where his remains.—      Tell me, sweet boy, art thou content to die? These barbarous Scythians, full of cruelty, And Moors, in whom was never pity found, Will hew us piecemeal, put us to the wheel, Or else invent some torture worse than that; Therefore die by thy loving mother's hand, Who gently now will lance thy ivory throat, And quickly rid thee both of pain and life. SON. Mother, despatch me, or I'll kill myself; For think you I can live and see him dead? Give me your knife, good mother, or strike home: 149 The Scythians shall not tyrannize on me:      Sweet mother, strike, that I may meet my father.           [She stabs him, and he dies.]       OLYMPIA. Ah, sacred Mahomet, if this be sin, Entreat a pardon of the God of heaven, And purge my soul before it come to thee!           [She burns the bodies of her HUSBAND and SON, and then attempts to kill herself.]            Enter THERIDAMAS, TECHELLES, and all their train. THERIDAMAS. How now, madam! what are you doing? OLYMPIA. Killing myself, as I have done my son, Whose body, with his father's, I have burnt, Lest cruel Scythians should dismember him. TECHELLES.  'Twas bravely done, and like a soldier's wife. Thou shalt with us to Tamburlaine the Great, Who, when he hears how resolute thou wert, 150 Will match thee with a viceroy or a king. OLYMPIA. My lord deceas'd was dearer unto me Than any viceroy, king, or emperor; And for his sake here will I end my days. THERIDAMAS. But, lady, go with us to Tamburlaine, And thou shalt see a man greater than Mahomet, In whose high looks is much more majesty, Than from the concave superficies Of Jove's vast palace, the empyreal orb, Unto the shining bower where Cynthia sits, Like lovely Thetis, in a crystal robe; That treadeth Fortune underneath his feet, And makes the mighty god of arms his slave; On whom Death and the Fatal Sisters wait With naked swords and scarlet liveries;      Before whom, mounted on a lion's back, Rhamnusia bears a helmet full of blood, And strows the way with brains of slaughter'd men; By whose proud side the ugly Furies run, Hearkening when he shall bid them plague the world; Over whose zenith, cloth'd in windy air, And eagle's wings join'd 151 to her feather'd breast, Fame hovereth, sounding of 152 her golden trump, That to the adverse poles of that straight line Which measureth the glorious frame of heaven The name of mighty Tamburlaine is spread; And him, fair lady, shall thy eyes behold. Come. OLYMPIA. Take pity of a lady's ruthful tears, That humbly craves upon her 

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