ORCANES. No; we will meet thee, slavish Tamburlaine. [Exeunt severally.] ACT IV. SCENE I. Alarms within. AMYRAS and CELEBINUS issue from the tent where CALYPHAS sits asleep. [182] AMYRAS. Now in their glories shine the golden crowns Of these proud Turks, much like so many suns That half dismay the majesty of heaven. Now, brother, follow we our father's sword, That flies with fury swifter than our thoughts, And cuts down armies with his conquering wings. CELEBINUS. Call forth our lazy brother from the tent, For, if my father miss him in the field, Wrath, kindled in the furnace of his breast, Will send a deadly lightning to his heart. AMYRAS. Brother, ho! what, given so much to sleep, You cannot [183] leave it, when our enemies' drums And rattling cannons thunder in our ears Our proper ruin and our father's foil? CALYPHAS. Away, ye fools! my father needs not me, Nor you, in faith, but that you will be thought More childish-valourous than manly-wise. If half our camp should sit and sleep with me, My father were enough to scare [184] the foe: You do dishonour to his majesty, To think our helps will do him any good. AMYRAS. What, dar'st thou, then, be absent from the fight, Knowing my father hates thy cowardice, And oft hath warn'd thee to be still in field, When he himself amidst the thickest troops Beats down our foes, to flesh our taintless swords? CALYPHAS. I know, sir, what it is to kill a man; It works remorse of conscience in me. I take no pleasure to be murderous, Nor care for blood when wine will quench my thirst. CELEBINUS. O cowardly boy! fie, for shame, come forth! Thou dost dishonour manhood and thy house. CALYPHAS. Go, go, tall [185] stripling, fight you for us both, And take my other toward brother here, For person like to prove a second Mars. 'Twill please my mind as well to hear, both you [186] Have won a heap of honour in the field, And left your slender carcasses behind, As if I lay with you for company. AMYRAS. You will not go, then? CALYPHAS. You say true. AMYRAS. Were all the lofty mounts of Zona Mundi That fill the midst of farthest Tartary Turn'd into pearl and proffer'd for my stay, I would not bide the fury of my father, When, made a victor in these haughty arms, He comes and finds his sons have had no shares In all the honours he propos'd for us.