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Paperback
First published January 1, 1587
The ceaseless lampsHe has three sons; he disowns one who doesn't share his lust for power. He's the kind of guy who takes his sons hunting and insists they take a bite out of the beating heart of a deer. Here, he cuts his own arm:
That gently looked upon this loathsome earth
Shine downwards now no more, but deck the heavens
To entertain divine Zenocrate.
Come boys and with your fingers search my wound,Just as he's about to reach the apogee of his career, he's struck down by cancer: all this conflict, and chance kills him.
And in my blood wash all your hands at once,
While I sit smiling to behold the sight.
Now my boys, what think you of a wound?
And shall I die and this unconquered?This is as American a piece as There Will Be Blood. Brutal, unsparing, and featuring Marlowe's unsubtle mastery of the epic line, it's nasty stuff. Nasty stuff.


“What is beauty, saith my sufferings, then?
If all the pens that ever poets held
Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts,
And every sweetness that inspir'd their hearts,
Their minds, and muses on admired themes;
If all the heavenly quintessence they still
From their immortal flowers of poesy,
Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive
The highest reaches of a human wit;
If these had made one poem's period,
And all combin'd in beauty's worthiness,
Yet should their hover in their restless heads
One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least,
Which into words no virtue can digest.” (Part 1, Act V, Sc. 1)


A forensic facial reconstruction of Timur by M. Gerasimov (1941).