Most happy king and emperor of the earth, Image of honour and nobility, For whom the powers divine have made the world, And on whose throne the holy Graces sit; In whose sweet person is compris'd the sum Of Nature's skill and heavenly majesty; Pity our plights! O, pity poor Damascus! Pity old age, within whose silver hairs Honour and reverence evermore have reign'd! Pity the marriage-bed, where many a lord, In prime and glory of his loving joy, Embraceth now with tears of ruth and blood The jealous body of his fearful wife, Whose cheeks and hearts, so punish'd with conceit, To think thy puissant never-stayed arm Will part their bodies, and prevent their souls From heavens of comfort yet their age might bear, Now wax all pale and wither'd to the death, As well for grief our ruthless governor Hath thus refus'd the mercy of thy hand, As for their liberties, their loves, or lives! O, then, for these, and such as we ourselves, For us, for infants, and for all our bloods, That never nourish'd thought against thy rule, Pity, O, pity, sacred emperor, The prostrate service of this wretched town; And take in sign thereof this gilded wreath, Whereto each man of rule hath given his hand, And wish'd, as worthy subjects, happy means To be investers of thy royal brows Even with the true Egyptian diadem!

First Virgin Monologue from Tamburlaine

Rehearse First Virgin's monologue