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A monologue from the play by Christopher Marlowe
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Masterpieces of the English Drama. Ed. William Lyon Phelps. New York: American Book Company, 1912.
CALLAPINE
Thrice-worthy kings, of Natolia and the rest,
I will requite your royal gratitudes
With all the benefits my empire yields;
And, were the sinews of th’ imperial seat
So knit and strengthen’d as when Bajazeth,
My royal lord and father, fill’d the throne,
Whose cursed fate hath so dismember’d it,
Then should you see this thief of Scythia,
This proud usurping king of Persia,
Do us such honour and supremacy,
Bearing the vengeance of our father’s wrongs,
As all the world should blot his dignities
Out of the book of base-born infamies.
And now I doubt not but your royal cares
Have so provided for this cursed foe,
That, since the heir of mighty Bajazeth
(An emperor so honour’d for his virtues)
Revives the spirits of all true Turkish hearts,
In grievous memory of his father’s shame,
We shall not need to nourish any doubt,
But that proud Fortune, who hath follow’d long
The martial sword of mighty Tamburlaine,
Will now retain her old inconstancy,
And raise our honours to as high a pitch,
In this our strong and fortunate encounter;
For so hath heaven provided my escape
From all the cruelty my soul sustain’d,
By this my friendly keeper’s happy means,
That Jove, surcharg’d with pity of our wrongs,
Will pour it down in showers on our heads,
Scourging the pride of cursed Tamburlaine.
