Doubt not, my lord and gracious sovereign,
But Tamburlaine and that Tartarian rout<11>
Shall either perish by our warlike hands,
Or plead for mercy at your highness' feet.

MYCETES. Go, stout Theridamas; thy words are swords,
And with thy looks thou conquerest all thy foes.
I long to see thee back return from thence,
That I may view these milk-white steeds of mine
All loaden with the heads of killed men,
And, from their knees even to their hoofs below,
Besmear'd with blood that makes a dainty show.

THERIDAMAS. Then now, my lord, I humbly take my leave.

MYCETES. Theridamas, farewell ten thousand times.
[Exit THERIDAMAS.]
Ah, Menaphon, why stay'st thou thus behind,
When other men press<12> forward for renown?
Go, Menaphon, go into Scythia,
And foot by foot follow Theridamas.

COSROE. Nay, pray you,<13> let him stay; a greater [task]
Fits Menaphon than warring with a thief:
Create him pro-rex of all<14> Africa,
That he may win the Babylonians' hearts,
Which will revolt from Persian government,
Unless they have a wiser king than you.

MYCETES. Unless they have a wiser king than you!