cruelties are not so harsh as thine, Nor yet impos'd with such a bitter hate! ORCANES. Revenge it, 207 Rhadamanth and Aeacus, And let your hates, extended in his pains, Excel 208 the hate wherewith he pains our souls! KING OF TREBIZON. May never day give virtue to his eyes, Whose sight, compos'd of fury and of fire, Doth send such stern affections to his heart! KING OF SORIA. May never spirit, vein, or artier, 209 feed The cursed substance of that cruel heart; But, wanting moisture and remorseful 210 blood, Dry up with anger, and consume with heat! TAMBURLAINE. Well, bark, ye dogs: I'll bridle all your tongues, And bind them close with bits of burnish'd steel, Down to the channels of your hateful throats; And, with the pains my rigour shall inflict, I'll make ye roar, that earth may echo forth The far-resounding torments ye sustain; As when an herd of lusty Cimbrian bulls Run mourning round about the females' miss, 211 And, stung with fury of their following, Fill all the air with troublous bellowing. I will, with engines never exercis'd, Conquer, sack, and utterly consume Your cities and your golden palaces, And, with the flames that beat against the clouds, Incense the heavens, and make the stars to melt, As if they were the tears of Mahomet For hot consumption of his country's pride; And, till by vision or by speech I hear Immortal Jove say "Cease, my Tamburlaine," I will persist a terror to the world, Making the meteors (that, like armed men, Are seen to march upon the towers of heaven) Run tilting round about the firmament, And break their burning lances in the air, For honour of my wondrous victories.— Come, bring them in to our pavilion. [Exeunt.]
SCENE II.
Enter OLYMPIA. OLYMPIA. Distress'd Olympia, whose weeping eyes, Since thy arrival here, behold 212 no sun, But, clos'd within the compass of a 213 tent, Have 214 stain'd thy cheeks, and made thee look like death, Devise some means to rid thee of thy life, Rather than yield to his detested suit, Whose drift is only to dishonour thee; And, since this earth, dew'd with thy brinish tears, Affords no herbs whose taste may poison thee, Nor yet this air, beat often with thy sighs, Contagious smells and vapours to infect thee, Nor thy close cave a sword to murder thee, Let this invention be the instrument. Enter THERIDAMAS. THERIDAMAS. Well met,
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