A Select Collection of Old English Plays…
“ Soliman. No, Amurath, for murthering him thou diest. O Haleb, how shall I begin to mourn, Or how shall I begin to shed salt tears, For whom no words nor tears can well suffice? Ah, that my rich imperial diadem Could satisfy thy cruel destiny! Or that a thousand of our Turkish souls, Or twenty thousand millions of our foes, Could ransom thee from fell death's tyranny! To win thy life would Soliman be poor, And live in servile bondage all my days. Accursed Amurath, that for a worthless cause In blood hath shortened our sweet Haleb's days! Ah, what is dearer bond than brotherhood? ”
