Monologue

Tamburlaine Monologue

From Tamburlaine by Christopher Marlowe

male · defiant · 1:03 min

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Our conquering swords shall marshal us the way We use to march upon the slaughter'd foe, Trampling their bowels with our horses' hoofs, Brave horses bred on the white Tartarian hills My camp is like to Julius Caesar's host, That never fought but had the victory; Nor in Pharsalia was there such hot war As these, my followers, willingly would have. Legions of spirits, fleeting in the air, Direct our bullets and our weapons' points, And make your strokes to wound the senseless light; And when she sees our bloody colours spread, Then Victory begins to take her flight, Resting herself upon my milk-white tent.-- But come, my lords, to weapons let us fall; The field is ours, the Turk, his wife, and all.

About this piece

Tamburlaine rallies his troops before battle, expressing confidence in their impending victory and the power of their conquest.

30s · determination · power · ambition · victory · war

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