Let all the swords and lances in the field Stick in his breast as in their proper rooms! At every pore(272) let blood come dropping forth, That lingering pains may massacre his heart, And madness send his damned soul to hell!
BAJAZETH. Ah, fair Zabina! we may curse his power, The heavens may frown, the earth for anger quake; But such a star hath influence in(273) his sword As rules the skies and countermands the gods More than Cimmerian Styx or Destiny: And then shall we in this detested guise, With shame, with hunger, and with horror stay,(274) Griping our bowels with retorqued(275) thoughts, And have no hope to end our ecstasies.
ZABINA. Then is there left no Mahomet, no God, No fiend, no fortune, nor no hope of end To our infamous, monstrous slaveries. Gape, earth, and let the fiends infernal view A(276) hell as hopeless and as full of fear As are the blasted banks of Erebus, Where shaking ghosts with ever-howling groans Hover about the ugly ferryman, To get a passage to Elysium!(277) Why should we live?--O, wretches, beggars, slaves!-- Why live we, Bajazeth, and build up nests So high within the region of the air, By living long in this oppression, That all the world will see and laugh to scorn The former triumphs of our mightiness In this obscure infernal servitude?
BAJAZETH. O life, more loathsome to my vexed thoughts(278) Than noisome parbreak(279) of the Stygian snakes, Which fills the nooks of hell with standing air, Infecting all the ghosts with cureless griefs! O dreary engines of my loathed sight, That see my crown, my honour, and my name Thrust under yoke and thraldom of a thief, Why feed ye still on day's accursed beams, And sink not quite into my tortur'd soul? You see my wife, my queen, and emperess, Brought up and propped by the hand of Fame, Queen of fifteen contributory queens, Now thrown to rooms of black abjection,(280) Smeared with blots of basest drudgery, And villainess(281) to shame, disdain, and misery. Accursed Bajazeth, whose words of ruth,(282) That would with pity cheer Zabina's heart, And make our souls resolve(283) in ceaseless tears, Sharp hunger bites upon and gripes the root From whence the issues of my thoughts do break! O poor Zabina! O my queen, my queen! Fetch me some water for my burning breast, To cool and comfort me with longer date, That, in the shorten'd sequel of my life, I may pour forth my soul into thine arms With words of love, whose moaning intercourse Hath hitherto been stay'd with wrath and hate Of our expressless bann'd(284) inflictions.
ZABINA. Sweet Bajazeth, I will prolong thy life As long as any blood or spark of breath Can quench or cool the torments of my grief. [Exit.]
BAJAZETH. Now, Bajazeth, abridge thy baneful days, And beat the(285) brains out of thy conquer'd head, Since other means are all forbidden me, That may be ministers of my decay. O highest lamp of ever-living(286) Jove, Accursed day, infected with my griefs, Hide now thy stained face in endless night, And shut the windows of the lightsome heavens! Let ugly Darkness with her rusty coach, Engirt with tempests, wrapt in pitchy clouds, Smother the earth with never-fading mists, And let her horses from their nostrils breathe Rebellious winds and dreadful thunder-claps, That in this terror Tamburlaine may live, And my pin'd soul, resolv'd in liquid air, May still excruciate his tormented thoughts! Then let the stony dart of senseless cold Pierce through the centre of my wither'd heart, And make a passage for my loathed life! [He brains himself against the cage.]
Re-enter ZABINA.
ZABINA. What do mine eyes behold? my husband dead! His skull all riven in twain! his brains dash'd out, The brains of Bajazeth, my lord and sovereign! O Bajazeth, my husband and my lord! O Bajazeth! O Turk! O emperor! Give him his liquor? not I. Bring milk and fire, and my blood I bring him again.--Tear me in pieces--give(287) me the sword with a ball of wild-fire upon it.--Down with him! down with him!--Go to my child; away, away, away! ah, save that infant! save him, save him!--I, even I, speak to her.(288)--The sun was down--streamers white, red, black--Here, here, here!--Fling the meat in his face--Tamburlaine, Tamburlaine!--Let the soldiers be buried.--Hell, death, Tamburlaine,(289) hell!--Make ready my coach,(290) my chair, my jewels.--I come, I come, I come!(291) [She runs against the cage, and brains herself.]
Enter ZENOCRATE with ANIPPE.