THE SACRIFICE. A TRAGEDY.  
By the Honourable Sir FRANCIS FANE, Knight of the BATH.  
The Second Edition.  
Quae poterunt unquam satis expurgare cicutae  
Ni melius dormire putem, quam scribere Versus.  Hor. 
LONDON, Printed by I. R. for john Weld at the Crown between the Temple Gates in Fleetstreet, MDCLXXXVII.  

Licenced,  
May 4. 1686. Ro. L'Estrange.    

To the Right Honourable CHARLES EARL of Dorset and Middlesex, etc. Lord Lieutenant of the County of Sussex.  
My Lord,  
HAving long since devoted myself to a Country Life, and wanting Patience to attend the leisure of the Stage, I have adventured to exposed this Tragedy, without Action; but I shall never be much ashamed of it, since it has had the Honour of your Lordship's Approbation, whose admirable Genius in Poetry, has long since given you a just Title to preside over all Causes of that kind, and whose Judgement never Errs, but when 'tis seduced by your Extraordinory Candour. Yet to have a share in your Lordship's Mercy, rather than all the Clamorous Applauses of the Vulgar, shall ever be esteemed a greater Honour to,  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most Obliged and Humble Servant, FRANCIS FANE.   


TO THE AUTHOR.  
WHen o'er the World the mild Augustus Reigned,  
Wit's Empire too the Roman Poets gained:  
So when the first auspicious James possessed  
Our British World, and in Possessing blessed;  
Our Poets wore the Laurels of the Age,  
While Shakespeare, Fletcher, Johnson Crowned. the Stage  
And though our Caesars since have raised the State,  
Our Poetry sustains the Roman Fate.  
In less Essays successful we have been,  
But lost the Nobler Province of the Scene:  
Perverters, not Reformers of the Stage,  
Depraved to Farce, or more fantastic Rage.  
How therefore shall we Celebrate thy Name,  
Whose Genius has so well retrieved our Fame?  
Whose happy Muse such Wonders can impart,  
And temper Shakespeare's Flame with Johnson's Art  
Whose Characters set just Examples forth;  
Mix Humane Frailties with Heroic Worth:  
Shunning th' Extremes in Modern Heroes seen,  
Than God's more perfect, or more frail than Men.  
With Reason, Nature, Truth our Minds you treat,  
And show a Prince irregularly Great.  
A generous Soul stormed by impetuous Love,  
Which yet from Virtue's Centre scorns to move.  
Thus while the Hero does himself defeat,  
Your Tamerlane is rendered truly GREAT,  
When by his Troops whole Empires were overthrown,  
'Twas Fortune's Work, this Conquest was his own.  
Your Monarch rages in Othello's Strain,  
jago in Ragalzan lives again.  
Not Hecuba like your Despina Raged,  
Like Her, for Empire and a Monarch's Fate engaged▪  
With Iphigene your Fair Irene vies,  
And falls a more lamented Sacrifice.  
Your Style, though just, subservient to the Thought;  
Your Numbers in Majestic Plainness wrought.  
Methinks I see the Pyrat-Wits of France  
Already to this Noble Prize Advance:  
An Artifice in which they most excel,  
But still, the Sense they steal, they Husband well▪  
Thus Sir, they'll melt your Oar, though not Refine;  
While each rich Thought of yours, each massey Line,  
Drawn to French Wire shall through whole Volumes shine▪  
Accept our Thanks, though you decline the Stage,  
That yet you condescend the Press t'engage:  
For while we thus possess the precious Store,  
Our Benefit's the same, your Glory more;  
Thus, for a Theatre the World you find;  
And your Applauding Audience, All Mankind.  N. TATE.  

To Sir FRANCIS FANE, on his Admirable Play, the SACRIFICE.  
WE have of late with heedless Scenes been fed,  
With Plays fit only to be seen, not read,  
As though with Rochester all Sense were dead;  
But when that Prince of Wit did yield to death,  
As his best Legacy, he did bequeath  
To you, his Friend, his great Poetic Power,  
And in it named you for his Successor.  
Straight Wit's great Council sat, that Critic Tribe,  
Who did your Title to the Gift subscribe;  
And by their Heralds did aloud declare  
To all the World you were his lawful Heir▪  
And now to satisfy pretending Men,  
You have confirmed your Title by your Pen.  
For by your charming measures you have taught,  
You do inherit that dear thing called Thought.  
Cease than ye Factious Wits, and never dare  
Attempt the Laurel from his Head to tore;  
For whilst he doth Wit's Glorious Sceptre sway,  
Ye cannot happier be than to obey;  
And if against his Laws ye ne'er rebel,  
Both Italy and France,  
We shall in Wit as well as Arms excel.  
Then Sir, how much is due t'you from the Age  
That you your Learned Thoughts should thus engage  
Once more to send a Pattern to the Stage?  
A Play correct, where Art and Nature's shown,  
That's self Existent, and depends on none;  
Where Wit, like Souls in Bodies, by your Art  
Is all in all, and all in every part.  
Should Traitorous whigs but view the lasting Dress  
That you've put on Ragalzan's Wickedness,  
Tho hatred to the best of Kings they wear,  
Yet all designs against him they'd forbear,  
Lest you should make them your next Character.  
For well 'tis known that whatsoe'er you write  
Will see the Sun till all things end in Night.  
And though these Villains Rope nor Axe do fear,  
Yet everlasting Shame they cannot bear.  
If happy Souls above can view the State  
Of things below, Despina for her Fate  
Will thank the Gods, now to her Virtuous Name,  
Your well wrought Lines have given a happy Fame:  
Irene too, that Pious Beauteous Prize  
No more would blame the Effects of her dear Eyes,  
Since by it she's become your Sacrifice.  JOHN ROBINS.  

To the Honourable Sir FRANCIS FANE, On his Excellent Play, The Sacrifice.  
LOng have our Priests condemned a Wicked Age  
And every Little Critics senseless rage,  
Damned a forsaken, self-declining Stage.  
Great, 'tis confessed, and many are our Crimes;  
And no less profligate the Vicious Times.  
But yet no wonder both prevail so Ill,  
The Poet's Fury, and the Preachers Skill.  
While to the World it is so plainly known,  
They blame our Faults, and never mind their own.  
Let their Dull Pens flow with unlearned Spite,  
And weakly Censure what the Skilful Write:  
You, Learned Sir, a Nobler Pattern show  
Our best of Rules, and best Example too.  
Precepts and grave Instructions dully move;  
The brave Performer better does Improve.  
Thus in the truest Saryr you Excel,  
And show how ill we Write, by Writing well.  
This Noble Piece which well deserves your Name,  
I Read with Pleasure, though I Read with Shame.  
The tender Laurels which my Brows had dressed,  
Flagged like young Flowers by too much Heat oppressed:  
The Generous Fire I felt in every Line,  
Showed me the cold, the feeble Force of mine.  
Henceforth I'll you for Imitation choose,  
Your Nobler Flights will wing my Callow Muse.  
So the young Eagle is informed to fly,  
Seeing the Monarch Bird ascend the Sky,  
And though with less Success, her Strength she'll try.  
Spreads her soft Wings, and his vast Tract pursues,  
Tho far above the Towering Prince she views.  
Where the whole Work is so Divinely wrought,  
The Rules so just, and so sublime each Thought,  
With such strict Art your Scenes in order placed,  
With Wit so new, and so uncommon Graced;  
In vain, Alas! I should attempt to tell  
Where, or in what, your Muse does most excel.  
Each Character performs its Noble Part,  
And stamps its Image on the Readers Heart.  
In Tamerlane you a true Hero dressed:  
A Generous Conflict wars within his Breast:  
'Tis there the Mightiest Passions you have showed:  
By turns confessed the Mortal and the God  
Whene're his steps approach the haughty Fair,  
He bows indeed, but like a Conqueror;  
Compelled to Love, yet scorns his servile Chain,  
And spite of all you make the Monarch Reign.  
But who without resistless Tears can see?  
The Bright, the Innocent Irene die.  
Axalla's Life a Noble Ransom paid,  
In vain to save the dear Loved Charming Maid.  
nought surely could, but your own Flame inspire  
Your happy Muse to reach so soft a Fire.  
Yet with what Art you turn the powerful Stream,  
When Treacherous Ragalzan is the Theme!  
Youmix our different Passion with such skill,  
We feel'em All, and all with Pleasure feel:  
We love his Mischiefs, though the Harms we grieve,  
And for his Wit, the Villain we forgive.  
In your Despina all those Passions meet,  
Which Woman's Frailties perfectly complete:  
Pride, and Revenge, Ambition, Love, and Rage  
At once her wilful haughty Soul Engage:  
And while her Rigid Honour we Esteem,  
The dire Effects as justly must condemn.  
She shows a Virtue so severely Nice,  
As has betrayed it to a pitch of Vice,  
All which confess a Godlike Power in you,  
Who could form Woman to herself so true.  
Live, Mighty Sir, to reconcile the Age,  
To the first Glories of the useful Stage:  
'Tis you her rifled Empire may restore,  
And give her Power she ne'er could boast before.  A. BEHN.   


Dramatis Personae.  
Tamerlane the Great.  
Bajazet, Emperor of the Turks.  
Axalla, General to Tamerlane.  
Ragalzan, one of Tamerlane's Chief Officers; a Villain.  
Zeylan, a Revolted Prince of China.  
Irene, Tamerlane's Daughter.  
Despina, Bajazet's Wife.  
Philarmia, Zeylan's Mistress.  
Priests,  
An ginger,  
Captains,  
Soldiers, and  
Attendants.   SCENE, a Revolted Fort in China.  

THE SACRIFICE.  

ACT I. SCENE I.  A Pavilion, with the prospect of a besieged Fort. Enter Tamerlane, Ragalzan, Axalla. Tam. 
HAS Europe, Asia, Afric felt the Charms  
Of my Victorious, but Indulgent Arms,  
And shall a soft Chinese Prince still dare  
Not to seek out his Glory by despair,  
Shake off those gracious Fetters which were sent  
By me, from Heaven, to be his Ornament,  
Which his great King puts on, and wears with pride?  Rag. 
At unknown Virtues Savages are frighted.  Tam. 
The Conquerors of Persia, Macedon,  
The Lords of Caesar's reverence my Throne;  
Clear from the rising, to the setting Sun:  
What Alexander near could reach, I won:  
Had he subdued to the Chinensian Shore,  
Then with some reason he had wept for more;  
But, like a froward Child, at Meals too great,  
He cried for want of Stomach, not of Meat.  Rag. 
Sir, from japan, to the Atlantic Main,  
The World lies fettered in your glorious Chain:  
Whose Life and Influence in the heavens' is felt,  
As upon Earth the spangled Milky Belt.  Tam. 
Soft, good Ragalzan; we are mortal too:  
Heaven cuts out work, which I alone can do.  Axal. 
I'm glad the Emperor swallows not the Pill:  
Who offers too much Good, contrives some iii.  [aside. Tam. 
Had Caesar lived, I had taught that Rebel Peace;  
And lashed the straggling Demy-God to Greece,  
Whose business was t'enslave, but not Reform;  
I've cleansed the World, and brushed it like a Storm.  
To purge the World from Sots, and simpering Knaves,  
To chain Vile Monarchs, and Crown worthy Slaves,  
Is my great Task on the reversed Earth.  Axal. 
Thanks to your Great, but Heav'n-befriended Birth.  Tam. 
Right, brave Axalla. Think not that I swell,  
Or have out-grown the Robes Heaven dressed me in:  
If I in terms so high my Conquests raise,  
It is not mine, but my Inspirer's praise.  Enter a Chancellor with a Seal, takes his Seat; then a Master of Ceremonies, ushering in Ambassadors with Presents. Mr. Cer. 
The Grecian Emperor kisses your Footstool.  Chan. 
The mighty Tamerlane accepts his Offering.  Mr. Cer. 
The Persian Emperor, etc.  Chan. 
The mighty, etc.  Mr. Cer. 
The Emperor of China, etc.  Chan. 
The mighty, etc.  Mr. Cer. 
The Russian Emperor, etc.  Chan. 
The mighty, etc.  Mr. Cer. 
Two and twenty African Kings beg admission.  Tam. 
Let the Kings wait till the Afternoon.  
Where's the Memorial? Read it on, Axalla.  Ax. 
Daramnes, Tigranel, and Crantor.  Tam. 
My Father's old Captains: Let them have considerable Pensions, besides Pay; and the first Commands that fall.  Ax. 
Isfendlar, Tachretin, and Germean Ogli.  Tam. 
Rich Noblemen: Let them be employed in places of Honour and Magnificence, they may support themselves.  Ax. 
Haly Mordecai.  Tam. 
Ha! A man that opposes me; not for the public good, but to be taken off by preferment: let him be advanced to the Gallows.  Ax. 
Burranes and Garrulan.  Tam. 
Men of more Sail than Ballast; Impudent, shallow Intruders: Let 'em be banished the Court. Princes, for the most part, keep the worst Company.  Ax. 
Close waiting argues no sufficiency; but rather still,  
For want of other merits, they pay you with  
Offensive diligence.  Tam. 
Right. Fools are fittest for Dumb-shows:  
While wiser men grow faint to feed on Glances.  Ax. 
Arcanes, Cardamel, and Rozarno.  Tam. 
Persons of great Wit, Honour, and Integrity: Let 'em be advanced immediately; there can be no places too good for 'em.  
I love not to force Grounds; but sow my Favours  
In fertile Soils, and my returns ne'er fail me:  
'Tis pity Virtue should want stuff to work on,  
Or languish with Ignoble Aliments.  Ax. 
Comets at first are but Terrestrial Vapours:  
But, when preferred into the upper Region,  
They shine out bright, and there turn glorious Wonders,  
Because they're of a pure and fiery substance:  
While the dull Clouds ungratefully obscure  
The Sun that raised 'em.  Tam. 
Are there no more men that I can do good to?  Ax. 
The Prince of Tanais.  Tam. 
Let him Command o'er all, next to thyself:  
A man of great Conduct, Courage, and Clemency.  
Give me the man that's made up like a Caesar,  
And he shall be one; but no Tamerlane.  The Scene opens to nng Cage▪ Tamerlane goes to him. 
Why will you still afflict me, Sir, to see  
Your malice frustrate all my Clemency.  
Like a soft Ball against a stony ground,  
Back to myself my benefits rebound.  
Heaven knows your Brother's Blood, your Subjects Tears,  
Called loud for Vengeance to my tender Ears.  
Heaven turned the Scales, and ordered for your share  
That punishment you did for me prepare.  
Reign with more Justice, and resume your Throne.  Baj. 
Now, others Scorn; then I should be my own,  
Should I, proud wandering Tartar, take from Thee  
One Inch of ground, one thought of Liberty:  
Could I be ground to Atoms, and each Grain  
Might have a Soul made up to die again;  
Thy Terrors should not make me own thy Laws,  
Nor owe Contentment of so vile a Cause.  
I live for my own sake, and thee Defie:  
When I think fit, I'll cheat thy Pride, and die.  (Stamps.) Tam. 
'Tis strange, he should not seek to ease his Fate!  
He cannot bear, and yet desires the weight.  Enter Irene. 
Here, my Axalla, take my fair Irene:  
Now pay thyself for all thy services,  
Out of this Treasury of Excellence.  
'Tis a reward assigned thee from above,  
For firm Allegiance and Seraphic Love.  Ax. 
Should Bounteous Heaven such Presents often make,  
It would more largely give, than Man could take:  
Nor could my Earthy Soul bear such delight,  
But that, like Heaven, you raised it to that Height.  Iren. 
Just Heavens forbid, that I should leave so soon  
The serene pleasures of a Virgin Life,  
For all the Joys of that unknown Condition.  Tam. 
I know, dear Saint, Axalla does instill  
The Christian Faith, which mortifies the Will,  
And sets the Mind above all Earthly care;  
But, 'tis not fit the World should want an Heir.  Iren. 
Nor is it fit, we should devote ourselves  
To those, by vulgar Error, Nuptial Joys,  
Till all the World lies prostrate at your Feet,  
And spurns no more at your illustrious Yoke.  Tam. 
The World is cared for; but Axalla dies,  
My sweet Irene: Wouldst thou have me lose  
My worthiest General, for want of such  
An easy Medicine? These doubts, Axalla,  
In private must be cleared by you, or none:  
Reasons for Love, are best when Love's alone.  [Exeunt. Rag. 
Solus. 'Tis as I thought: She's lost: 'Twas well divined,  
And to the Foe the Letter not ill sent.  
Zeylan will sound a point of War, to grace  
The worthy Nuptials of this well-paired Hero.  
What Soul can bear such unheaped loads of Scorn?  
Gods, lend me patience for some drowsy minutes,  
By your revengeful selves, I'll send the Drug back  
With full career, lest your vexed Powers should want it,  
And from my Fingers snatch the longed-for Prey.  
My Love rejected, and my Service slighted,  
And the great Heiress of the World bestowed  
Upon an Infidel, a Fugitive Italian;  
Because, forsooth, he can tell Stories of one Caesar,  
A Servant to the petty State of Rome!  
Indeed, this Caesar was a pretty Fellow  
To make a Bridge of Boats, or pick a hole  
In an old mouldering Wall, and sling the Stones  
On the besieged: to give him's due, he might  
Have made a pretty Scout for our Tartarian Army.  
But shall such puny Lessons give directions  
To him that leads Twelve hundred Thousand men,  
And has destroyed a Hundred nobler Towns  
Than babbling Rome, in the Celestial China,  
While I conducted his Victorious Troops?  
And is this my Reward? The great Destroyer  
Therefore will I destroy, and in his Ruin  
Revenge the Conquered World, and therein found my Fame;  
If not the best, yet in the loudest Name.  Ex. The Scene the inner part of a Fort. Zeylan, attended with Officers. Zey. 
Are the Men all drawn up?  Cap. 
Ready to March,  
And pressing to engage; as eager Lovers  
After long delays, or Hypocrites  
After a formal Fast, that whets more than  
Subdues, urging to pay with sinful Interest  
The mortified receiver of Life's Rents.  Zey. 
'Tis well. But let me read this once again.  Enter Philarmia. 
The mighty Tamerlane lies at your mercy. Nothing is weaker than secure Greatness. On the South side of his Camp you may break in, up to his own Pavilion. Make use of the sudden opportunity, by the advice of  Your unknown Friend. Phil. 
What Stratagem, what wonderful Device,  
My worthy, frowning, speechless General,  
That I am not thought worthy to partake of?  
Are Women than presumed to keep no secrets,  
Because they never yet confessed the Truth,  
And, with a thousand little Arts, conceal  
The Friend of Nature, Love, from silly searching Man  
With an Heroic impudent Modesty?  
Can they be secret still to curb their pleasures,  
And cannot hold their Tongues to save their Lives?  
Come, Sir, you have received a Letter from the Enemy:  
I see your Men prepared; I'll sally with you.  Zey. 
Go, dearest, go, and leave me to my Fate;  
The Sword has no Commission to destroy  
Thy sacred Sex, but feeds on courser fare:  
Dangers and business are cut out for Men;  
Women are spared, to Stock the World again.  Phil. 
Shall I outlive thee then? or can I do it?  
Are not our Threads so closely spun together,  
The same hand breaks them? dost thou love thy Fame  
And envy mine? Are Women only made  
To stock the Dunghill Earth; pull high-born Souls  
From native Seats and give them fleshly Dungeons?  
No, no: thou may'st as easily divorce  
The loving Elements from each others sides,  
As me from thine. Go bid the churlish Earth  
Shake off the Amorous Sea, that clings so close  
About her flinty Breast: Go bid the Female Air,  
That is incorporate with Litigious Fire,  
Withdraw her temperate alimental Aid  
In his Victorious unresisted marches.  Zey. 
But, my Philarmia, should some boisterous hand  
Pluck up this lovely Flower, where dwells all sweetness,  
Beauty in abstract, Light original;  
Should some rough Mortals, with their Impious arms,  
Deface this well drawn Image of Divinity,  
To which all others are but Counterfeits;  
Or with rude Weapons force the Ivory doors  
Of this thy sacred Temple, to let out  
The fair Inhabitant, thy precious Soul,  
With her bright Handmaids, Beauty, Wit, and Virtue:  
The Sun, that borrows Beams of thee, would lose  
Its Light and Influence, and the World go blindfold,  
Nature would sicken, the Creation die.  
Alas! thou con not ward a fatal blow,  
Nor force thy way through woods of walking Steel:  
Why wilt thou wound me through thy feeble sides?  Phil. 
Oh, but you are too bold! I can foresee  
Those dangers, through the perspective of Fear,  
Which blinding Valour, like a hot Catarrh,  
Deprives your sight of: Honour betrays you  
To perilous steps, which womens' cold Complexion  
And frightful apprehensions are aware of  
But if, inspite of all my watchful cares,  
You are involved amidst your desperate Foes;  
I'll interpose, like Clouds before the Sun,  
And steal thee from'em. If I drop to Earth,  
Dissolved in Tears and Blood; 'twas but a useless vapour:  
If I am lost; a Fond, but worthless Female:  
No Fate to me can too untimely come;  
Who may be killed abroad, must die at home.  (Weeps.) Zey. 
Oh, stop those Tears, lest thou unman me too,  
Till I'm exposed to hissing Contumelies  
Of Maids and Matrons, and abhorred by thee  
That caused my Shame. Alas! thy Honour lies  
In seeking Safety, more than ours in Danger:  
Nor can the greatest Acts, Achieved by thy  
Unnatural Valour, wipe off half the Stains  
That rude Mankind will cast on thy white Innocence  
For herding with 'em.  Phil. 
Why art thou then so good, so gently kind?  
Thy Soul's not made up of such course materials.  
If thou refuse me, I'll to th' other side:  
I'll kill all those that offer to kill thee,  
Till I have quite destroyed th' unnumbered Armies  
Of the Earth-covering and confounding Tamerlane,  
And all the World his Subjects, but thyself;  
Then I will fight with thee, and thou shalt kill me,  
And, if thou canst forbear to die, live after.  Zey. 
Thou hast overcome: Reason has lost the Day,  
That useless part of Man, till Love's away.  [Exeunt. The Scene Tamerlane's Tents. Ragl. 
Now is the time: Prince Zeylan's on the Wing,  
And he shall seize his Prey; thanks to his unknown Friend.  
A lesser loss than her, could ne'er have raised  
Revenge so high as his Ingratitude.  
Honour, that wavering Judge, here interposes,  
Which turns to every Tale: Honour, that spins  
Fine curious Parallels, that never meet:  
What says she then? First, I must right myself;  
And then, not wrong the Public. Rare distinction!  
Public! fine Canting word, the Public! Are my Arms,  
Or Legs, joined to the Public? Am I in pain  
When this Man's hanged, that Tortured? Do I eat  
The less, when this Man starves? Or when he's Froze  
Or burnt, do I feel that by my Fire side or Grotto?  
But, each man's private good lurks in the Public?  
Then, each man take his part, and where's the Public?  
Oh, but the Public is the Storehouse! No:  
Rather the Jail, that keeps men's private goods  
Confined. I'll get mine out, and set the rest on fire.  
My private Pleasure is my well-known Sovereign good:  
T'obey and gratify each strong Impulse  
Of Friendly Nature. What makes the Public? Power.  
And what destroys the Public? Why, Power again.  
Then let this Power dispose the Public still;  
My private Will shall rule that angry Power.  Enter Tamerlane, Axalla, Irene. Alarm within, and Clashing of Swords. Tam. 
What means this noise!  Mess. 
The Enemy is entered,  
And has repulsed your Guards. Prince Zeylan's coming to This Tent.  Iren. 
For heavens' sake, Sir,  
Be gone into this inner Room: there's a backdoor to't.  Tam. 
Is Zeylan come? I'll to my Rebel Guards,  
And teach th' adventurous Rebel to be tamer.  [Exeunt. Alarm without, Fighting on the Stage. Zeylan is beat off. Re-enter Tamerlane, Axalla, Ragalzan. Tam. 
What a bold Rebel's this! No more of mercy,  
Since 'tis despised; Axalla,  
Give order for a general Assault:  
I'll to the Temple, and give thanks to Heaven  
For this success.  [Ex. with Axalla. Rag. 
But I'll be there before you;  
To just Revenge, one disappointment shall  
Not stop my Progress: Now I'll trust myself.  
I know the Mummy Priest, a cunning fellow;  
By's Nature much, but by's profession more:  
He's one of those that deal 'twixt Gods and Men,  
A Commerce yet well never understood,  
And so they Cheat accordingly.  
But has Revenge such powerful pleasing Charms?  
Receiving Good,' sa Toy to doing Harms.  
Revenge, the God's best Dish, their close-kept Dainty▪  
'Tis their Ambrosia, not to be tasted  
By groveling Mortals; and forbid to all,  
But bold Promethean Souls; borrowing, because  
Able to re-imburse the Gods again  
With lofty Passions of immortal Wrath.  
Equally powerful still are Contraries:  
Hate's the reverse of Love; Revenge is hate's fruition:  
Nor do I know what's sweetest, or to have  
My Mistress in my Bed, My Foe in's Grave.  The Scene the outer part of a Temple. Enter Tamerlane, Axalla, Ragalzan. Tam. 
I like their Temples, but I loathe their Idols:  
To all those Being's, that our Senses reach not,  
Forms are injurious; much more to the Greatest.  Ax. 
I hate no less weak superstitious Fools;  
Who, with fond Attributes, th' eternal Being  
Reproach, and make more Antic than Mankind.  
Like Boys, they fear the Bugbears that they dress.  Tam. 
True. Heaven delights more in the sweet variety  
And liberty of thought, than Slanderous Piety:  
As a great Monarch him to favour chooses  
Who pleasant, but well-mannered freedom uses,  
But hates a sour, though an obedient Clown  
Who loves his Smiles, less than he fears his Frown;  
So heaven's great Soul, dressed in impervious Rays,  
The Object of our Wonder and our Praise,  
Laughs at our holy Gambols from above:  
But those do chiefly his affection move  
Who play in's Beams with a well-guessing Love,  
For the Great Nature takes delight, to see  
The Football▪ play of Human Sophistry,  
Nor willing to be known, loves Men should doubt,  
Guess at his Riddles, but not find them out.  Music. Ragalzan appears at a corner of the Stage, with a Priest. Rag. 
What, am I well disguised?  Priest. 
Mummy itself, Sir.  
Here is a Vault, and here's the Trap-door to't;  
It has a thousand Labyrinths within,  
Not made for nothing: Let 'em search till Doomsday,  
They'll never find you. Pugh! the Western Priests  
Are not the only Laughers at Mankind.  [Exit, with Ragalzan who takes his place among the Mummies. The Scene opens, and discovers an Amphitheatre of Crowned Mummies. Iren. 
These Mummies are more Curious and Magnificent Than those we saw at Cairo.  Ax. 
And much more numerous:  
Which answers not amiss, to the prodigious space  
Of time, supposed by their Chronology.  Tam. 
Of all the Arts that short-breathed Man affects  
To patch and piece up ruinous Humanity,  
Aping of Immortality in Dust  
Sure is the noblest.  Ax. 
Yet they are Death's Trophies.  
'Tis strange, that Man should glory to be conquered,  
And boast his losses to all after Ages.  Tam. 
Proud of his pickled Principality,  
When Fame finds nothing in his life, to blow  
Her Trumpet for, and wake the listening World.  Ax. 
And Fame's as false: Cheats us of present Sums,  
The daily Rents of Pleasure and of Ease,  
To pay in Honour's Airy dry Reversion,  
And disputable Titles; Good, or ill,  
By dead men unperceived, by th' living undistinguished.  Enter Mummy Priest, habited like a Conjurer, etc. Priest. 
Greatest of Emperors, draw near, and see  
The richest Wardrobe of Mortality  
The world affords: Here stand Time-daring Mummies  
Of China Monarchs for ten Thousand years.  
Should I relate you all, their Deaths and Lives,  
Their Arms, their Arts, their Children, and their Wives,  
'Twould tire your patience, or to hear, or see,  
And Conquer, Sir, your Magnanimity.  Tam. 
Troth, I believe thee. What a Canting Tone,  
And what a monstrous Tale!  Ax. 
They 've long Traditions;  
And Lie by old Records as well as Hearsays.  Tam. 
No, no. Printing has been here in use some Thousand  
of years, no wonder they have so many Lies.  
Whose Mummy's this?  Priest. 
This is Viteio,  
The builder of an University,  
Who lived one hundred and Fifty years.  Iren. 
And whose is this?  Priest. 
Ochanti; the Inventor of Printing.  Iren. 
And this?  Priest. 
Tzinzummey. The Inventor of  
Gunpowder: that frighted hence a certain rambling Prince,  
Called Alexander, from the Oxidrace;  
Which he, good Man, mistook for Thunder, and  
For Lightning.  Tam. 
A small excuse would serve a Western Conqueror.  
This crook-backed Prince here?  Priest. 
Hue Hannon.  
He that found out the Philosopher's Stone.  Tam. 
And this?  Priest. 
Pintatei: his unfortunate Successor, that lost it.  Ax. 
This fellow Drolls.  Tam. 
No; 'tis their Tradition.  Iren. 
Who is this here?  Priest. 
Auchosan. He that invented  
Wagons, to Sail with the Wind.  Axalla walks forward Tam. 
Are all your Princes then Philosophers?  Priest. 
No. But whosoever finds an admirable Art,  
Is straight made Governor of some wealthy Province,  
And his Invention is ascrib'd unto  
The King, whose Reign he lived in.  Tam. 
Handsome exchange, and nourishment for Virtue!  Priest. 
Here stands the great Tzionzon, builder of the Wall.  Iren. 
He stares, and turns about his head. Oh horrid!  Tam. 
'Tis strange!  Priest. 
Marvel not, Sir; 'tis usual with him:  
He seems offended at your Conquests here.  Ragalzan leaps down, Stabs at Tamerlane: Irene interposes. He and the Priest leap down the Trap-door. Tam. 
Treason! My Guards! What, vanished through this door?  Ax. 
Ha! What's the matter? where's the Mummy-shower?  Tam. 
Ah, Generous Girl! Art thou not hurt, Irene?  Iren. 
No, not at all. The Dagger struck upon this Bracelet  
Here, of Beads.  Tam. 
A piece of Piety well placed: Thanks be to Heaven.  Enter Guards. 
The fellow was in haste.  Ax. 
Where is the Villain?  
Guards, go search him out,  Tam. 
'Tis to no purpose: they have endless Vaults.  
Excellent Maid! how durst thou interpose  
Thy tender Limbs, that elsewhere art afraid  
Of thy own Shadow;  Iren. 
It was my Duty, Sir, and my Desire  
To save your Life, though ransomed by my own,  Tam. 
Never was Child so fond, and so endearing!  
When at the Siege of Bagdat, in my Tents  
A Saracen, with an envenomed Knife,  
Had Stabbed me in the Arm, the subtle Poison  
Hasting through all the Crimson Salliports  
To reach the Throne of Life:  
She straight, with greedy Piety sucked out,  
And with her Balmy breath healed up the part,  
Which all the helps of bold, but needy, Art  
Had ne'er effected.  Ax. 
I have heard the Story;  
And she untainted. Who can hurt an Angel?  
I know, I feel her Virtues. But, what mean you?  
Shall I not fetch more Soldiers?  Tam. 
'Tis work for a whole Regiment: go call 'em,  
And let'em scou● the Vaults for many Miles,  
And seize on all those wretched Priests they meet with.  
I'll turn their Idol Temples all to Mosques,  
Or Christian Churches: The Devil here is Worshipped  
In greater State, than elsewhere his Creator.  
All Impious Priests are vile, but weak dissemblers;  
They brave the Gods, but purblind Mortals fear:  
Jugglers, that in Seared Mouths take holy Fire,  
In whom Religion, Physic of the Mind,  
By which true Souls are purged, and refined,  
Grows so familiar that it never works,  
But feeds ill Humours, and like Venom urks.  Enter Soldiers. 1 Sol. 
We shall have brave Plundering and Firing here!  
Heigh Boys!  2 Sol. 
I; and hanging up these Conjuring Priests.  3 Sol. 
For my part, I do not like this Sacrilege.  4 Sol. 
Why, is it Sacrilege, to take away  
That which was given in God's name, to the Devil's use?  3 Sol. 
Ha! God-Almighty made a Trustee for the Devil!  
Nay, then have at 'em. Searches, and is frighted.  The Soldiers search; Devils meet 'em at one hole, and fright'em, than another: then flashes of Lightning and Smoke. The Scene shuts.  

ACT II. SCENE I.  The out-part of the Fort: Tamerlane's Tents on the other side. Enter Philarmia, Zeylan. Phil. 
'TWas bravely done! one of your worthy Spoils,  
To catch the Scythian Lion in your Toils,  
Than let him go! Seemed it to your great Mind  
So small a Prize, Great Tamerlane t'have joined  
To Bajazet, and in one Cage confined?  
The Scourge and Terror of the World t'have tamed,  
And for his Conquest of the Globe been famed?  
All for a Compliment! a Barbarous glance  
From a She- Tartar!  Zeyl. 
'Twas th' effect of Chance:  
For, while I paid Irene short Respects,  
For thy sake only, honouring thy Sex,  
The Emperor escaped. But, is't not Jealousy,  
That envious Dream, that avaricious Monster,  
That would have more than all, that fills thy Mind  
With such unkind expostulations! Tell me.  
By heavens' thou wound'st me with ten Thousand Arrows  
Sharper than Death, Dishonour, Pains Infernal!  
How can my Heart, brim full of there, receive  
Another in? Can the whole World, with all  
It's glittering Trifles, and Deluding Joys,  
Add aught to my possession, having thee?  
Or can the Gods, with unexhausted Stocks  
Of Benefits, reach down a greater blessing  
To charm my Soul, or pull up my Ambition  
Into a higher Sphere, than thy Embraces?  
What have I more to wish or pray for? Speak.  Phil. 
I Jealous! what of you? For which of your Perfections  
Your Valour, or your Prudence? No, no; but I'm ashamed  
To own so false a Creature. Farewell.  
You man of War: I'll try your mettle.  Exit. He strives to stay her: she breaks from him. Zey. 
Nay, stay, and hear me.  
Pray Heaven our Loves prove not unfortunate;  
This Girls so rash and daring, and so Jealous,  
So easily provoked, headstrong, and sudden:  
Tho soft as Prayers when pleased, and passionately  
Tender, when she perceives her error.  
My Soul aches for thee, though I cannot guide thee.  [Exit. Enter Ragalzan Rag. 
Strange disappointment this too! yet I find  
There's no suspicion of my Treason. Nothing  
To Holy Villainy! Am I a Saint, or not?  
The Saint and Devil differ in Man so little,  
Those open barefaced Mortals look as simply  
As naked Dogs, or new-shorn Sheep, exposed  
To th' Injuries and Scorn of all Mankind:  
While I, like visiting Angels, kill unseen.  
Here I lie round, and close, as sleeping Serpents:  
He that treads on me, Feels before he Sees me.  Enter Tamerlane. 
Now to my post: I must draw near, and flatter.  Tam. 
'Tis time my business of the World were done:  
Or this Chameleon Fortune may change colours,  
And Tarnish all my Glories. Why was I  
Now so unhappy to escape this blow?  
Then I had died in time, and ripe for Fate,  
With all my Triumphs waiting on my Hearse.  Rag. aside. 
I'm sorry for't indeed, Sir.  Tam. 
Methinks, I find a boding of some mischief,  
Which threatens, more than Thousand Lives, my Fame.  Enter Axalla. Ax. 
The fair Despina is arrived, and begs to be  
Admitted: And I hear, she hates  
Th'unfortunate, like Cleopatra; hoping  
To be the object of your choice. Your late  
Severity to her harsh Husband, she  
Counts as a piece of Courtship done to her.  Tam. 
Hast thou now known me, Friend, so many years,  
And didst thou ever find my easy heart  
Melt at a Woman's Face? Those many Thousand  
Wives, Virgins, Widows, all my Supplicants,  
Moved me no more, than Pictures do a Statue  
That stands upon its Basis.  
No; I am Beauty-proof: Bring in the little Image,  
Made up of little Arts, and lesser Charms;  
I'll blow 'em off.  Ax. 
This Conquest o'er yourself  
Outdoes the Caesars more than all your Triumphs.  Tam. 
Why talk'st thou of these petty Lords of Rome?  
What is their Carthage, or Numantia,  
To Nanquin, Pequin, Moscow, Cambalu,  
Casbin, and Cairo, and Constantinople,  
Quinzay, and Babylon, Dehli, and Agra?  
And canst thou think my Soul can yield to Charms  
Which wrought upon those idle-headed Caesars,  
Who in Triumphant Cars, like Flies on wheels,  
Assumed the Glory of that little dust  
Which their Cramped Empire raised in several Ages?  
When I alone have won more Worlds, than e'er  
They knew or thought of.  Rag. 
They set some Scribblers to out-lye the World,  
And dressed their Roman Eagles up, to Soar  
Like Paper Kites, t' amuse the wandering Vulgar▪  
And yet the very Plat-forms of your Conquests  
Would cover all the Earth they ever fought for.  Tam. 
My Actions are too great for all Records,  
They tire Narrations, baffle formal Words.  Ax. 
Right, Sir; but own the Cause. This Vanity  
Sticks close, like Ivy to the noblest Plants.  Tam. 
True, my Axalla; but should I speak less,  
I should detract from Heaven, that threw these Favours  
Upon my worthless Person.  Enter Despina. Ax. 
Here she comes:  
Now be yourself, and His that made you great.  Tam. 
Ha! What flash of Lightning's this, that strikes my Breast?  
Then Fame has once spoke true; a Glorious Form!  
But I must be myself; nay, more, appear  
Churlish and Cruel, to keep off vain hopes.  Desp. 
Great Sir, to whom wise Heaven the World designed,  
kneeling. As a just Tribute to your greater Mind;  
Long may you Reign, if Bajazet may live:  
A Grant which Heaven alone, and You, can give.  
We cancel all the Rights that Fortune gave,  
And Life alone, the gift of Nature, crave:  
Show the same mercy you had wished to find,  
If Fortune had to Him, not You, been kind.  Tam. 
Do as you would be done to, Rules no State;  
Nor yet is Nature's Law: for in close competitions  
Where Life's at Stake, if you do not destroy  
Your Rival's Life, your own you can't enjoy;  
Yet none would grant to let himself be slain,  
Tho by his death another life did gain.  
My Case is clearer, just in all men's Sense,  
To kill your Husband in my own defence:  
Which is no more than he would do by me,  
Or aught to do, if he secure would be.  Desp. 
High Confidence o'er Policy prevails;  
When great Souls meet, low-founded Reason fails:  
Brave Sympathy does Interest disdain;  
Or 'tis an Interest of a nobler Strain,  
To please themselves by pleasings all their gain.  Tam. 
You talk of Friends, or Lovers, lukewarm Mortals  
That have not heat enough t'inflame themselves  
With high-flown Thoughts, and Self determined Actions:  
Give me Ambition that is ne'er extinguished,  
Yet feeds upon itself; burns like the Sun  
In its own Centre unconsumed,  
And Warms or Scorches, whom it please, at distance.  
Souls that are inaccessible, and high,  
Are strictest followers of the Deity:  
Humble Mankind copies the Low Creation,  
And makes the tamest Animals their Guides;  
Out ●done still by the Strong and wise ones.  Desp. 
Should Gods destroy all Men that them provoke,  
They must Create, to make their Altar's Smoke;  
If all were killed that do affect your Throne,  
King without Subjects, you would Reign alone  
A Monarch wrapped in Contemplation:  
To a hastening Son, or nature-urging Wife,  
To some brave Brutes, or King-contemning Flies,  
And Death will come by Siege, if not Surprise.  
Was all the World for your vain Self designed?  
Or, if it be the Interest of Mankind  
To have you die, why do you wish to live,  
When Social Joys you neither take nor give!  Tam. 
How bold her Reason! how Divine her Face!  
What do I feel? some strange, but Cordial heat:  
Some Passion shakes my Reason from her Seat.  Desp. 
The Road to Fame's to try unpractised ways;  
From common Methods, rises common Praise:  
Blood has to Glory ever been a Cheat;  
Let Mercy make you Famous, Safe, and Great.  
When Fortune shares so much in each event,  
Distraining Mortals goods for Heavenly Rent,  
Prudence in vain a Monarch's Life protects:  
Counsels inspired produce the best effects.  Tam. 
'Tis time to fly!  
Madam, you argue well: Let time digest  
My thoughts, and ripen them for your request.  Ex. severally. Rag. 
If I remember well my former frailties,  
This discomposure in the Prince, is Love:  
If it be so, there is enough to work on.  
Other attempts are Dangerous, Rash, Uncertain:  
This flattering distemper works as sure  
Destruction: he shall be his own Tormentor;  
His Life and Fame shall languish ere he dies.  
I'll straight to Bajazet, who loves this Wife  
More than his Empire; tell him, She's already  
In Tamerlane's embraces: That in him,  
Will work some fatal Passion; and in her,  
Revenge as desperate.  [Exit. Re-enter Tamerlane. Tam. 
To Arms, to Arms, my Soul; and stop the passage  
To this weak Enemy. Love, thou poor trifle of  
Unactive Minds, drowsy Divinity,  
Music for Maids or Madmen,  
Thou pinching Playfellow, tickling Tormentor;  
Thou fawning Cutthroat Beggar, hence, begone,  
My Breast affords no settlement for Vagrants:  
Go to some Silken Persian, soft Italian,  
To limber Courtiers, callow beardless Boys;  
Go find some lazy Epicure, whose Soul  
Lives in his Dish, and thence by Transmigration,  
Lives in his Wench, and when that short-lived pleasure  
Expires, is born a new to Wine and Surfeits.  
How darest thou seek for room in my full Mind,  
In which the Universe lies crammed with all its cares,  
Where every Virtue harbours for protection,  
And every Vice waits for a Reformation?  
And yet, methinks I see the blind ragged Boy  
Laughing the tottering Globe out of my hand:  
It must not, shall not be. He comes, he comes  
Again, and warms my Breast with his false Fires.  
Captains, let lose the World, that I may once more Conquered;  
Strike off the Chains from all my fettered Princes,  
Let 'em Rebel, and find out Manly troubles  
To shake off these: Let Business outdo Reason.  
Go build more Ships, search out some Savage Corner  
That Nature hides, or evil Spirits guard,  
From Manners, or Religion; there I'll go  
Subdue, Reform: Let Mankind once more prove  
How much my Glory does outweigh my Love.  The Scene a Prison. Bajazet in his Cage; Ragalzan, Iaylo●●. Rag. 
It is too true:  
The Emperor has denied her to come near you.  Baj. 
And did I live so long, only to see her?  Rag. 
Nay, more than that, This night She is designed  
For his Embraces.  Baj. 
Death! Furies! Hell! Damnation! Fires! and Flames!  
You Sacred Bugbears, false invented names,  
To fright Mankind into Religious Fits;  
Where is the Justice of the Sacred Writs?  
You Rascal Mahomet▪ am I thus requited?  
My Prayers, my Services, my Off rings slighted?  
Is this your thanks? I scorn thee, thou'rt a Cheat;  
I made thee Holy, but to make me Great:  
Thou brok'st the Contract first. Where is thy Love?  
Where is thy Interest with the Powers above?  
If such there be, what cross events they give,  
That I, who scorn to Reign, am forced to live?  Rag. 
Majestic Blasphemy! It works most bravely.  jayl. 
What says the Prince?  Rag. 
He does Blaspheme and Rave,  
Talks something that is Wicked, and is Brave:  
Like modern Heroes.  Baj. 
See, see! She comes all glorious to the Bed  
Of Barbarous Tamerlane, designed to breed  
A race of running Tartars! Merciless Gods,  
I cannot, will not bear it.  [Knocks his head against the Cage. Rag. 
So I'll be gone.  
Jailor, go help him forwards, I'll prefer thee:  
'Tis time his mouth were stopped; the vile Blasphemer!  
It is the Emperor will it.  jayl. 
Then 'tis done, Sir.  Rag. 
'T will make mad work, i'faith! Now She' labhor  
Great Tamerlane, and do some worthy Mischief,  
And I shall be her Confident; for, if  
The Emperor Loves, Axalla will decline  
The scandalous Office: I shall guide th' Intrigue:  
For still I soothe his proud o'reweening Spirit  
To his Destruction. Fool, to think such blows  
Can be forgot, or salved with Balmy Flattery!  
Injuries are Immortal; kept alive  
By those that give, no less than those that take'em:  
One justly hopes, the other fears Revenge,  
Purchasing Safety by a second blow.  
Tame Christians court Affronts: Let him not live,  
And worship Mahomet, that can forgive.  Exit. Axalla, Irene. Ax. 
D'ye hear the news?  Iren. 
What, of my Father's Love?  Ax. 
Nay, more than that; The death of Bajazet:  
Just now found dead in's Cage, wallowing in's Blood.  Iren. 
'Tis strange! I'm sure 'twas not my Father's act.  Ax. 
I cannot tell: this Love will change a man  
As much as a new Faith; and Proselytes  
At their admission are enjoined great Tasks.  Enter Despina weeping, and Ragalzan. 
Here comes the Mourner, and the Mischief-maker:  
I like not their acquaintance.  Iren. 
I wonder that he finds such Favour with the Emperor!  Ax. 
That his quick Eye sees not his bungling Flattery,  
The Seams so visible and gross.  Desp. 
O sad, sad Story!  Rag. 
'Twas as I told you, and your Dream confirms it.  Iren. 
Oh, they come near! How can I bear with patience  
The sight of her, that gives so great Disquiet  
To my great Father; blasts his glorious Name?  Rag. 
Madam, did you observe?  Desp. 
What makes the Princess fly me?  
Am I brought hither to be scorned as well as injured;  
These are your Tartarian manners!  Rag. 
'Tis not her Education, but Religion?  
She's bred a Christian, and betrothed to this Axalla:  
'Twas they persuaded the Emperor to this Murder.  Desp. 
Did they? a wondrous Act! Oh, my dear Sultan!  
Just heavens' lend me the Power to vindicate his wrongs;  
Send me the Furies, I will turn 'em Saints  
By this my holy Justice. Oh, oh, oh!  (Weeps). Rag. 
And, since this peevish Girl has heard her Father's Passion,  
She Vows she'll never see you; though you should stoop  
To be her Father's Wife.  Desp. 
A pretty Spark!  
But I will see her, though I walk through Flames  
To meet her.  Enter Tamerlane. Tam. 
Bless me, 'tis sad! I was to blame, to urge  
His patience to that height: and yet he scorned  
All offers at my hands, and had designed  
For me, the selfsame Cage, taken at Tauris.  
'Tis true, I ordered that Despina should  
Not yet come near him, but that was not well.  
Ha! there she is, and I begin to change;  
In vain I struggle with Love's mighty Yoke,  
And the contention 'twixt two powerful Passions  
Lays waste my Mind.  
This Sultry heat of Love has scorched up quite  
The temperate Climes of Virtue: I'm become  
Like the Arabian Desert, dry, unfruitful,  
Where nothing grows for Mankind's use,  
'Tis all but horrid Rocks and Precipices,  
And Tempest-beaten Sands to blind mens' Eyes,  
And bury 'em alive. How can I give  
Account of my great Charge?  Rag. 
He's in his Passion: now I'll give him counsel.  
Might I presume to guests your Royal troubles,  
The beauteous Captive gives you some Disquiet.  Tam. 
Audacious Wretch! how dar'st thou search into  
The Sovereign's Breast, and rudely touch his Wounds?  Rag. 
You pity, Sir, her Husband's dismal Fate.  Tam. 
True: wsth unfeigned Sorrow.  Rag. 
But, Sir, may I proceed a little farther?  
And 'tis my humble care for your contentment,  
And the continuance of your spotless Fame,  
Tho for my Duty I should meet my death  
By my too forward Zeal: yet I will speak  
My Conscience for the Public.  Tam. 
Speak thy Grievance.  Rag. 
The death of Friends is but a Skin-deep wound  
To tough Mankind: The Earth is overstocked,  
The Feeding's bare; the less the Herd, the fatter.  
What then of Foes, or Rivals? Love's a Passion  
No Hero ought to blush for; 'tis their own:  
It is the noblest Error of great Minds,  
Or a Perfection rather; born of the  
Same Parent Valour is, excess of Heat:  
'Tis a Majesty Madness, Heavenly Fury;  
None ever scaped it of the Gods, or Heroes.  Tam. 
What then? Speak out.  Rag. 
Why then, 'tis strongly rumoured  
That you are touched with that Celestial frailty.  Tam. 
Is it divulged so soon? Well then since thou  
Hast guessed so well, I'll tell thee my Disease.  
She is the first of all that trivial Sex  
That ever gained the outworks of my Heart,  
A kind Esteem; But more, SH' has fired the Fort,  
And turned out all the vigorous Defendants,  
The Manly Virtues that secured the Place:  
I ne'er knew Love before, but for State Interest,  
Which pains the Prince's Body for the Public.  Rag. 
So much the worse. The first Loves are most dangerous:  
The rest are flashes, Sparkles of the former,  
Doubly reflected Rainbows, dying Echoes;  
Diseases of the Brain are seldom cured,  
And their first Fits most fatal, if delayed.  
What fills the World with Madmen? Is't not Love?  Tam. 
My Reasoning faculty, that was my guide,  
Is so bewildered in this Hellish Fog,  
That I do often grope for't, seldom find it.  
Is there no Cure for this?  Rag. 
One, very natural: Breathing of a Vein in Fevers,  
Or giving Vent to Vessels that would break.  Tam. 
Oh; but Discourse and Time, may Conquer Passion.  Rag. 
Stay till a tickling Cough turns a Consumption,  
For want of taking such a sugared Medicine.  
Statesmen in Love begin their Alphabet,  
'Tis a new World, an undiscovered Coast.  
I've Loved, Enjoyed; and Loved, and lost: There is  
No Rock, nor Shelf, in all the dangerous Road  
Of Woman, but I am your Pilot for't.  
Take it from me, though Honour gets the better,  
'Tis a most costly Victory: puts you to  
Th' expense of many thoughtful hours, and wastes  
A wise Man's Brain, that's fit for nobler uses.  
Love lies in Ambush; when you think the least on't,  
Rallies again, and routs th' unsettled Victor:  
And, though 'tis oft plucked up with endless labour,  
The rank Weed still appears.  
But think I, you should make a Life of Passion,  
To whine, and dally, and to truck for hearts  
Some Months, or Years, like other common Mortals?  
A Prince's Love's to like, and to enjoy;  
And then at once away with Love, and puling Passion.  Tam. 
Are there no limits then for Prince's Passions?  Rag. 
There may be; yet 'twere better to be eased  
At any rate, than leave the World neglected:  
Millions of Souls draw vital breath from yours.  
The Soldiers murmur that you stop your Progress;  
Pausing upon such Toys; yet take this Cordial:  
Fortune has made her free, without your guilt.  
Attempt to gain her Love by fair persuasion,  
And take her to your Wife.  Tam. 
'Twere not unlawful;  
But, oh, 'tis Rash, 'tis Base, 'tis out of Season.  Rag. 
Then will you still expose this worthy Passion  
To your deriding Foes, and grieving Friends;  
Carry the Baby Love about the Army,  
And ask the Soldiers how it does become you?  Ta. 
Thy Reasons have some weight: my Thoughts are wandered▪  
And blown about with every gust of Passion▪  
For want of Reason's Ballast.— Here she comes▪  Enter Despina. 
And turns thy Problems all to Demonstrations.  Rag. 
ay, and she comes to court you: pray make use on't.  Desp. 
Down, down proud Billows of my Stormy ●rest▪  
Be calm one moment, till I search a little  
The great Disturber of my injured Soul,  
Then rage again, till Fury bids you cease.  
Sir, can you spare no Cordial for my Fears?  
No Balm, to stop the Issue of my Tears?  
Or must I be the Fountain of your Court,  
To weep in Artful forms, to make you Sport?  Tam. 
Dry Clouds, and empty Griefs long hide the day;  
The Dismal'st Vapours weep themselves away:  
Those Eyes will shine again, or Heaven decay.  Desp. 
Talk not of Lustre, Sir; restore my Light,  
And give me the loved Object of my Sight.  Tam. 
She knows not of his death; what need I name it?  
By the quick notice on't, and his hard usage,  
She'll think I caused it: but I will prepare her,  Aside. 
As if she made the most severe Conjectures.  
Well, Madam, none with Reason can deny  
Their own request: Suppose adjudged to die  
A Prisoner was, at whose Obnoxious birth  
The Squint-eyed Stars shot vengeance on the Earth  
heavens' Fiery Flail, the Whip for restive Mortals,  
To make'em draw through Flames in Yokes of Iron,  
The Mildew of your Hopes, Seed of your Fear;  
And would you in exchange that Prisoner spare?  Desp. 
Were he the greatest Monster Nature teemed▪  
From her erroneous Womb; Satan redeemed,  
And once again relapsing to his Nature,  
Plotting to cheat the winking wise Creator;  
The Plague-sore of the World, Factor to Fate,  
Bloody as reason of Usurping State  
Or, if to save his Life, I lost my own,  
My Bajazet should live; nay, live without a Throne.  
But, oh!  Tam. 
Then here your Captive stands,  
Chained fast in Cupid's thin tenacious Bands;  
Strong, though unseen; like those of Fate, I feel  
Love's Airy Nets, those Cobwebs made of Steel:  
Pity the Wretch whom all extremes do move,  
Who cannot hope for, live without your Love.  Desp. 
Dost thou abuse me too! thou needst not wear  
Such studied Cruelty to mock Despair.  
I came to taste, not swallow Candyed Poisons;  
Curious to know, how many Sulphurous Devils  
That weak and leaky Vessel Man,  
Hooped with Hypocrisy, might hold, who is  
A Pasteboard Cask, a very Sieve to Virtue.  
Tyrant, I come not to divert my Fate,  
But to chase on, and scarify thy Hate.  
Phlegmatic Fiend, Dutch Devil, dost thou think  
Thy Murders can be stifled, Gods can Wink,  
When such great Stars as Bajazet add Light  
To Heaven, and make thy Crimsoned Earth more bright?  
Hid in their blackness dost thou think thy Deeds?  
Thy Cloven Foot peeps through thy Hermit's Weeds.  Tam. 
How quickly she had notice of his death!  Desp. 
Cursed be thy illgot Empire, cursed thy Race,  
Live to its own destruction, thy disgrace:  
And when thy Rebel Offspring is subdued,  
Thy trembling hand in thy own blood embrued:  
Then may thy passions war against each other:  
May Lust and Pride, the Idols of the Great,  
Command still contraries, and mock thy Prayers;  
Torn with wild Horses of cross-drawing Cares,  
Those Brazen Bulls due to their Ingineers;  
May Hopes spring up, and still be choked with Fears,  
And may'st thou always aim, and ever miss:  
I wish thee a long life; but such as this.  Tam. 
Pray give me leave—  Desp. 
Nor die thou by thy Sorrows, Sword, or Laws;  
For I would have thee live, without a Cause.  
May still some Clouds of hopeless Passion blind  
When Honour, with its Sunshine, cheers thy Mind:  
Ne'er mayest thou Love, but find the Women chaste;  
Nor e'er be proud, but by scorned Love abased:  
And when thy sly misfortunes flatter most,  
May each naked Beauty prove a horrid Ghost.  
May Schreech Owls make thy Music, Toads thy Pictures,  
Thorns and ill Conscience stuff thy Beds of down:  
And may thy Torments never find a date,  
Till Heaven wants power to Plague, or Hell to Hate.  Ex. Tam. 
Bless me! what Thunder, and what Lightning too!  Rag. 
Oh, Sir, she is the haughtiest, and the wyliest Dame,  
That ever lived.  Tam. 
Yet she appeared so sweet, so innocent,  
Who looked for Storms from so serene a Sky?  
Good Gods, what Charms! Her very Frowns are Philtres  
Her Treaty undermined my tender part;  
This noble Rage, fires and blows up my heart.  Rag. 
And 'twas a just one too. Have you not used▪  
Her Husband like a wild Beast, and incaged him,  
Made him your Footstool, worse Indignities  
Than death itself, denied her to come near him,  
And since, as she thinks, caused him to be murdered?  Tam. 
Heaven knows, I knew not of his death, but grieve for't.  Rag. 
And I know too; but what can salve the wild  
Objections of a blear-eyed Jealous mind,  
To whom well polished Truth looks most like Varnish,  
And Arguments serve but for Aggravations?  
Most Men believe you caused it, and 'tis talked of;  
For 'tis the Fate of wise Men, to be thought  
To act what Interest, not Justice bids them:  
And Histories do oftener palliate Crimes,  
Than publish 'em: There is more Wickedness  
Than all the World's aware of, (or you either. Aside)  
To clear the Truth is now impossible,  
Since she has found you love her; which she'll judge  
To be the cause, more than State-Rivalship.  
But, would you take my Judgement, Sir, I'd own it,  
And say, I did it for her Love, not Empire.  Tam. 
What! Shall I own a Lie, and wound my Honour?  Rag. 
What, by a little Love-talk, blown away  
With the next Wind? Ten Lies to every Truth;  
Where he that talks the most, still thinks the least on't.  
Love is a Lie itself: there's no such Passion:  
And Truth to Women makes men most suspected,  
Because 'tis rarely practised.  
No Woman takes herself to be a Monster;  
Yet she would be so, if her Eyes were Stars,  
Her Lips of Roses, and her Face of Lilies:  
Why, Traps were made for Foxes, Gins for Hare●,  
Lime-twigs for Birds, and Lies & Oaths for Women.  Tam. 
Thou'rt a rare Artist in Love's Mysteries!  
But then, suppose this should incense her more?  Rag. 
Why, then 'tis but t'unswear the same things o'er  
Again: How can a credulous Woman  
Discern a Truth, from Falsehood?  
Her Reason yields, and Passion takes the Sway:  
Then swear there are no Stars, because 'tis Day  
That hides them all; Truth is ashamed to stay,  
And dares not show her naked open breast  
To an excuse that's rich, and finely dressed.  Tam. 
Oh brave Ragalzan! thou canst turn and wind  
A Woman, like an Engine.  Rag. 
They're no more;  
Managed as easily by dexterous Men:  
Work up their Passions, than they are on Horseback  
Without a Bridle; drive 'em where you please.  
As we are to the Gods, so they to us  
Are mere Machine's.  Tam. 
ay, such Machine's, as Ships, that drown their Sailors▪  
Such Brutes, as break their Master's Necks.  
Well, I may use some Art, yet can not travel  
Far from the Road of Honour:  
But I am Rough, and ne'er was made for Courtship.  Rag. 
Great Souls are fit for all things; Try your Rhetoric,  
Which never failed you yet to win Mankind:  
Woman is easier gained; Nature's your Party,  
And lays 'em open to the least attack.  Exit Tam. 
'Tis hard, when a Man's own Wit runs so low, that he is forced to let in the Tide of another Man's Counsel; 'tis as fatal and slavish, as borrowing of Money. Now will Despina, when she's a little cooler, tell him that formal Tale I told her; Blow, that upon very high, and opprobrious Language to the Emperor, one of the Keepers, by his order, struck Bajazet, that he died on't: which is not so very Barbarous, but Tamerlane perhaps will own it a little to try her temper; but he shall never be believed, if he unswear it a Thousand times. He is a Man of so much Honour, That a Lie of his is more credible than a Verdict of Twelve Men. 'Tis not good to use a Man's self to be too punctual: 'tis too like an Engine; Every Man knows where to have him.   

ACT. III. SCENE I.  Tamerlane, Despina, Ragalzan following. Rag. 
SO, the work is doing, and my Pupil  
Is strong in Argument against himself.  
What neither Hate nor Reason could suggest,  
Nor Malice hope for, Beauty has supplied;  
What all the Universe could ne'er have shaken,  
One Female has subverted: That great Mind,  
That thought the World too little, creeps and fawns  
Like a well-beaten Spaniel. Now's the time,  
Now he lies open, bare from the protection  
Of his own Virtues, by the Gods forsaken,  
Bond hand and foot by Woman, and delivered  
To my Correction: But I'll use him gently;  
Gently as Bears the Robbers of their Whelps, as Lions  
The Men that stick their Javelins in their sides,  
As Clowns their Plunderers, Thiefs broke lose their Judges,  
As Lawyer's Clients, or Electors Ale,  
As Broker's Bankrupts, Senates needy Princes,  
trusties a Minor, Priests a sinful Purse,  
Mad Dogs their Mates, and Wives their Husband's Whores.  Tam. 
Dreams are but Vapours of some Thoughts mislaid,  
Stilled and retorted without Reason's Aid,  
Poisons of Quiet by ill mixtures made.  Desp. 
Awake I saw and heard his bleeding Ghost,  
And of this Barbarous Fact thy Tartars boast:  
And didst not thou strive to conceal it most?  Tam. aside. 
Too strong Presumptions make Denials vain▪  
Truth is not seen by Judgements prepossessed,  
No more than Light by Eyes with Rheum oppressed:  
I'll try what use of Fiction may be made.  
Then tell me, Madam, how has Fame traduc'd me?  Desp. 
Fierce Hypocrite, when thou hadst him denied  
The sight of me, whom he loved more than Life,  
Or Health, or Fame; though at thy mercy Caged,  
A Generous Disdain filled his brave mind,  
He called thee wandering Tartar, Conquering Beggar,  
That Want, not Honour, forced thy starveling Soul  
To prey abroad, and urge thee to a Fortune  
Thou ne'er desir'dst, nor dreamed of: straight his Keeper  
By thy fierce Frowns encouraged, gave the Prince  
A fatal blow.  
Who falling down, Is this thy Zeal, he cried?  
This thy Devotion, Tamerlane? and died.  Tam. 
It was my Zeal, and my Devotion too,  
If not to Heaven, or Nature, yet to You:  
Fame the forerunner of your Conquering Eyes,  
That wandering Tell-tale, made my Heart your Prize.  
What Interest or Safety ne'er could woo,  
The dawning of your Light forced me to do;  
What may your Form, full Risen, tempt me to?  
Rivals on Earthly Thrones may claim a Station,  
But Violence for Heaven is soft persuasion:  
Beauty belongs to him that Worship's best,  
Exalts her Deity above the rest,  
Tramples on Law, Religion for her sake.  Desp. 
Impious wretch, must I thy Crimes partake?  
No, Tyrant, 'Twas Ambition moved the Wheel,  
And ground those Reasons, backed and Edged with Steel.  Tam. 
Accuse Tyrannic Heaven that made you bright,  
Accuse those killing Eyes; not my weak Sight.  
I did a Crime, without my own consent;  
And Justice pardons, where there's no intent:  
When Love commands, who dares be Innocent?  
Blame not the Ship that falls foul on another;  
But blame the Winds that blow it: Neighbourly Streams  
Keep in their Destined bounds, till Showers from Heaven  
Constrain 'em to invade the Friendly Earth  
With as unquestioned Power  
As that which gives it from the highest Cause;  
Celestial Visions cancel written Laws.  Desp. 
If Man may act what e'er he's moved to do,  
The same Man is both Judge and Party too:  
Bodies and Souls are so in Marriage tied,  
Their distinct Issues hardly are descried;  
But well known Body is the surer side.  
Inspired thoughts may flow from Heaven or Hell,  
But aethiop's Bastards will their Fathers tell:  
Charge not the Gods with thy Infernal Sins;  
Murder and Piety cannot pass for Twins.  Tam. 
I urged their Power, but now defend their Justice.  
Impartial Heaven, not robbing all the rest,  
Could not permit by one to be posiest  
So great a Joy so long.  
Too happy Bajazet's compendious youth,  
Which bathed in Blisses, envied by the Gods,  
When for one hour of Heaven in your fair Arms  
I'd forfeit all my Right to endless Ages.  
But, if you call a Crime what Heaven commands,  
Tho cleared above, yet I have lost my Cause.  
In vain the Prisoner pleads his Innocence,  
who'd rather die, than anger his Accuser.  
Then, if my death can expiate that Act,  
That controverted Crime 'twixt Heaven and you,  
Here, take this Sword; Come, pierce this Amorous Breast:  
Th'Impression made by your fair hand, will be  
Softer than down of Swans, than Showers of Roses,  
Softer than Rain on Wool, whose patient Fleeces  
Take without noise, or murmur, Heavenly Blows;  
Softer than gentle Air, that breathes from any Lips, but yours●  
Returns of Passion, Sighs and mutual Vows,  
Joys and Confessions of Entranced Lovers.  Desp. 
I'll keep thee for a greater punishment;  
Nor the slow Tortures of just Heaven prevent.  Tam. 
Assume heavens' power once more, and punish Laws,  
Correct the Crime of which you was the Cause:  
In you 'tis Justice, and I'll ne'er repine  
To Love, to Sin, to Die, by Power Divine.  
Ah, sweet occasion of my Pains!  
Could all my Pleasures, all my Gains,  
Empire surrendered, but contract  
Pardon for one resistless Act:  
Could my afflicted Soul but have  
One Tear, to sanctify my Grave;  
I'd leave the World, and dying boast  
That Pearl would pay for Asia lost.  Desp. 
Who can believe so false, and ●iercea Creature,  
Transcendent Prince of Hypocrites!  Tam. 
She's greater,  
Who kills and tramples Mankind at her Feet,  
And yet appears so harmless and so sweet.  Desp. 
No, Tyrant, live; because I loathe thy Offering;  
Repent, and wash thy Venom out with Tears:  
I would not send the Gods a Present out of season,  
An unclean Sacrifice, the worst of all the Herd.  
Thy Sorrow seems the truer, 'cause 'tis just,  
And Penitence prevails with Powers above:  
I can afford'my Pity, not my Love.  Tam. 
Then Life is given me, but Love denied!  
A wondrous motive for that daring Deed!  
Died Bajazet for this? that I might Reign.  
Then I am guilty: take o'er rated Life,  
Since Villainy is grown so poor and cheap  
To take a Bribe from any thing but Love.  
Cleanse not a House on purpose to pull down,  
Wash not a bloody Garment, but to wear it;  
Nor let a Sullied Coin, that wears th'Impression of  
Your Heavenly Face, be scoured and brightened, only  
To throw away.  
By Mahomet, and by his Master too,  
Give me thy Love, and the whole World is thine;  
That great share I possess: that lesser, left unconquered  
To exercise my Arms, inspired by thee;  
My Fifty Realms, with all the Lives within 'em,  
Men, Women, Children, Beasts, and every Inch  
Of ground they feed on in that spacious Pasture,  
My Seas with all their Fish, my Air, My Birds, my Clouds;  
And if the Sun, and Moon, and Stars receive  
Their Aliment from my exhaled Empire,  
Then they are mine, and them I will give thee too:  
And thou shalt call me Niggard when I have done,  
Unless I gain more Crowns to strew thy feet with.  Desp. 
Well, I'll consider twice, before I undo Thee,  
And All the World, by this large Donative:  
If you are Real, you may hope for Love.  Tam. 
My Word on Earth, my Oath's a Law Above.  Ex. leading her. The Scene the outside of the Fort. Alarms, and Fighting behind the Scenes. Enter Zeylan. Zey. 
All's lost; but thus far I've escaped: 'Twere better  
T'have left all to the Mercy of Generous Tamerlane;  
But now 't' too late.  
Yet I am more concerned for my Philarmia,  
Than Life, or Fame, or Liberty, or Country.  Enter Six or Seven Soldiers. 
Ha! what, surprised!  1 Sold. 
Stand, Traitor; yield.  2 Sold. 
Deliver.  Zey. 
Lives are not sold so cheaply.  (Fights, and is disarmed.) Enter Philarmia, Amazon-like disguised. Phil. 
What shall I do? there is no quarter given,  
My Zeylan will be slain! Could I but meet him!  
Oh heavens'! he's yonder, ready to be Butchered!  [Runs upon the Soldiers. 
Hold, Soldiers, hold; I've Orders from Axalla  
To save his Life: Hold, hold; he is my Prisoner.  
Now, with a Fiction, will I try his Faith.  
Is your Name Zeylan?  Zey. 
Yes.  Phil. 
Then, Sir, you owe this Favour to a Lady,  
Whose Interest prevailed above the Orders of the Emperor,  
The fair Irene; who commanded me  
To seek you out, and save you.  Zey. 
That life so spared, shall be enjoyed no longer  
Than till she calls it back, and still employed  
In the most rigorous of her Commands.  Phil. 
But, Sir, such Favours come not, but on Terms:  
The Princess loves you.  Zey. 
It is her Mercy, sure, but not her Love.  Phil. 
No, no; she Loves you, and with Justice asks  
Your Love, without a Rival.  Zey. 
Nor is it fit, that so Divine a Princess  
Should be the sharer only of a Herat,  
But the entire Possessor.  
Alas, my humble Thoughts dust never aim  
At such high flights; but if I ever fix 'em,  
My Faithful Heart is not to be divided  
In worthless Rags, and made a sport for Winds,  
But Consecrated to one Deity:  
Love and Religion both admit no more.  Phil. 
So, so; he yields: Oh, the perfidious Wretch!  
Then shall I bring her back the welcome message  
Of your true Love?  Zey. 
That's too presumptuous;  
But of Gratitude,  
Of unrestrained Devotion to her Service,  
Which neither Death, nor Dangers, shall deter  
From Desperate Obedience.  Phil. 
Crafty Traitor!  
He dares not say he loves her; but 'tis plain.  
I'll probe him deeper:  
She hears you have a Mistress, called Philarmia.  Zey. 
I had; but Heaven alone can tell, if now I have her  Phil. 
And did not she deserve your dearest Thoughts?  Zey. 
She was, or is, what nothing can be more.  Phil. 
And is this all? False Man! Now to the quick.  
You must renounce her, or your Life: Be brief.  Zey. 
Renounce her! What, shall I renounce the Gods,  
Forswear Eternal Joys, and blessed Mansions,  
Cut off my hopes from heavens' Seraphic Pleasures,  
Then, here, resume your mighty Gift,  
My Life has ever been a Slave to Honour;  
Shall it not serve a Nobler Master, Love?  
Not all the Tortures, Crosses, Scourges, Chains●  
Those double Deaths, all the refined Inventions  
That Witty Malice makes for Misery;  
Not all the Thunders, Lightnings, Earthquakes, Floods,  
Terrestrial Terrors, or Celestial Fits,  
The Frowns of Angry Heaven, or Smiles of Beauty,  
Shall force me to abjure such glorious hopes,  
Or turn Apostate to Divine Philarmia.  Phil. 
Then take thy Life, and thy Philarmia too,  [Discovers herself. 
Thou justest, dearest Soul.  Zey. 
Blessed Image! art thou here? Oh, may I trust  
My Senses, or thy Word? My dear Deceiver!  
Dear, desperate self-destroyer!  Phil. 
But thy Preserver.  
Why, did not I foresee that I should save thee?  
Which is the better Soldier now?  Zey. 
Philarmia.  
Oh thou art full of Fame; thou may'st retire  
Like a rich lazy General.  Phil. 
I'll consider;  
But here's no time to pour our Passions out,  
The Army's coming this way: I'll go back,  
And stop the Soldiers from pursuing thee.  
Go seek thy safety in some lonesome Cave▪  
Then send me word, and I will find thee out▪  
I'll take my leave of the Victorious World,  
To share in thy Distresses.  Zey. 
Stay a little:  
Oh, stay awhile. Who knows when we shall meet?  Phil. 
Lovers, in absence, have delights peculiar:  
If nought but what is present gives us Pleasure,  
What Joy have Parents, when their Children wande●  
In prosperous Voyages? What Joy have Princes,  
In Victories remote? What Joy have Usurers,  
When Money travels, to enrich itself?  
Then bless thyself with Hope, sweetest of Passions,  
Which Absence gives us, Presence robs us of.  Zeyl. 
Feed me not with imaginary Joys.  
The envious World, with its ill-natured Tricks,  
And Accidental Crosses, may divide us:  
The Gods themselves desire not, men should have  
Such filling Joys, as thou and I possess;  
Lest they should slight eternal Happiness.  
Oh, let us part no more! how can I leave thee?  Phil. 
Well, well, then I'm content; let me be caught  
In conference with thee; let me be slaughtered,  
Let me be torn alive, since Zeylan will it:  
Come let's begin to talk.  [Trumpets sound. Zey. 
Oh, hark, the Trumpet! Hast thou hence like Lightning▪  
Why should I make thee lose thy precious Life,  
For saving mine? Farewell, Farewell, my Dearest:  
If I go with thee, we shall both be slain.  Phil. 
Parting, or Death, which is the greater Pain?  Ex. severally Tamerlane, and Despina, sitting upon Thrones. An Antic Dance, and a SONG. 

GReatness, I give thee my excuse,  
For thee I have no leisure;  
Nor Care what Business can produce,  
For Life's too short for Pleasure:  
Count Griefs, Diseases, Love's disdains,  
What need these Artificial Pains?  
Nature invites us to a Treat,  
And gives us but short time to stay;  
While Coxcombs Carve, and Wise Men Eat,  
Death, the close Waiter, takes away.  
Count Griefs, etc.   Tam. 
Now, Madam, I'm in Heaven, my Soul rides high,  
And treads th' unyielding Air: nothing can sink  
What you have raised so vastly.  
Where have I slept all those deluding years,  
And dreamed of Joys, but never tasted any  
Till this transporting, Deifying minute?  
How have I toiled, turned upside down the World,  
Begging men's Voices to be counted happy,  
And at this Fairy Feast have still rose hungry!  
Drunk with Ambition I saw all things double;  
But, when I came to taste the Airy Joys,  
They fled the feeling: now, my Soul runs over,  
I am all Joy, all Plenty, all Abundance.  Desp. 
But these imagined Joys may come far short  
Of expectation, cloy you to repentance;  
And than you'll curse th'enchantress, and the Siren.  Tam. 
Oh, never, never; I could gaze away  
My Life, upon these overpowering Charms,  
This all-supplying Face, till Death did fix me  
In this Triumphant posture, far more glorious  
Tha● all the Statues of the Ancient Heroes,  
Who fooled away their Lives for less rewards:  
Oh, I am all content, all Wealth, all Pleasure!  
Well, Madam, have you thought of your demand:  
That I may pay my Vows; and that great Bond,  
Drawn betwixt Love and Beauty, that's Recorded  
In the Eternal Registers, be canceled?  Desp. 
I have, Sir; but you'll think it is too much  
To grant: Alas! my humble, worthless Person  
Can never merit such a mighty Gift.  
What is there in me, that could prompt you to  
So kind, so rash a Vow? You only meant  
To Conquer and delude a credulous Woman.  Tam. 
By all the Oaths that I have sworn before,  
And, if thou urgest, by ten Thousand more,  
There's nothing in my power that I'll resuse thee.  Desp. 
Then, Sir, deliver up to me your Daughter  
Bound in Chains; your dear, and fair Irene.  Tam. 
My Daughter, bound in Chains! She is no Thief,  
Nor Murderer: what Offence has she committed  
Against yourself, or Me? Pray ask again:  
Command th' Assyrian, Persian, Grecian Empires,  
I have enough besides; I'll make thee Greater  
Than Ninus, Cyrus, or than Alexander,  
All three united, and yet less than me;  
But, having me, thou'rt greater than us all:  
The Emperors of the World are but thy Slaves,  
When I am thine. But why this vain request?  
Take the four Monarch's Lands;  
They are Confiscated, and given to me,  
For Treason 'gainst their Maker:  
But why my Pious, dearest Child?  
What is she guilty of, that can deserve  
Such Ignominious, fatal reparation?  Desp. 
I see, great Monarchs can dispense with Vows;  
Such Fetters are not made for boundless Souls.  
Farewell, most mighty Prince;  
Live long, and fortunate, without Despina.  [Exit. Tam. 
Ha! what a change is this? How soon my Joys  
Unravelled, and my Soul from topmost Stories  
Sunk to the bottom of most damned Despair;  
Wound up so high, to make her fall the greater!  
What have I done? delivered up my daughter  
To certain Death. Heaven, what a Conflict's this!  
Not all the Beauties of the Universe  
Shall make me yield to so abhorred an Act,  
But I have Vowed: But 'twas a Lover's Vow,  
Whose Perjuriesure laughed at. No; there is  
No jesting with Divinity. But how  
Comes Tamerlane reduced to this necessity?  
Why, Tamerlane's in Love. A goodly Precedent  
For Envious Posterity to discant on!  
A fine conclusion of a Glorious Life!  
Oh Heaven, the Guide and Prospect of my Actions,  
Let thy kind Thunder end the shameful doubt:  
Destroy me at this Moment; let me tread  
No longer these inglorious steps, nor dash  
Thy unexampled Favours on the Ground  
By such a childish Act. Love, keep thy distance.  
But Love now fights under Religion's Banner,  
And makes its Folly Sacred. Death must prevent  
This loathed Act, and expiate th' Intent.  [Exit. An ginger, Axalla, Irene, a Captain. Thunder, Lightning, Rainbows inverted, a bloody Arm, Comet, etc. Iren. 
Oh heavens', the dreadful sight! 'Tis Doomsday coming!  Ax. 
Ha! Nocturnal Rainbows! Inverted too!  
Reflections answering not the form of Luminous Bodies,  
And such a Comet as puts out the Stars!  
Cease, you bold peeper's into Nature's Bowels,  
To give the World glossie but fading Reasons:  
Nature this day has made a Fool of Art  Cap. 
Methinks the Sky wears a more gaudy Dress  
Than her old glistering Garniture of Stars;  
There is some mighty Revel sure above:  
Hark how they stamp, as if they were dancing Jigs!  Ax. 
How dare you make such Comments on these Wonders?  Cap. 
Faith, Innocence is fearless, as 'tis free;  
Tho the Frame crack, the Splinters shall not fright me.  
Should the great Gods, that toss these Fiery Orbs  
Like Tennis-balls for Heavenly recreation,  
Let slip some weighty Globe through careless Fingers,  
Upon this Head; the Accident's prepared for.  Ax. 
Well said, brave youth, if with respect to Heaven.  
Ha! what means this? A bloody Hand, and Writing!  Cap. 
Scriveners in Heaven! then there's some hopes for Usurers.  Ax. 
The hand of Heaven is drawing some Indentures,  
Altering Estates in the poor under-World.  
Of all the sights, this does perplex me most.  
Pray, Sir your Judgement: 'Tis an Ancient Hand,  
I cannot read.  Astro. 
No wonder, Sir; 't has not been used  
In China these ten Thousand years.  Ax. 
Noble Tradition!  Astro. 
But the Words are these, Kiungsi Honan;  
Which is Interpreted, Death, Division:  
Some Great Man dies, and leaves his vast Dominions  
To dubious Heirs.  Ax. 
Nothing more likely, Sir;  
He that grasps more than's Handful, loses all.  
A lucky Guess turns to a Prophecy.  Enter Tamerlane. Tam. 
I've urged to have my Sentence changed in vain,  
Told her the Truth, but why should she believe me?  
Should the Sun change his Course, men might suspect  
The Daylight.  
The Pole Star, if unmix'd, absolves the Sailor  
From farther Faith. Oh, the vile Rogue Ragalzan!  
Ha! what a glorious Night after the Storm!  
I think a Comet, and an Arm from Heaven!  
Come, Vengeance, come; 'tis time that thou wert come;  
Welcome, dear Comet, welcome bloody Paw:  
Could I but reach thee, I'd shake hands with thee.  
Why all this noise, and ne'er a flaming Dart  
To fix me dead? I thought the Gods durst strike  
When they did threaten. Was there ever Mortal  
That more abused their Favours, studied Acts  
More vile, to rouse up Heavenly Indignation?  
By your Immortal Selves, if you neglect  
Your Office, I will snatch away Revenge,  
The Jewel of your Crown, and put an end  
With my own hands to this Inglorious Life.  Ire. 
Strange Sights i'th' Air, they say, foretell great Changes▪  
What, will these Rebels never make an end?  
Good Father, stay at home, and tell the Stories  
Of your great Deeds, to your admiring Friends;  
But go to Wars no more: Leave off a winning Gamester.  
One day, you take a Town, and make a Governor;  
The next, you win a Country, make a King:  
These pay some little Chief-rent to their Lord,  
Enjoy the rest themselves. You take from some,  
And give it back to others. Why might not less  
Than all the World serve one Man's turn?  Tam. 
How wisely thou dost weigh the Trifles of the World!  Ire. 
And now you sigh, the Earth lies heavy on you:  
Conquer no more; or let the weighty Ball  
Roll off, as it came on.  Tam. 
Oh, my Irene!  
'Tis thou dost cause my Grief, my dear disturber.  Ire. 
Alas! wherein have I offended you?  
Perhaps, my want of Duty was the cause;  
But sure I meant it not.  
If to rejoice at all your Victories;  
If to fall out, with all that lessen you;  
If to dissolve in Tears, when you're not well;  
Or have your Peace disturbed with Martial Cares:  
If to fall into Swoons when you 're in danger,  
Be not to love you; then I love you not.  [Weeps. Tam. 
Ah, cruel Girl, begone, I cannot bear thee,  
For every look from thee strikes Death into me:  
How much more happy art thou now, than I!  
unbiased Innocence! thou hast no Prospect  
Of this thy Danger; the sad thought of which  
Racks my poor Soul, and cuts me up alive,  
And tears my Bowels out before my Face!  Iren. 
Good Sir, what moves you to this fatal sadness?  Tam. 
Ah! were it fit that thou shouldst know my Sorrows,  
Yet Children should not know their Parent's Shame.  Ire. 
I know your Troubles, and have heard your Vow,  
And I can satisfy your nicest Scruples:  
Heaven be my Witness, I  
Had rather go to death, to give you ease,  
Than to th'Embraces of a dear-loved Hero,  
Whose Wit could charm, whose Valour could secure me,  
Whose Beauty could inflame my frozen Breast;  
Rather than to my Nuptials with Axalla.  
My Refignation will be your discharge  
To Heaven, and Earth: Injuries are Rewards  
When they are begged for.  Tam. 
Greater than would be  
Thy kindness, and my shame, should I desert thee.  Ire. 
But, Sir, consider how the World's Amazed,  
And Nature's frighted, to see you disordered:  
Do we not blow up worthless Cottages,  
To save contiguous Palaces, from bold  
And disrespectful Flames?  
And shall the World want Order, and direction  
From your great Soul, if mine can stop its passage  
To other Orbs, and make the Earth my Debtor?  Tam. 
So young, so wise! Why sure thou art Inspired;  
Thy Soul's upon the Wing, and sees much farther,  
Than the unfledged Companions of her years,  
Ill Omen of thy Fate: Thy Soul's too ripe  
To stay long in the Shell. Oh, now I fear thee.  Ire. 
What if I might have lived some harmless years  
Of Ignorance, and Youth? Yet if you please  
To pluck off this green Fruit (I will not say  
Untimely, when you call sored) to content  
Some longing Palate,  
'Twill not be harsh to me, if not to you.  
You gave me Life, and 'tis but to restore it,  
To pay a debt which you contracted for me;  
Let me be just to Nature, if not you.  Tam. 
No more, no more sweet merciful Redeemer▪  
Why art thou come to screw up my A●●ctions?  
Oh, every Word from thee, against thyself,  
Does wound my Soul, more than ten Thousand Daggers.  
Dear, cruel Orator, why dost thou plead  
Against the Innocent, to save the Guilty?  
He that does spare my life's the worst of Murderers▪  
And thou deserv'st to die, by speaking for me:  
I cannot bear thy sinful Eloquence;  
Let not so sweet an Angel plead for Satan.  
Oh, leave me to the Furies: they're my Council.  [Exeunt. Re-enter Tamerlane, with Axalla. Tam. 
In what condition is the Enemy?  Ax. 
Now you speak like yourself, a watchful Monarch.  Tam. 
May not Prince Zeylan once again surprise us,  
Before the general Assault be given?  Ax. 
He may, Sir; but I have entrenched the Army  
With greater safety, doubled all the Guards  
About your sacred Person.  Tam. 
Wondrous well.  
But then give order straight to all the Rounds  
To keep a stricter Watch, that whosoever  
Dares stir abroad to night, be shot at without mercy;  
And let it be proclaimed without delays:  
Secureness, more than Cowardice, betrays.  [Exit. Ax. 
And yet, pray Heaven he meditate no mischief  
In mighty Souls, Passion's not soon suppressed:  
Like wounded Whales, they struggle till they die;  
By their impatience they increase the smart,  
Provoke their Pains, and vex a harmless Dart,  
Tossing the mighty Mass till they're on ground,  
Their Rage more fatal, than the little Wound.  [Exit.  

ACT. IV. SCENE I.  A Guard of musketeers: Axalla and Irene behind Enter Tamerlane, disguis'd. Tam. 
SLave to my Passions, Scandal to myself  
Here stand the 〈◊〉 of great Tamerlane,  
Right reverend 〈◊〉 Fine 〈…〉  
Poor Thunder-blasted Oak sometime the Glory, now  
The just reproach of all the neighbouring Shrubs,  
But hold! Self-murder, that Infernal Crime,  
Which all the Gods level their Thunder at!  
Why, 'tis an Act the Gods admire, and envy,  
Because they cannot do't: and where's the wrong?  
May not I mow my Grass, reap my own Corn,  
Cut my own Woods, lay down this load of Life,  
Without Injustice or to Gods, or Men?  
Self-preservation, Nature's Highest Law,  
Is best obeyed, when our Sublimer part,  
Tired out with Troubles, and chained up with Griefs,  
Strives to shake off her fleshy Mancles,  
And fly to Nobler Dwellings.  
Fine Quirk, to salve the Conscience, to let others kill me!  
Well, 'tis all one, as if I killed myself:  
And that's no harm, since I'm no more myself:  
The Magistrate in me destroys the Malefactor;  
And this form pleases best, a comelier shape  
Of Death.  Ax. 
'Tis as I guessed; I know 'tis he, by his Majesty Mee●●  
His piercing Eyes that use to strike Men speechless;  
Tho Suns are Clouded, yet the Daylight shows  
When they're ascended in our Hemisphere.  Ire. 
Oh heavens'! It is the Emperor: I'll go to him.  Ax. 
Oh, by no means, I've told the the Guards already.  Enter Zeylan disguised. Zey. 
I hope 'tis not too late, though time is precious;  
Now my Philarmia's acting her last part;  
My Trumpet saw her led away to Judgement,  
By this time she's condemned, perhaps led out  
To Execution: yet if it were so,  
How comes the World to be no more disordered,  
No Earthquake, no Eclipse, Convulsion, Blindness?  
Can Nature keep an equal Pulse, or have  
A healthful look in such an Agony,  
When she that is the Life of Nature's dying?  
Ah, poor Philarmia! must thou lose thy Life  
For sparing min● Unhappy headstrong Girl!  
Well, thus far I have got into their Camp  
With this Disguise: I'll find some other means  
To see this high and mighty Godlike Man,  
And with this Dagger search his haughty Heart,  
And try if it be mortal; so prevent  
Her Death by the Confusion, though I lose  
My Life to do't, or perish all together.  Tam. 
All my Commands are lost, there's none will shoot:  
I, whom so many Millions late obeyed,  
Am slighted, scorned. Have I no Friend, nor Foe,  
To put a stop to my declining Honour?  
'Tis hard. Rogues, Traitors, fawning Slaves  
To the Coward Tamerlane: Now I could wish  
For raging Bajazet, to be my Orator.  1 Sold. 
'Tis the Emperor, as the General told us.  2 Sold. 
My Life, 'tis he by's Voice; Comrade, my Powder's wet.  3 Sold. 
And my hand shakes, I cannot hold my Arms.  Tam. 
What, Am I yet contemned? Slaves, Cowards, Dogs,  
Whom do you guard here, wandering Tamerlane,  
That Renegade, Cutthroat, glorious Thief,  
Whom Fortune meant the Gallows, gave the Throne to?  Zey. 
What a bold Fellow's this, that rails against  
His Prince, and no man shoots him? sure 'tis some  
Discontented Votary of China, that contemns  
The Conqueror's Laws.  
This Fellow may assist in my design.  (Goes up to Tam. Tam. 
Ha! a Spy o'th'Enemy's!  Zey. 
Methinks, I see  
Some discontent writ on thy brow: Art thou  
So weary of thy Life, to rail upon  
The Emperor to his Guards?  Tam. 
ay, that I am:  
And I would have him killed.  Zey. 
And so would I,  
For stronger Reasons, could I pass his Guards.  Tam. 
Merciful Providence that brought thee hither,  
My dear chance Friend!  
I will assist thee in thy brave design,  
And bring thee where he is. But, since thou'rt in  
A killing mood, thou shalt kill me: not that  
I love him dearer than I do myself;  
But 'tis more Charity to kill a man prepared,  
To ease a Wretch oppressed,  
And groaning under Loads of weighty Sorrows.  Zey. 
Why should I kill an Innocent that ne'er provoked me?  Tam. 
Alas, I'm not so harmless;  
I have done many vile and barbarous Murders,  
Committed Sacrilege, unpeopled Cities:  
Here stands the Man, that has destroyed more of  
Mankind, than ever Mortal did, since the Creation.  Zey. 
Alas, poor Frantic Wretch!  Tam. 
Mistake me not, I've been a General,  
And am guilty of all Crimes, committed  
By my Command: Then, if a man deserves  
To die for single Murders, can the greater  
Number excuse him? Men Duel for Revenge,  
A hasty piece of Justice, and do freely  
Exchange each others Lives, which each man has a right to:  
We murder Thousands that did ne'er provoke us  
With wrongful Deed, or Sharper Contumelies.  Zey. 
In that thou hast some Reason.  Tam. 
Nay, lately I have done the most abhorred  
And Hellish Act, that History e'er spoke of:  
I have condemned a guiltless Person, twice  
Has saved my Life, only to please my Lust.  
Don't I deserve Damnation? May not I  
Obtain from thy kind Hand, that longs to do  
Some great Heroic mischief,  
The lovely Death-stroke?  Zey. 
Alas, I pity thee;  
And have no cognizance of these thy Crimes,  
Half washed away by Penitence.  Tam. 
Well then,  
Suppose that I was Tamerlane; wouldst thou not kill me?  Zey. 
ay, that I would, with much more eager haste  
Than quench my Thirst with Nectar, or my Love  
With Venus, or with Helen, or with her  
Whom above all my longing Soul holds dearest;  
Loved at first sight, and never after changed.  Tam. 
I see 'tis Love that makes us Madmen all.  
Then I am Tamerlane, the Terror of the World.  Zey. 
Rather its Scorn, or Pity. Alas, poor Madman!  
Wrought up by idle Fumes t'affect to die  
For such a Mighty Monarch.  Tam. 
I tell thee, I  
Am he; the Wrath of Heaven, the Scourge of Mortals:  
'Tis I that have enslaved thy Native Soil,  
My Sword has Widowed half the Universe,  
Turned the World wrongside outwards, in the toss  
Broke all the brittle Laws, that e'er Mankind  
Composed, their paltry Earthen wares of Justice:  
And all for Glory, damned eternal Fame.  
Take thy Revenge.  Zey. 
Vain Madman, hold thy Peace.  Tam. 
Why then, by Mahomet, I am. Zey. Falsely.  
Thou swearest by thy false Prophet, who can take  
No Vengeance for thy Perjury, nor hears it:  
Nor will I e'er believe thee.  Tam. 
aside. Double Infidel:  
It is impossible here to convince him.  
Well, well, I long to die, 'cause Life's a burden;  
But if I show thee Tamerlane, in all  
His glory, compassed in with Guards, and circled  
With prostrate Princes in his bright Pavilion,  
And like the Midday Sun with all his Rays about him,  
And after find out means to have him single,  
And then a way for thee t'escape when thou  
Hast killed him: Will that merit Thanks, or Friendship?  Zey. 
Why, now thou speak'st: and couldst thou make it good,  
Were I the greatest Man that trod on Earth,  
And with my hand could reach the spangled Spheres,  
And distribute men's Fortunes with their Stars;  
I would Depose myself, to be thy Slave,  
And lick the Dust before thee.  Tam, 
If I betray thee, Heaven revenge the Falsehood.  Zey. 
Come then, my perjured Madman, I will trust thee,  
And thou shalt Steer me in this unknown Coast;  
For what have I to save, Philarmia lost?  [Exeunt. Enter Ragalzan, Despina. Rag. 
This was a rare request, a Masterpiece of Malice:  
There's nothing but a Woman could have thought on't.  
How could you work him to this height?  Desp. 
With ease:  
Lovers will wind themselves by Words to Passion,  
Their Airy Talk turns Fire by Agitation:  
Thus, sometimes yielding, sometimes aggravating,  
'Twixt Hope and Fear, like Ships betrayed by Calms  
To greater Storms; I than extorted from him  
Such monstrous Oaths, such wild and Impious Offers,  
The Gods might be ashamed to be so Hectored.  Rag. 
Oh, good, good, good! But did not he deny  
What he affirmed, as soon as he had heard  
Your Admirable Suit?  Desp. 
Oh, yes, most fiercely.  
But could I think such mean things of a Hero,  
A double Caesar, Triple Alexander?  
And you had told me all the Truth before.  Rag. 
It was too true. How could he be secure  
Had Bajazet escaped? The Turkish Garrisons  
Had all revolted. But I've found a way  
To make him constant to his Vow, and swallow't glibly.  
The Mufti's here, and the Dervishes too,  
About Petitions from their several Churches.  
The Mufti's supler then a new oiled Tumbler,  
When you have greased his Fist: give him a colour,  
To make things doubtful, then throw Dice for Justice.  
They all shall find it Lawful, and require him  
To offer up his Daughter.  Desp. 
That's enough:  
Let me alone to give the fatal Period.  
But how does he digest this Compound Passion?  Rag. 
I come not near him; but he raves Divinely:  
Love and Ambition fiercely sight within him;  
When Nature steps to part them, both fall on her:  
Love pities her at last, and takes her part,  
Then both go to't again, and fight for ever;  
Those Mastiffs are too keen to lose their hold.  Desp. 
Oh, thou refreshest me with cheerful Sounds,  
With all the Music of sublime Revenge!  
Oh, thou hast given me Spirit of Joy to drink!  Rag. 
Nay, then take t' other Dram. His pretty Daughter  
Came to him since, and with her innocent Prate  
Has so betwiched him, that he went out straight  
And told his passion to the gaping Army:  
And would have killed himself, if not prevented.  Desp. 
I would have hindered him: I would not have him die  
So unprepared,  
His Life and Fame shall perish both together.  Rag. 
But yet some easier way might have been found.  Desp. 
This is the nobler method.  
I'll wound him in his Fame, his tenderest part,  
To which his Life has ever been a Drudge,  
And run of errands over all the World:  
I'll make the angry Lion scourge himself  
With his own Tail; and then give him his Fate  
As certain, as unlooked for.  
When he has offered up his bloody Victim  
To my great Shrine, his dear and dutiful Irene,  
The Saviour of his Life, Age's Supporter;  
Abhorred by all his Friends, by's Foes contemned,  
Deserted by Mankind, by Heaven rejected,  
Then let him die with all his Shames about him  
Petty Revenges, are for Petty Crimes;  
And pardon me, great Soul of Bajazet,  
If th'Earth afford no greater an Atonement  
For thy dear Blood.  
Pray give me an account of all proceedings,  
That we may feast ourselves on his Afflictions.  Rag. 
I will not lose my share of the least morsel.  [Exeunt. Tamerlane in his Pavilion: Princes and Servants about him. Tam. 
giving a Ring to one of his Guards. Go tell the Countryman, that sits without  
At the Pavilion Gate, that by this Token,  
The man that left him there, desires him to  
Come in: not a word more, upon your duty.  [Exit Guard. 
Now is the time, to put a period to  
This languishing Distemper, flattering Fever,  
This merry Madness, this Apulian Sting,  
That makes men rage in measures: now I'll shake off  
This rude Companion, Love, that blinds Men first,  
Then gives them blows in jest, that smart in earnest.  Enter Guard, with Zeylan disguised. Zey. 
Am I betrayed, or no? Here stands the Prince;  
But where's my Guide, I know not! 'Tis no matter,  
I'll make a bold Attack, and lose my Life in't.  Tam. 
Let all withdraw, and leave me with this Stranger.  
Come, Friend, draw nearer, view me more exactly,  
And tell me, if your Partner in Affliction  
Has kept his Word. Am I forsworn, or no?  
Am not I Tamerlane?  Zey. 
Death, 'tis the same;  
Shining in all his Glory! What means this Riddle?  Tam. 
Nay, fear not to come near me.  Zey. 
'Tis not Fear, but Wonder.  Tam. 
Here, take this Dagger, strike this open Breast;  
But yet, before you do this welcome Act,  
Here is the Door you must escape at, to  
The River's side; where lies a Boat prepared  
To take in the next Comer, which will straight  
Row you to Zeylan's Citadel, before  
The Deed be known: and here's a Cabinet  
Not very weighty, but worth many Millions,  
The Spoils of Turkey, Persia, Egypt, China, Muscovy, Syria, Afric, Indostan;  
If thou get'st clear from hence, thou hast enough  
To purchase thee a Kingdom.  Zey. 
Sure Fame has  
Not flatter'd him: he's a Man of wondrous Virtue!  
But Thrones are not exempt from fatal Sorrows.  
Can I consent to kill my Benefactor?  Tam. 
There's nothing thou canst do, that can deserve  
So great Rewards, but this. Alas! I'm weary  
Of Life, my Empire is too great a Burden,  
Without the over-weight of private Griefs:  
I never yet refused the thing was asked me,  
Nor ever sent a sad Man from my presence;  
And shall I be denied so small, so just a Favour?  Zey. 
My Vengeance fails me. Most Heroic Prince,  
I cannot guide this Dagger to your Breast;  
I beg but one Request, in satisfaction  
Of all the Wrongs, the World, or you have done me.  Tam. 
Refuse not this to me, and I'll refuse thee  
Nothing, that my unbounded Empire yields.  Zey. 
Here on my knees I'll try your Virtue first:  
I beg, Sir, a young Beardless Captain's Life,  
That is condemned to die, for letting Zeylan  
Escape, that was his Prisoner. Tam. I grant it freely.  Zey. 
Why, then as freely here I give you Zeylan,  [pulls off his disguise. 
With all my Forces, all my Reputation  
Acquired in Arms, and lie still at your Mercy;  
But, know the weighty Reason: she's my Mistress  
In that disguise. No smothering Revenge,  
Nor overlooking Envy, nor vile Treason,  
Moved me to this; but her dear Life endangered  
Urged me to undertake your Death, my own,  
The ruin of the World, that my fair Saint  
Might fly out in the merciful Confusion.  Tam. 
But art thou Zeylan? Welcome noble Prince,  [Embraces him. 
Prop to thy falling Country, China's Redeemer!  
Can there be so much Virtue in the World?  
And Love the Cause, dire Love, that monstrous Passion?  
'Tis I that am thy Prisoner: here I yield thee  
My Sword, with all its Conquests, all its Glories,  
With more serene and unconcerned a Freedom,  
Than Virgins do their Beauties, Saints their Souls,  
To Heaven, or Hymen: but besure thou give  
No Quarter; take my Life; for if thou spare it,  
Perhaps I 〈◊〉 resume the rest. Thou art  
The fittest man to execute this Sacred Act:  
Oh, now 'tis Justice, that before was Fury.  Zey. 
Pray, Sir, be pleased to call first to your Guards;  
Her precious Life's at stake.  Tam. 
Guards, make haste;  
Carry my Pardon to the sentenced Captain  
That let Prince Zeylan scape. Now, Sir,  
To my Request: be speedy, and begone  
With all your Treasure, lest the Soldiers Fury  
O'rwhelm you. Come, ease me quickly.  Zey. 
I have not, Sir, been bred in Foreign Courts,  
Nor can I talk of high-flown Rules of Honour,  
Those nice distinctionss, framed in Virtue's School;  
But I have some rude Sparks of Nature, show me,  
By their dim light,  
How great a Monster is Ingratitude.  Tam. 
Thou art ungrateful then, if thou deny me this  
So just Request, since I have answered thine:  
Death is to me a greater Gift, than Life  
Is to thy Mistress. Is there a greater good  
Than to be lulled asleep from endless griefs,  
And wake no more to find 'em?  
Thou art unjust too to thy Native Country;  
Nor canst thou answer this to Heaven or Earth:  
Nor will the Ghost of all thy slaughtered Friends  
Let thee sleep quiet, till they are Revenged;  
They'll haunt thee, tear thee in ten Thousand pieces;  
And send a Sampler of thee to each Corner  
Of the wide Mischief-studying Earth, to teach  
The World the Fate of Traitors to their Country.  Zey. 
I never heard Great Tamerlane abused  
heavens' favours to excess; but his kind Sword  
Still carved out work for his diffusive Mercy;  
The petty Wranglers of the Universe  
Chose rather to submit to his Just Sceptre,  
Than to subdue each other:  
Shall I deprive the World of all its Lustre,  
The Ornament of Story, Task of Fame,  
Extinguish the great Light graces and guides it,  
And by your Glory raise my Infamy?  
Urge me not to a Crime yourself would fly from.  Tam. 
Is there such Honour in the World besides?  
How many Climates have I passed, and now  
At last have found it in this Savage Corner?  
Sure 'tis Instilled by Nature, not by Precept.  
'Tis time to die now, for a weighty Reason:  
Thou hast outdone me in my own Pretensions,  
And raised the price of Honour to that rate,  
'Twould ruin me, and all my Conquered Earth  
To rise to that vast purchase. Oh, the Mark's too high  
For me to reach; I'll quit the Field  
In Virtue, and return to Tyranny:  
Kill me, or else thy Mistress dies.  Zey. 
kneeling. The Gods forbid.  
Oh, look upon her first, and she will melt you:  
You cannot hurt so sweet an Innocence.  
I know you cannot, Nature will not bear it:  
She'll smile away your Anger; or she'll thaw  
Your frozen heart t'a Torrent, with her Tears.  
She is the Joy of Nature, Pride of Heaven,  
The Idol of all Eyes that e'er beheld her:  
Tigers would lose their Fierceness at her sight,  
And can Mankind hold Weapons to destroy her?  
Oh, save her, save her, save her, Virtuous Prince,  
And let my Life redeem her.  Tam. 
Rise, brave Friend.  
No; both shall live together, and live happy:  
I take delight in the content of all men,  
Less dear than thee, though I have none myself.  
Well, I'll not press thee 'gainst the sense of Honour,  
And Nature too: I know too well the weight  
They bear, in wellborn Souls. A thousand ways  
There are, to the great Joy that thou deniest me:  
I'll wait a little longer, spread my Sails  
To the next Wind, to waste me to my Port,  
Where I will Anchor, and Launch out no more.  
But, to return th' Heroic Resignation,  
I make thee King of China.  Zey. 
Viceroy rather,  
When I have Conquered the Remaining Rebels.  Tam. 
Then, by my last Will, I bequeath it Thee;  
My Death shall soon confirm it. Let's go out,  
And straight declare it to the wondering Army.  
The World's my own: let's leave it in full Light;  
That Sun makes no fair Day, that sets not Bright.   

ACT V. SCENE I.  Tamerlane on a Couch asleep. 

SONG.  
REason and Time had once agreed,  
My Heart from Loving should be freed;  
But Cupid swore, he'd lay a Snare  
Should catch my Reason, Time repair.  
Sylvia appeared with all the Charms  
And Witchcrafts of a Face,  
Able to do all Mankind harms,  
And Womankind disgrace:  
Reason straight fled, Time would have stayed,  
Mistaking for the Sun,  
The glories of the brighter Maid,  
By those his course to run.  
Jove saw, and feared some strange surprise,  
Lest all the World should be  
Immortal made by her bright Eyes,  
And Scorn his Deity:  
So Time was forced to fly, old Age remains  
But, Ah! poor Reason ne'er came back again.   Enter in Dumb-show, Time with his Hourglass, The Parc● Death, speckled Fame drawn in a Chariot by Cerberus, followed by Furies and Infernal Spirits. Scene opens, and discovers Mount Atlas, with a Face and Beard like a Man made by Trees, which sinks down by degrees with soft Music; and at the top of him appear Angels with flaming Swords, and the Fiends begin to withdraw. I Ang. 
Be gone, Infernal Spirits; leave this Hero,  
Whose Virtues none of Human Race e'er equaled.  
Be calm, Great Monarch: Let no Fiends molest,  
With frightful Dreams, thy too afflicted Breast.  
No mortal Beauty does deserve thy Passion;  
A brighter Object claims thy Admiration:  
Thou hast a Share in thy Creator's Love,  
Thy Soul, thy Fame, are both secure above.  Tam. 
Where have I been, in Hell and Heaven at once?  
Was this a Dream? Or did I waking see?  
My Senses were not locked, sure: Had the doors  
Been shut, such Visions never could have entered.  
At first, 'twas horrid; after, most Serene:  
Oh, let me ever taste such Tranquil Joys  
As this last moment Heaven infused into me!  
What need I care how near I am the Haven,  
If I must land in Bliss?  Enter Guard. Guard. 
Ragalzan begs admittance to your Presence.  Tam. 
How dares the cause of all my Woes come near me?  
He will disturb my Thoughts again: no matter;  
Why should I hope for Peace?  Enter Ragalzan. 
Villain, what hast thou done, thou hast betrayed me,  
And brought me to the Suburbs of Damnation:  
I'm on the top of Aetna, scorched already  
With all the Sulphurous Flames, and Hellish Vapours  
That Pride, and Lust, and dire Ingratitude,  
With all the black Ingredients that are boiling  
Within that baleful Furnace, can ●ast up;  
And still thy treacherous Counsels push me forwards  
Into the dreadful Gulf. Traitor, be sure  
Thou bring me off this Ro●●, and place me once again  
Into the tranquil Plains of cheerful Peace,  
And unreproaching Conscience; or, by the Justice  
Of all those watchful Powers that threaten my destruction,  
I'll bury the● alive, and cover thee with Kingdoms,  
That thou shalt never see the Light again.  
〈…〉  
But weighed it not so throughly.  Rag. 
More than this;  
Because you love variety of Faiths,  
I have enquired the opinion of the Muf●ce,  
The Calif, Patriarch of Antioch, and brought  
A Writing here under their Hands and Seals.  Tam. 
Oh, let me see those Heavenly Lines.  Rag. 
Look to that Paragraph.  Tam. 
reads. An unjust Vow is better break than kept:  
This Vow is not unjust, nor needs be broke;  
For though the intent of the Demander might  
Extend to free disposal of her Person  
To Death, or long Captivity; yet since  
'Tis not expressed, the Emperor's obliged  
No farther than to literal performance,  
And all means may be used to save her harmless Person.  Rag. 
Is not this Sense?  Tam. 
Reason peeps out again,  
O'reast with Shame and Passion: Thanks, dear Friend.  
O, thou hast scattered Life through my dead Veins,  
And poured such Floods of Joy into my Bosom,  
The sudden Heavenly Showers will cause an Inundation!  
Oh, how my wrinkled Heart, shrunk up with Sorrows,  
Dilates itself, to let the ruddy Rivers  
Have their free course through all the Azure Channels!  
Go, tell Despina she shall be obeyed,  (To the Guard.) 
I'll see it done myself: then bring my Daughter  
(Since it must be so) bound; but hark you, Friends,  
Guard her as you would do your Lives, or, more than yours,  
My own: Let no bold Sacrilegious hand  
Dare to profane the Temple of all Virtues;  
By Heaven, he dies, that suffers any hand  
To touch that Holy Maid. Oh, I'm ashamed,  
That such a blot should rest upon my Glory;  
But Heaven must be obeyed, though to my blushes  
Bring her, I say;  
But than besure you suffer none to touch her,  
Or, by the price of all my conquered Globe,  
Which is not worth one hair of her bright Head,  
I'll crumble you to dust, and blow you round  
The Mournful Universe; which I'll hang round with black,  
If her dear Life's invaded; if she dies,  
And leaves me not an Heir to rule the World,  
I'll Massacre Mankind, and root out all▪  
That race of busy intellectual Monsters,  
Half Angels, and half Brutes, and worse than either:  
Or turn them all to Eunuchs, who shall how!  
In pious Dirges for her hover Soul,  
Till it is ●ixt in foremost ranks of Glory,  
Weep out their Lives, and leave the Empty World.  Alarm without, Trumpet and drum's. Enter Axalla, with Captains. Ax. 
Sir, your Triumphant Arms have crushed the Rebels:  
China, and all the World is now your own,  Tam. 
Oh, my Axalla, oh, there was a time  
I could have heard such Sounds with raging Joys;  
But now it comes too late:  
Give blind men Beauty, Music to the Deaf,  
Give Prosperous Winds to Ships that have no Sails;  
Their Joys will be like mine.  Ax. 
What, not in Temper yet, Sir?  
I must acquaint you with a just occasion,,  
To intermix some sorrows with your Joys:  
The Noble Zeylan and Philarmia's slain,  
Whose Gratitude to you, Love to each other  
Would not excuse them from this dangerous Action.  Tam. 
Then honour's out of Fashion, Tears in Tune.  
Alas, poor Rival in that lofty Science,  
There's no man left alive that can keep up  
That Beautiful Contention: I've outlived it.  
Tell me how that Heroic Pair expired.  Ax. 
The Rebels were dispersed, their Leaders taken▪  
Yet rash Philarmia followed the pursuit,  
Tho rescued twice by Zeylan, we retreated;  
But anxious Zeylan went back to secure her,  
And in a Skirmish with the flying Rebels  
Received a dangerous Wound: which caused a Rumour  
Through all the Camp that he was slain. At last  
Philarmia comes Victorious, hears the News;  
Then straight like Lightning Armed with bright Destruction,  
Flew in the thickest Troops, and flashed, and Shin'd,  
Struck dead whole Rank● before her; till she was  
Extinguish'd by some envious hand, that drew  
Death's dismal Curtain o'er her glorious Face:  
Zeylan comes back, and missing her, though faint,  
And bloody, Lanches out again, and finds  
A crimson heap of newly slaughtered Bodies,  
Their Souls yet fluttering o'er their ruined Mansions▪  
And there too soon he spied  
A Diamond in the Dust, sparkling Philarmia,  
Pale, and yet glimmering, in the shades of Death;  
Then straight tear's up his Wounds, and with his Dagger 〈◊〉,  
Till he falls dead upon her.  Tam. 
Happy Pair!  Enter Despina. Ax. 
What, Love affairs yet! Friends, let us retire.  [Exit with Soldiers▪. Tam. 
Here comes the sole Disturber of my peaceful thoughts▪  Desp. 
Thanks, most indulgent Conqueror: Now I find  
There are some Monarchs that do own the Gods,  
That unrestrained Power, allayed  
With Piety, can bound itself like th'Ocean,  
Whose uphil Waves hang o'er the threatened Earth▪  
Might overflow its humble Friend, but will not.  Trumpets, and Cornets; the Procession enters. Virgins in Mourning. Tam. 
So, so; here comes the Stateliest piece of Shame  
That ever Monarch groaned for: Now I feel  
Honour and Piety return again. I'll keep my purpose  
Close to Religion, Laws, to Heaven, to Nature  Irene is brought in like a Sacrifice. 
Dressed like a Sacrifice! Ah, poor Irene,  
Art thou prepared 〈◊〉 for a sudden Fate?  Ire. 
A sudden Fate! There's no such thing in Nature;  
We're dying from our Cradles: Heaven can send  
No greater 〈◊〉, when't has predisposed  
Men for the 〈◊〉.  
'Tis a quick Med'cine, for a long Disease.  Re-enter Axalla. 
Ha! what Pageant's this?  
Great Gods, can this be true? or do I see  
A Lover's Oath, an overacted Rant,  
A 〈◊〉 Word, that has outrun a Thought  
forced by the Violence of self-urging Passion,  
Which the Gods laugh at, other men despise,  
And feather to the Wind, become so sacred,  
So indispensible, that she must die ●or●●?  
Nay, she by whom thou Livest, thy Angel, thy Redeemer▪  
Are there such things as Gods? Or are they over-busyed?  
Or is the World become so rankly Wicked  
Ne'ra spare Thunderbolt is lest for Thee?  Tam. 
Oh, spare me, spare me; let me die, Axalla.  Ax. 
Canst thou devor● that Life, that saved thy own?  
See that blood spilled, that sprung from thy own Fountain;  
And kept thy own from shedding? Canst thou hear  
Her dying Groans, by whose sweet Prayers the heavens'  
Have been inclined to thy Success, and softened to  
Tay Failings?  
By whose dear Murmurs and Celestial Sound  
Thy Life has been refreshed more than by Glory?  
Whose Tears would melt the Earth into an Ocean,  
Whose Sighs would cleave an Universe of Adamants,  
And make a Palsy shake the guilty Earth  
To shreds, to Atoms, to a second Chaos,  
Tho it were Cramped with unrelenting Irons;  
And Hearts, as hard as thine.  Tam. 
Axalla, Oh Axalla, couldst thou see  
My Heart, thou wouldst not chide, but pity me:  
Here stands a Saint, and there methinks an Angel  
Peeps from the Clouds, to call me to performance  
Of Sacred Vows. Is Heaven divided  
Against itself, and shall frail man be constant!  
Nay, more than that; I'm satisfied by all  
The Oracles of Heaven, the Mystic Priests  
Of several Churches, that my Vow's performed  
In her delivery: But, oh! I've done too much.  Desp. 
Ha! is't come to this?  [Aside. Ax. 
Too much indeed, and more than Heaven requires:  
For had you made a Vow to burn the World,  
Blot out Religion, Laws, destroy Mankind,  
And leave no Soul to Worship his Creator;  
'Twere Sin to make it, but to keep it greater.  
Fie, Sir; for shame grasp your loose thoughts together.  
Bind up your shattered Son, that it may piece again,  
And grow the stronger by this Amorous Fracture:  
Oh, let me never live, to see  
The Glory of all Ages basely buried  
Thus in a Woman's Arms.  Desp. 
Sir, I perceive  
I breed a Faction in your Family;  
Your Slaves are angry, and you must obey:  
Unbind the Princess; but unloose me too  
From my rash Contract; 'Tis better for us both.  Tam. 
No, Fairest, no:  
Let me not lose that Heaven, after assurance.  
Think of some Nobler, less afflicting Trial,  
Some desperate, never yet attempted Action,  
Nor ever thought of: Bid me drain the Ocean,  
Make Mountains Navigable, transplant a Climate,  
Unhindge the Globe; Bid me obscure the Sun;  
Name that impossible that shan't be done:  
But urge me not to tear out mine own Bowels,  
To be alive Dissected, doubly Martyred.  Desp. 
Are Vows made only to be broke; and Women  
The Stales, to cheat the Gods by? Is this your Love?  
That I must keep my Word, and you be free:  
I'll try if I shall be obeyed: Strangle the Princess.  Ax. 
kneeling. Hold, Madam, hold: Here, take my guilty Head:  
'Twas I that councel'd Bajazet's Destruction,  
Contrived the Murder, urged the doubtful Prince.  
Could her soft Heart contrive so harsh a Deed?  
Her Pious Soul consent to such black Crimes?  
Could she the fatal Laws of Empire know,  
The hard necessities of Jealous Greatness?  
Let me, the Author, expiate the Crime:  
Let not this spotless Lamb redeem a Tiger,  
Deep in your Husband's Blood.  Desp. 
You are her Lover;  
Then I must punish you, and set her free.  Ire. 
Oh, Madam, hear him not: his cruel Love  
Betrays his Life, but never will save mine;  
For sure, I neither can, nor will outlive him.  
Ah, generous Innocent! why wilt thou rob me  
Of Martyrdom, in such a Glorious Cause,  
To save my Father's Life, and ease his Sorrows,  
That weigh too heavy on the afflicted World?  Desp. 
What Game of Glory's this: where Death's the Prize,  
And Life the odious Blank? When Appetites  
Are too irregular, pity they should be humoured.  Tam. 
He wrongs himself to save his guiltless Mistress:  
No Truth is half so Holy, as this Falsehood.  
Despair urged Bajazet to self-Destruction;  
Heaven be my Judge. 'twas no Command of mine,  
Nor yet their Counsel, to subtract one minute  
From his Heroic Life.  Desp. 
So you have told me, Sir; and I begin  
To think you real: well, 'tis time  
The Veil were off, lest Passion work some mischief.  
Forgive me, mighty Sir, this bold Request,  [kneeling. 
'Twas but to try the fitness of your Love:  
You have discharged your Promise to the utmost,  
〈…〉 upon the Rack your own indulgent Nature.  
Sir, 〈◊〉 think this was the way to win you,  
And make myself the Empress of the World;  
To come to your Majesty bed, all reeking  
In your dear Daughter's Blood? I'm satisfied  
You never ordered Bajazet's Destruction,  
As you convinced me since.  Tam. 
'Tis a Sacred Truth;  
No more, than by hard usage, and denying  
To him the sight of you, which was his Life.  Desp. 
That well might move me, Sir, but not so highly.  Tam. 
I had your temper showed me in false Glasses,  
Which made me Amorously own in part  
What you believed by many weighty Reasons.  Ax. 
This may end well: I've seldom heard of Women  
Stand upon terms with all-commanding Emperors.  Rag. 
If these two piece again, what will become  
Of me, the Engineer? I shall be crushed  
'Twixt these two mighty Wheels, that I have put  
In motion. Perhaps, the Emperor is not poisoned:  
Who knows the walks of wily Womankind?  Desp. 
Now, Sir, by Virtue of your former Grant,  
I'll add but one request, you'll not deny me:  
'Tis to release your Admirable Daughter,  
And beg the Friendship of the fair Irene.  Tam. 
Now you revive me, Madam; all my Sorrows  
Vanish like Dreams, or like the gloomy Shades,  
They steal away insensibly from Daylight:  
And unperceived, like well-bred Courtiers, slide  
Out of their Prince's Presence. Oh, how my Heart's  
Enlarged! the spacious Room left open  
For Airy, lightsome thoughts; there's nothing lest  
That can disturb my Peace. Strike off her Chains  
And bring her to the Empress.  Ax. 
The Gods Forbid: What, give her Sacred Life  
Into the Hands of one that Vows her Death!  
trust not to covered Flames, nor Furies reconciled.  Tam. 
Ha! hold a little.  (To the Guards.) Desp. 
Am I suspected? Then my Faith's discharged;  
And my Revenge, chained up by unjust Pity,  
Breaks loose again; my darling, dear Revenge,  
And rages for its Prey. Perform your Vow, Great Sir.  Ax. 
Oh, hear a little! May you not accept  
A meaner Offering for this mighty Princess;  
As Deities of old took worthless Brutes  
To save Heroic Lives; and give the Emperor  
A full discharge of his rash Vow.  Desp. 
If either of you die, Heaven be my Witness  
I freely clear the Emperor of his Vow.  
The other dies of Grief by course.  [Aside. Ax. 
One Life, to save a better, 'tis no Crime,  
But an exchange, to the advantage of  
All the surviving World: Then thus, Sir, I absolve you.  [Stabs himself. 
Guard her dear Life, or let just Vengeance shake  
Your Guilty Throne.  Tam. 
Oh desperate Fondness!  Ire. 
Oh heavens'!  Irene swoons. Tam. and Ragal. run to her. Tam. 
What ails Irene?  Ire. 
Nothing but Dying.  Rag. 
Sure'tis not Grief alone; I fear she's Poisoned,  
By some corrupted Servant: and I've heard  
Some muttering on't.  Tam. 
Hast thou indeed?  Rag. 
But here  
I have a Cordial-Antidote, will expel  
Both Grief, and Poison too.  Tam. 
Give it her quickly.  (Ragal. gives it her.) 
Ha! She revives.  Rag. to Desp. 
But she'll as soon relapse:  
I've poisoned her, without that State and Pomp,  
Which I knew would not take.  Desp. 
What needed that rash hast?  Rag. 
Ha! She relents, and longs to be our Sovereign;  
But I'll secure her,  
For fear of squeamish penitential Tales:  
Then say, 'twas Justice for my murdered Friend.  Goes to Ax. & embraces him. 
Ah, my poor dying Friend, dear fellow Soldier!  
Have we outlived all dangers from our Foes,  
To die thus tamely? Sir, can you bear these wrongs?  
Just heavens', I cannot▪ False Murderess!  [Stabs Despina. Desp. 
What thou, Ragalzan! Oh, thou double traitors  
Didst not thou blow the Coals of my revenge,  
Accuse them all of Bajazet's Destruction?  Tam. 
Guards, seize the Villain.  Rag. 
Can you believe her, Sir?  
She spits her Venom, now she's trod upon.  Tam. 
Hold me up, Crantor, I am faint with Sorrow.  Desp. 
ay, and with Poison too. Here was the Dagger kept  
To Vindicate my wrongs upon thy Daughter,  
Whom now Ragalzan poisoned▪  
Thou hast not many minutes left to live,  
Nor I, to tell thee how.  [Dies. Tam. 
Blessed be the hand that did it: hadst thou spared  
One Life, more precious than my own, thou might'st  
Have bustled with the briskest Female Saints  
For place in Glory.  Ire. 
Oh, generous Soul! Oh, my beloved Axalla!  Kneeling by him. 
Oh, tell thy poor Irene, why thou wast  
So kindly cruel to thyself and me?  Ax. 
Live, Princess, Live; live to thy Father's Joy,  
The Empire's quiet, and the Age's Glory:  
Oh, live, to teach the World more Innocence,  
And let this Wretch expire; who might have stayed  
T'have loved you longer, not have served you better.  [Dies. Ire. 
What, wouldst thou have me live an Age of Sorrows,  
When the first Moment of thy Fate has killed me?  
I faint a pace! Kind Heaven has heard my Prayers:  
Oh, I come after thee! nothing on Earth shall stop me.  
Two Angels are my Bridemen, Saints my Singers,  
The Clouds my Chariot, and the Skies my Shrine;  
Where I for ever will join hands with thine.  
Oh! 'tis too much to have both Heaven and Thee.  [Dies. Tam. 
She's gone; the sweetest Saint Heaven ever shined with!  
Guards, bear the guilty Wretch to Death and Torture.  Rag. 
Bear me in Triumph, Guards; I've won the day▪  
And die a greater Conqueror than thyself,  
Most mighty Tamerlane: thou, and my lesser Foes,  
About my Feet.  Tam. 
Away with the vile Traitor.  Ex. with Rag. 
He urged my Patience: now I'll die in Peace.  
Oh, now I'm safe! Now the kind Poison comes  
To end the Quarrel betwixt Love and Honour▪  
To satisfy my Friends, secure my Fame.  
You Gods, that make unchangeable Decrees,  
And lead Mankind in strong, but unseen Lines;  
If you assume us hence to nobler Seats,  
Receive me quickly, with a generous Freedom,  
For no man's Works deserve so great Rewards:  
The powers we have, come from you; And what Thanks  
Can they deserve, who only pay what's lent,  
And have no power to Cheat? Perhaps, you scorn  
The beggarly return of Benefits,  
Like Trafficking Mankind: If these be your Resolves,  
My hopes I Anchor on his generous Doctrine,  
Whose Sepulchre in jewry I paid Vows to,  
Who gives Rewards, yet Suffered to obtain'em.  
And now I find voluptuous death steal on me,  
And I begin to dream before I sleep:  
Green Meadows, Silver Streams, and warbling Winds.  
All the whole Sky a Rainbow. Lovely Sight!  
Who would not die for this? Now I'm i'th' Dark;  
And there I leave thee, World, just as I ever found thee.  [dies 
FINIS.    

Books Printed for John Weld, etc.  
THe Lives of Illustrious Men, written in Latin by Cornelius Nepos, and done into English by several Hands The Second Edition; in 8●.  
2. A Discourse of Wit; showing what's meant by that which Men usually call so, with its Causes, different sorts, and great abuses thereof; also a Character of a Pretender to Wit, with Choice Instructions for the attaining the Ingenious Art of Translating. By D. A. M. D. in 12●.  
3 There's lately published by Dr. Horneck, a seasonable Discourse, showing the great necessity of applying ourselves betimes to the serious practice of Religion, very useful (especially at this time) to recall both young and old from the Errors of their ways; in 12●. price, I s.