raging waves, Fenc'd with the concave of a monstrous rock, Invincible by nature 120 of the place. When this is done, then are ye soldiers, And worthy sons of Tamburlaine the Great. CALYPHAS. My lord, but this is dangerous to be done; We may be slain or wounded ere we learn. TAMBURLAINE. Villain, art thou the son of Tamburlaine, And fear'st to die, or with a 121 curtle-axe To hew thy flesh, and make a gaping wound? Hast thou beheld a peal of ordnance strike A ring of pikes, mingled with shot and horse, 122 Whose shatter'd limbs, being toss'd as high as heaven, Hang in the air as thick as sunny motes, And canst thou, coward, stand in fear of death? Hast thou not seen my horsemen charge the foe, Shot through the arms, cut overthwart the hands, Dying their lances with their streaming blood, And yet at night carouse within my tent, Filling their empty veins with airy wine, That, being concocted, turns to crimson blood, And wilt thou shun the field for fear of wounds? View me, thy father, that hath conquer'd kings, And, with his 123 host, march'd 124 round about the earth, Quite void of scars and clear from any wound, That by the wars lost not a drop 125 of blood, And see him lance 126 his flesh to teach you all. [He cuts his arm.] A wound is nothing, be it ne'er so deep; Blood is the god of war's rich livery. Now look I like a soldier, and this wound As great a grace and majesty to me, As if a chair of gold enamelled, Enchas'd with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, And fairest pearl of wealthy India, Were mounted here under a canopy, And I sat down, cloth'd with a massy robe That late adorn'd the Afric potentate, Whom I brought bound unto Damascus' walls. Come, boys, and with your fingers search my wound, And in my blood wash all your hands at once, While I sit smiling to behold the sight. Now, my boys, what think ye of a wound? CALYPHAS. I know not 127 what I should think of it; methinks 'tis a pitiful sight. CELEBINUS. 'Tis 128 nothing.—Give me a wound, father. AMYRAS. And me another, my lord. TAMBURLAINE. Come, sirrah, give me your arm. CELEBINUS. Here, father, cut it bravely, as you did your own. TAMBURLAINE. It shall suffice thou dar'st abide a wound; My boy, thou shalt not lose a drop of blood Before we meet the army of the Turk; But then run desperate through the thickest throngs, Dreadless of blows, of bloody wounds, and death; And let the burning of Larissa-walls, My speech of war, and this my wound you see, Teach you, my boys, to bear courageous minds,
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