A greater Lamp than that bright eie of heaven,

From whence the starres doo borrow all their light,

Wanders about the black circumference,

And now the damned soules are free from paine,

For every Fury gazeth on her lookes:

Infernall Dis is courting of my Love,

Inventing maskes and stately showes for her,

Opening the doores of his rich treasurie,

To entertaine this Queene of chastitie,

Whose body shall be tomb'd with all the pompe

The treasure of my kingdome may affoord.

Act: 4 Scene: 3

Your Majesty must get some byts for these,

To bridle their contemptuous cursing tongues,

That like unruly never broken Jades,

Breake through the hedges of their hateful mouthes,

And passe their fixed bounces exceedingly.

It seemes they meant to conquer us my Lord,

And make us jeasting Pageants for their Trulles.