University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE II.

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,
Then let him go! Seem'd it to your great Mind
So small a Prize, Great Tamerlane t'have joyn'd
To Bajazet, and in one Cage confin'd?
The Scourge and Terror of the World t'have tam'd,
And for his Conquest of the Globe been fam'd?
All for a Complement! a Barbarous glance
From a She-Tartar!

Zeyl.
'Twas th'effect of Chance:
For, while I paid Irene short Respects,
For thy sake only, honoring thy Sex,
The Emperor escap'd. But, is't not Jealousie,
That envious Dream, that avaritious Monster,
That wou'd have more than all, that fills thy Mind
With such unkind expostulations? Tell me.
By Heav'ns thou wound'st me with ten Thousand Arrows
Sharper than Death, Dishonor, Pains Infernal!
How can my heart, brim full of thee, receive
Another in? Can the whole World, with all
It's glittering Trifles, and Deluding Joys,
Add ought 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 Valor, or your Prudence? No, no; but I'm asham'd
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.
Zeyl.
Nay, stay, and hear me.
Pray Heav'n our Loves prove not unfortunate;
This Girl's so rash and daring, and so Jealous,
So easily provok'd, headstrong, and sudden:
Tho soft as Prayers when pleas'd, and passionately
Tender, when she perceives her error.
My Soul akes for thee, tho 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 Villany! Am I a Saint, or not?
The Saint and Devil differ in Man so little,
Those open bare-fac'd Mortals look as simply
As naked Dogs, or new-shorn Sheep, expos'd
To th'Injuries and Scorn of all Mankind:
While I, like visiting Angels, kill unseen.
Here I lye 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 bus'ness of the World were done;
Or this Cameleon Fortune may change colours,
And Tarnish all my Glories. Why was I
Now so unhappy to escape this blow?
Then I had dy'd in time, and ripe for Fate,
With all my Triumphs waiting on my Herse.

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 arriv'd, 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 easie heart
Melt at a Woman's Face? Those many Thousand
Wives, Virgins, Widows, all my Supplicants,
Mov'd 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're your self
Out-does the Cœsars, more than all your Triumphs.

Tam.
Why talk'st thou of those petty Lords of Rome?
What is their Carthage, or Numantia,
To Nanquin, Pequin, Mosco, 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 Cœsars,
Who in Triumphant Cars, like Flies on wheels,
Assum'd the glory of that little dust
Which their Crampt Empire rais'd in several Ages?
When I alone have won more Worlds, than e're
They knew or thought of.

Rag.
They set some Scriblers to out-lye the World,
And drest their Roman Eagles up, to Soar
Like Paper Kites, t'amuse the wondring Vulgar:
And yet the very Plat-forms of your Conquests
Wou'd 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 shou'd I speak less,
I shou'd detract from Heav'n, that threw these Favors
Upon my worthless Person.

Enter Despina.
Ax.
Here she comes:
Now be your self, and His that made you great.

Tam.
Ha! What flash of Lightning's this, that strikes my Brest?
Then Fame has once spoke true; a Glorious Form!
But I must be my self; nay, more, appear
Churlish and Cruel, to keep off vain hopes.

Desp.
Great Sir, to whom wise Heav'n the World design'd,
kneeling.
As a just Tribute to your greater Mind;
Long may you Reign, if Bajazet may live:
A Grant which Heav'n 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 wish'd to find
If Fortune had to Him, not You, been kind.

Tam.
Do as you wou'd 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 wou'd grant to let himself be slain,
Tho by his death another life did gain.
My Case is clearer, just in all mens Sence,
To kill your Husband in my own defence:
Which is no more than he wou'd do by me,
Or ought to do, if he secure wou'd be.

Desp.
High Confidence o're Policy prevails;
When great Souls meet, low-founded Reason fails:
Brave Sympathy does Interest disdain;
Or 'tis an Int'rest of a nobler Strain,
To please themselves by pleasing's 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-determin'd Actions:
Give me Ambition that is ne'r extinguish'd,
Yet feeds upon it self; burns like the Sun
In its own Centre unconsum'd,
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.
Shou'd Gods destroy all Men that them provoke,
They must Create, to make their Altars Smoke;
If all were kill'd that do affect your Throne,
King without Subjects, you wou'd Reign alone
A Monarch wrapt in Contemplation:
Freed from your Rivals, you expose your Life
To a hast'ning 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 design'd?
Or, if it be the Int'rest of Mankind
To have you dye, 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 unpractic'd 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 Heav'nly Rent,
Prudence in vain a Monarch's life protects:
Counsels Inspir'd 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 e're he dyes.
I'll strait 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, drowsie Divinity,
Music for Maids or Madmen, School-boy's Toy,
Thou pinching Play-fellow, tickling Tormentor;
Thou fawning Cut-throat Begger, hence, be gone,
My Brest affords no settlement for Vagrants:
Go to some Silken Persian, soft Italian,
To limber Courtiers, callow beardless Boys;
Go find some lazie Epicure, whose Soul
Lives in his Dish, and thence by Transmigration,
Lives in his Wench, and when that short-liv'd pleasure
Expires, is born anew to Wine and Surfeits.
How darest thou seek for room in my full Mind,
In which the Universe lies cram'd with all its cares,
Where every Virtue harbors for protection,
And every Vice waits for a Reformation?
And yet, methinks I see the blind ragg'd Boy
Laughing the tott'ring Globe out of my hand:
It must not, shall not be. He comes, he comes
Again, and warms my Brest with his false Fires.
Captains, let loose the World, that I may once more Conquer't;
Strike off the Chains from all my fetter'd Princes,
Let 'em Rebel, and find out Manly troubles
To shake off these: Let Bus'ness out-do 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 Reason does out-weigh my Love.

The Scene a Prison. Bajazet in his Cage; Ragalzan, Jaylor.
Rag.
It is too true:
The Emperor has deny'd 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 design'd
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 Int'rest with the Powers above?
If such there be, what cross events they give,
That I, who scorn to Reign, am forc'd 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 dirty Tamerlane, design'd 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.
Jaylor, go help him forwards, I'll prefer thee:
'Tis time his mouth were stopt; the vile Blasphemer!
It is the Emperor wills it.

Jayl.
Then 'tis done, Sir.

Rag.
'Twill make mad work, i'faith! Now She'l abhor
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 sooth his proud o'rweening Spirit
To his Destruction. Fool, to think such blows
Can be forgot, or salv'd 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 injoyn'd 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 Favor with the Emperor!

Ax.
That his quick Eye sees not his bungling Flattery,
The Seam's so visible and gross!

Desp.
Oh 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 scorn'd, as well as injur'd?
These are your Tartarian manners!

Rag.
'Tis not her Education, but Religion;
She's bred a Christian, and betroth'd to this Axalla:
'Twas they perswaded th'Emperor to this Murder.

Desp.
Did they? a wondrous Act! Oh, my dear Sultan!
Just Heav'ns 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'l never see you; tho you shou'd stoop
To be her Father's Wife.

Desp.
A pretty Spark!
But I will see her, tho 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 scorn'd
All offers at my hands, and had design'd
For me, the self-same Cage, taken at Tauris.
'Tis true, I order'd that Despina shou'd
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
Layes wast my Mind.
This Soultry heat of Love has scorch'd up quite
The temperate Climes of Virtue: I'm become
Like the Arabian Desart, 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 guess your Royal troubles,
The beauteous Captive gives you some disquiet.

Tam.
Audacious Wretch! how dar'st thou search into
Thy Sovereign's Brest, and rudely touch his Sores?

Rag.
You pity, Sir, her Husband's dismal Fate.

Tam.
True: with 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 shou'd 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 over-stock'd,
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 Valor is, excess of Heat:
'Tis a Majestic Madness, Heav'nly Fury;
None ever scap'd it of the Gods, or Heroes.

Tam.
What then? Speak out.

Rag.
Why then, 'tis strongly rumor'd
That you are touch'd with that Celestial frailty.

Tam.
Is it divulg'd so soon? Well then, since thou
Hast guess'd so well, I'll tell thee my Disease.
She is the first of all that trivial Sex
That ever gain'd the out-works of my Heart,
A kind Esteem; but more, S'has fir'd the Fort,
And turn'd out all the vigorous Defendants,
The Manly Virtues that secur'd the Place:
I ne'r knew Love before, but for State Int'rest,
Which pawns 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 Ecchoes;
Diseases of the Brain are seldom cur'd,
And their first Fits most fatal, if delay'd.
What fills the World with Madmen? Is't not Love?

Tam.
My Reasoning faculty, that was my guide,
Is so bewildred 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 wou'd 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 Sugar'd Medicine.
Statesmen in Love begin their Alphabet,
'Tis a new World, an undiscover'd Coast.
I've lov'd, Enjoy'd; and Lov'd, 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, tho Honor gets the better,
'Tis a most costly Victory: puts you to
Th'expence of many thoughtful hours, and wasts
A wise Man's Brain, that's fit for nobler uses.
Love lyes in Ambush; when you think the least on't,
Rallies again, and routs th'unsetled Victor:
And, tho 'tis oft pluck'd up with endless labor,
The rank Weed still appears.
But think I, you shou'd 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 Princes Passions?

Rag.
There may be; yet 'twere better to be eas'd
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 som weight: my Thoughts are wandred,
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.
I, and she comes to court you: pray make use on't.

Desp.

Tam.
Dry Clouds, and empty Griefs long hide the day;
The Dismal'st Vapors weep themselves away:
Those Eyes will shine again, or Heav'n decay.

Desp.
Talk not of Lustre, Sir; restore my Light,
And give me the lov'd object of my Sight.

Tam.

Desp.
Were he the greatest Monster Nature teem'd
From her erronious Womb; Satan redeem'd,
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,
Chain'd fast in Cupids thin, but glutenous Bands;
Strong, tho unseen; like those of Fate, I feel
Love's Airy Nets, those Cobwebs made of Steel:
Pity the Wretch whom all extreams do move,
Who cannot hope for, live without your Love.

Desp.
Dost thou abuse me too! thou needst not wear
Such study'd Cruelty to mock Despair.
I came to tast, not swallow Candyed Poysons;
Curious to know, how many Sulphurous Devils
That weak and Leaky Vessel Man,
Hoop'd with Hypocrisie, might hold, who is
A Pastboard Cask, a very Sieve to Virtue.
Tyrant, I come not to divert my Fate,
But to chafe on, and scarifie thy Hate.
Phlegmatick Fiend, Dull Devil, dost thou think
Thy Murders can be stifled, Gods can Wink,
When such great Stars as Bajazet add Light
To Heav'n, & make thy Crimson'd Earth more bright?
Hid in their blackness dost thou think thy Deeds?
Thy Cloven Foot peeps through thy Hermits Weeds.

Tam.
How quickly she had notice of his death!

Desp.
Curs'd be thy ill-got Empire, curs'd thy Race,
Live to its own destruction, thy disgrace:
And when thy Rebel Offspring is subdu'd,
Thy trembling Hand in thy own Blood embru'd;
Then may thy Passions war against each other,
Tear out the Bowels of their wretched Mother:
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 choak'd with Fears,
And may'st thou always aym, and ever miss:
I wish thee a long life; but such as this.

Tam.
Pray give me leave—

Desp.
Nor dye 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'r mayest thou Love, but find the Women chast;
Nor e'r be proud, but by scorn'd love abas'd:
And when thy slie misfortunes flatter most,
May each nak'd Beauty prove a rotten Ghost.
May Schreech Owls make thy Musick, Toads thy Pictures,
Thorns and ill Conscience stuff thy Beds of down:
And may thy Torments never find a date,
Till Heav'n 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 liv'd.

Tam.
Yet she appear'd so sweet, so innocent,
Who look'd for Storms from so serene a Sky?
Good Gods, what Charms! Her very Frowns are Philtres.
Her Treaty undermin'd my tender part;
This noble Rage fires and blows up my heart.

Rag.
And 'twas a just one too. Have you not us'd
Her Husband like a wild Beast, and incag'd him,
Made him your Footstool, worse Indignities
Than Death it self, deny'd her to come near him,
And since, as she thinks, caus'd him to be murder'd?

Tam.
Heav'n knows, I knew not of his death, but greive for't.

Rag.
And I know too; but what can salve the wild
Objections of a blear-ey'd Jealous mind,
To whom well polish'd Truth looks most like Varnish,
And Arguments serve but for Aggravations?
Most Men believe you caus'd it; and 'tis talk'd of;
For 'tis the Fate of wise Men, to be thought
To act what Interest, not Justice bids them:
And Histories do oftner palliate Crimes,
Than publish 'em: There is more Wickedness
Than all the Worlds aware of, (or you either.
Aside.)
To clear the Truth is now impossible,
Since she has found you love her; which she'l judge
To be the cause, more than State-Rivalship.
But, wou'd you take my Judgement, Sir, I'de own it,
And say, I did it for her Love, not Empire.

Tam.
What! Shall I own a Lye, and wound my Honor?

Rag.
What, by a little Love-talk, blown away
With the next Wind? Ten Lyes to every Truth;
Where he that talks the most, still thinks the least on't.
Love is a Lye it self; there's no such Passion:
And Truth to Women makes men most suspected,
Because 'tis rarely practic'd.
No Woman takes her self to be a Monster;
Yet she wou'd be so, if her Eyes were Stars,
Her Lips of Roses, and her Face of Lillies:
Why, Traps were made for Foxes, Gins for Hares,
Limetwigs for Birds, and Lyes and Oaths for Women.

Tam.
Thou'rt a rare Artist in Love's Mysteries!
But then, suppose this shou'd incense her more?

Rag.
Why, then 'tis but t'unswear the same things o'r
Again: How can a credulous Woman
Discern a Truth, from Falshood;
Her Reason yields, and Passion takes the Sway?
Then swear there are no Stars, because 'tis Day
That hides them all; Truth is asham'd to stay,
And dares not show her naked open brest
To an excuse that's rich, and finely drest.

Tam.
Oh brave Ragalzan! thou canst turn and wind
A Woman, like an Engine.

Rag.
They're no more;
Manag'd as easily by dexterous Men:
Work up their Passions, then they are on Horseback
Without a Bridle; drive 'em where you please.
As we are to the Gods, so they to us
Are meer Machines.

Tam.
I, such Machines, as Ships, that drown their Sailors;
Such Brutes, as break their Masters Necks.
Well, I may use some Art, yet cannot travel
Far from the Road of Honor:
But I am rough, and ne'r was made for Courtship.

Rag.
Great Souls are fit for all things; Try your Rhetoric,
Which never fail'd you yet to win Mankind:
Woman is easier gain'd; Nature's your Party,
And lays 'em open to the least attacks.
Exit Tam.

'Tis hard, when a Man's own Wit runs so low, that he is
forc'd to let in the Tide of another Mans 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; How,
that upon very high, and opprobious Language to the Emperor,
one of the Keepers, by his order, struck Bajazet,that he dyed
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 Honor, that a Lye 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.