Page:The works of Christopher Marlowe - ed. Dyce - 1859.djvu/98

36 Be equally against his life incens'd In this great Turk and hapless emperess ! And pardon me that was not mov'd with ruth To see them live so long in misery! Ah, what may chance to thee, Zenocrat ?

Madam, content yourself, and be resolv'd Your love hath Fortune so at his command, That she shall stay, and turn her wheel no more, As long as life maintains his mighty arm That fights for honour to adorn your head.

What other heavy news now brings Philemus?

Madam, your father, and the Arabian king, The first affecter of your excellence, now, as Turnus 'gainst Æneas did, with lance into the Ægyptian fields, Ready for battle 'gainst my lord the king.

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 Eneas' love, So, for a 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.

What cursèd power guides the murdering hands Of this infàmous 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 blood for witness of thy love.

Too dear a witness for such love, my lord! Behold Zenocrate, the cursed object Whose fortunes never mastered her griefs ; Behold her wounded in for thee, As much as thy fair body is for me!

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 panga 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 desirèd hand shall close mine eyes.

Come, happy father of Zenocrate, A title higher than thy Soldan's name. Though my right hand 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 or Nile.

Sight thrice-welcome to my joyful soul, To see the king, my father, issue safe From dangerous battle of my conquering lore!

Well met, my only dear Zenocrate, Though with the loss of Egypt and my crown!