ZENOCRATE. Now shame and duty, love and fear present A thousand sorrows to my martyr'd soul. Whom should I wish the fatal victory, When my poor pleasures are divided thus, And rack'd by duty from my cursed heart? My father and my first-betrothed love Must fight against my life and present love; Wherein the change I use condemns my faith, And makes my deeds infamous through the world: But, as the gods, to end the Trojans' toil, Prevented Turnus of Lavinia, And fatally enrich'd Aeneas' love, So, for a final issue to my griefs, To pacify my country and my love, Must Tamburlaine by their resistless powers, With virtue of a gentle victory, Conclude a league of honour to my hope; Then, as the powers divine have pre-ordain'd, With happy safety of my father's life Send like defence of fair Arabia [They sound to the battle within; and TAMBURLAINE enjoys the victory: after which, the KING OF ARABIA enters wounded.]
KING OF ARABIA. What cursed power guides the murdering hands Of this infamous tyrant's soldiers, That no escape may save their enemies, Nor fortune keep themselves from victory? Lie down, Arabia, wounded to the death, And let Zenocrate's fair eyes behold, That, as for her thou bear'st these wretched arms, Even so for her thou diest in these arms, Leaving thy blood for witness of thy love.
ZENOCRATE. Too dear a witness for such love, my lord! Behold Zenocrate, the cursed object Whose fortunes never mastered her griefs; Behold her wounded in conceit for thee, As much as thy fair body is for me!
KING OF ARABIA. Then shall I die with full contented heart, Having beheld divine Zenocrate, Whose sight with joy would take away my life As now it bringeth sweetness to my wound, If I had not been wounded as I am. Ah, that the deadly pangs I suffer now Would lend an hour's licence to my tongue, To make discourse of some sweet accidents Have chanc'd thy merits in this worthless bondage, And that I might be privy to the state Of thy deserv'd contentment and thy love! But, making now a virtue of thy sight, To drive all sorrow from my fainting soul, Since death denies me further cause of joy, Depriv'd of care, my heart with comfort dies, Since thy desired hand shall close mine eyes. [Dies.]
Re-enter TAMBURLAINE, leading the SOLDAN; TECHELLES, THERIDAMAS, USUMCASANE, with others.
TAMBURLAINE. Come, happy father of Zenocrate, A title higher than thy Soldan's name. Though my right hand have thus enthralled thee, Thy princely daughter here shall set thee free; She that hath calm'd the fury of my sword, Which had ere this been bath'd in streams of blood As vast and deep as Euphrates or Nile.
ZENOCRATE. O sight thrice-welcome to my joyful soul, To see the king, my father, issue safe From dangerous battle of my conquering love!
SOLDAN. Well met, my only dear Zenocrate, Though with the loss of Egypt and my crown!
TAMBURLAINE. 'Twas I, my lord, that gat the victory; And therefore grieve not at your overthrow, Since I shall render all into your hands, And add more strength to your dominions Than ever yet confirm'd th' Egyptian crown. The god of war resigns his room to me, Meaning to make me general of the world: Jove, viewing me in arms, looks pale and wan, Fearing my power should pull him from his throne: Where'er I come the Fatal Sisters sweat, And grisly Death, by running to and fro, To do their ceaseless homage to my sword: And here in Afric, where it seldom rains, Since I arriv'd with my triumphant host, Have swelling clouds, drawn from wide-gaping wounds, Been oft resolv'd in bloody purple showers, A meteor that might terrify the earth, And make it quake at every drop it drinks: Millions of souls sit on the banks of Styx, Waiting the back-return of Charon's boat; Hell and Elysium swarm with ghosts of men That I have sent from sundry foughten fields To spread my fame through hell and up to heaven: And see, my lord, a sight of strange import,-- Emperors and kings lie breathless at my feet; The Turk and his great empress, as it seems, Left to themselves while we were at the fight, Have desperately despatch'd their slavish lives: With them Arabia, too, hath left his life: All sights of power to grace my victory; And such are objects fit for Tamburlaine, Wherein, as in a mirror, may be seen His honour, that consists in shedding blood When men presume to manage arms with him.
