 | The raging Tvrke, or Baiazet the second |  |
Scena Decima.
Enter Solyman as newly Crowned. Souldiers, Attendants, Warlike Musick.Solym.
Is Selymus deceased?
Sould.
He is my Lord.
Solym.
Who Selymus? what Fate durst be so bold:
Selymus deceas'd? What did not Atlas tremble
At such a burden? Can he support the Orbe
That holds vp Selymus? is not yet the Pole
Crackt with his weight? doe not the heauens preparr
His funerall Exequies? Ioue I inuoke thee now,
Command the heauens that the prone Chandler shops
Command that idle Phœbus, that he exhale
Matter from earth to make thy Funerall Tapers:
Or I'le make Torches of the vniuerse
In stead of Comets; flaming Countries, Cities
Shall be thy ceremoniall Tapers:
Or if not this; I'le ransack Christendome,
Kings Daughters I'le embowell for a Sacrifice,
Their fat with vestall fire will I refine,
And offer virgins ware vnto thy shrine.
Start back bright Phœbus, let thy firie Steedes
Keepe Holiday for Selymus. tell thy host
Proud Neptune now expects anothers deluge,
That all the earth may weepe for Selymus.
What doe you smile you Heauens? are ye conscious,
And guilty of this execrable treason?
What dare the fields to laugh when I doe mourne?
I'le dye your motly colour'd weedes in scarlet,
And cloath the world in black destruction.
Nemesis, I'le naile thee to my greedy sword,
Destruction shall serue vnder me a Prentiship.
Courage braue Selmie, with thy Princely boat
Through Styx euen all mortality shall float;
I'le leauie Souldiers through the Vniuerse,
With which thou shalt beguirt Elizeum;
Thus barren Nature shall repent thy fall,
Grieuing that shee did not the euent fore-stall;
Death I will hate thee: the world shall weare
Thy sable liuerie embroydered with feare:
Thy Trophies euery where the world shall gaze on:
Thy Armes in fable and in gules I blazon.
Sould.
My Lord this Crowne entreates you leaue off these
Ground-creeping meditations, and to thinke
With this rich robe of glory, and doe vowe
To it our due alleageance: thus you shall
Mount vp aloft aboue your Fathers fall.
Solym.
Thus our deare Father, those bright robes of state.
For which so lately thou hast sweat in blood,
Thou wearest vpon my shoulders in thy stead:
Thus are we crown'd, and thus our labours bee,
Made gainefull vnto thine, though not to thee.
Sould.
Liue then, and raigne most mighty Emperour,
Whilst that our care and watchfull prouidence,
Shall fence thy safety, and keepe Sentinell
Ouer thy sacred person, were black treasons,
Hatcht in the Center of the darkest earth,
The massie element should be prospectiue
For all our piercing eyes; should Pluto send
His black Apparator to summon thee
To appeare before him, by that Mahomet
We would confront him boldly, and excuse
Thy absence vnto Pluto, by our presence;
Death we'le disarme thee, if thou dar'st arrest
Thy fury on our Solyman, or we'le bale his person
With our imprisonment.
By our death thou shalt liue; our Citie walls
May with warlike ruine be battered,
But our allegeance, that European Bull,
Shall neuer push from vs, with his golden hornes;
Nor shall his guilded showers quench our loues:
No golden Enginer shall vndermine
The Castles of our faith, nor blow them vp
VVith blasts of hop'd preferment, were thy walls
But paper, were they made of brittle glasse,
Our faiths should make them marble, and as firme
As Adamant: not walls, but subiects loue,
Doe to a Prince the strongest Castle proue.
Behold great Prince alleageance mixt with loue
Lock'd in our breasts: thou art the liuing key
To shut, and to vnlock them at thy pleasure:
No golden pick-lock shall e're scrue it selfe
Can be no other then our owne heart strings,
Our greedy swords which erst imbru'd in blood,
Did seeme to blush at their owne Masters acts,
And vpbraid vs with our bloody facts
Though peace hath now condemn'd to pleasing rust,
Yet at thy beck we'le sheath them in the breast
Of daring Christians, thus in warre we'le fight
For thee, whil'st thou dost striue for victory:
Here to describe such Princely vertues, which
Should more adorne thy Crowne then Orient pearles,
Were but to shew a glasse, and to commend
Thy selfe vnto thy selfe. Be gracious,
Magnificent, couragious, or milde,
Or more compendiously, be more thy selfe,
Raigne then, and Mahomet grant that thou may'st passe
Nestor in yeares, as much as now thou dost
In wisedome and in valour; Herauld proclaime
To the world his title, and let swift-winged Fame
Second thy trumpet.
Her.
Long liue Solymon, &c.
Solym.
We thanke you friendly Actors of our blisse,
Our patience hath at length tired out the gods;
Our Empire hath beene rackt enough with treasons,
And black sedition, as if no Christians
Were left to conquer, wee yeeld our Turkish blades
Against our selues, imbowelling the State
With bloudy discord, by our strength we fall
A scorne to Christians, with our hands we shed
That bloud which might haue conquered Christendome;
Thus while we hate our selues we loue our enemies,
And heale them with our sores, whil'st we lye weltring
In bloudy peace: the dy of the publique safety
Hath beene already cast by th'hand of warre,
Treasons haue made a blot, which may prouoke
The enemie to enter, and beare our men
To darke Auernus, Enuie might haue blusht,
Though alwayes pale at all our projects: now
This bloudy deluge is quite past, returne
Sweet Peace with th'Oliue branch, enough of warres,
Fly hence Hereditary hate, discords dead,
Let not succeeding emnities and hatred liue.
Let none presume to couer priuate sores
With publique ruines, nor let black discord
Make an Anatomie of our too leane
Empire, let it wax fat againe; when peace
Hath knit her knots, then shall the wanton sounds
Of Bells giue place to thundring Bombardes,
And blood wash out the smoothing oyle of Peace,
Euery Souldier I'le ordaine a Priest
To ring a fatall knell to Christians,
And euery minute vnto earths wide wombe,
Shall sacrifice a Christians Hecatombe:
Then shall we make a league with Æolus,
The windes shall striue to further our proceedings,
Then will we loade the Seas, and fetter Neptune
With chaines that hold our Anchors; he shall quake
Lest he to Pan resigne his watry Empire,
And three fork'd mace vnto my awfull Scepter;
The Whales and Dolphins shall amazed stand,
That they shall yeeld their place to Beares and Lyons,
Sylla shall howle for feare when she shall see
The Sea become a Forrest, and her selfe
Mountaine, then let Syrens quake
For feare of Satyres, then let the Christians thinke,
Not that our Nauie, but the Country it selfe
Is come to moue them from the growing earth;
Comets, fiery swords shall be my Heraulds,
Threatning to th'world suddaine combustion:
Let our armes be steely bowes, our arrowes
Thunderbolts, and in stead of warlike Drummes,
Thunder shall proclaime black destruction;
Vulcan I'le tax thee, exercise thy Forge,
Prepare to me for all the world a scourge,
The Fates to me their powers shall resigne,
Which with this hand will rend the strongest twine
Of humane breath, first for the I'le of Rhodes
Destruction there shall keepe his mournfull Stage:
And personate themselues; Then for Nayos Ile
Death there shall keepe her Court, then I will make
Vienna all a Shambles; yea gaping Famine
Euer deuouring, alwayes wanting foode,
Shall gnaw their bowels, and shall leaue them nothing
Besides themselues to feede on; their dead corpes
Shall be entombed in their neighbours bellies.
There euery one shall be a lining Sepulcher,
An vnhallowed Churchyard; famine shall feede it selfe,
Then shall they enuie beasts, and wish to be
Our Iades, our Mules, Matrons shall striue to bring
Into the hatefull light abortiue Brats;
The Infants shall returne, and the leane wombe
Shall be vnto the Babes a suddaine tombe.
Then shall they hoard carcasses, and striue
Onely to be rich in Funerals; I'de reioyce
To see them stand like Screech-Owles, gaping when
Their Parents should expire, and bequeath
To hell their wretched soules, to them their death.
All.
Long liue great Solymon our noble Emperour.
Soly.
All this, and more then this I'le doe, when peace
Hath glutted our new greedy appetites,
When it hath fill'd the veines of the Empire full
With vigour, then lest too much blood should cause
Armies of vices, not of men to kill vs,
And strength breed weaknesse in our too great Empire,
Then, then, and onely then we shall thinke good,
With warre to let the body politick blood,
Meane time we'le thinke on our Fathers Funerall:
Oh, I could be an holy Epicure,
In teares, and pleasing sighes, Oh I could now
Refresh my selfe with sorrow, I could embalme
Thy corpes with holy groanes from putrifaction:
Oh, I could powder vp thy thirsty corpes
With brinish teares, and wipe them off with kisses,
And that I might more freely speake my griefe,
These eyes should be still silent Orators,
Till blindnesse shut them vp were I a woman:
Blood shall be my teares, I'le thinke thee slaine
Amongst the Christians, and translate my griefe
To fury, euery member of my body
Shall execute the office of a weeping sonne.
Thus in my teares an Argus will I bee,
My head, heart, hands, and all shall weepe for thee.
Oh, that the cruell Fates were halfe so milde
As to driue streames of teares from forth the springs,
Great sorrowes haue no leasure to complaine,
Least ills vent forth, great griefes within remaine:
See Selymus, sometimes a fore-string instrument
Feeding his Souldiers with sweet Harmony,
Doth now tune nought to vs but Lacrymy,
Could n' Æsculapius be found to tune
His disagreeing elements treasons crackt
The string which else an headach would vntune.
Euery disease is a ragged fort
To weare these strings asunder, treason did lend
Death, which both age, and sicknesse did intend;
What then remaines, but that his Funerall rites
With our Grandfather, Vncles be solemnized,
That so black discord may be with them buried:
But noble Selymus what Tombe shall I prepare
For thy memoriall? shall a heauy stone
Presse thy innocent ashes? Shall I confine
Thy wandring ghost in some high marble prison?
Or shall I hither fetch the flying Tombe
Of proud Mausolus the rich Carian King?
No; Religion shall cloake no such iniurie,
No hired Rhethorick shall adorne thy coarse,
No pratling stone shall trumpet forth thy praise,
The world's thy tombe, thy Epitaph I'le carue
In Funerals, destruction is the booke
In which we'le write thy annalls, blood's the Inke,
Our sword the Pen; A Tragedy I intend,
Which with a Plangity, no Plaudity shall end.
| The raging Tvrke, or Baiazet the second | |