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Enter MYCETES with his crown in his hand.

MYCETES. Accurs'd be he that first invented war!

They knew not, ah, they knew not, simple men,

 How those were hit by pelting cannon-shot

Stand staggering like a quivering aspen-leaf

Fearing the force of Boreas' boisterous blasts!

In what a lamentable case were I,

If nature had not given me wisdom's lore!

For kings are clouts that every man shoots at,

Our crown the pin that thousands seek to cleave:

Therefore in policy I think it good

To hide it close; a goodly stratagem,

And far from any man that is a fool:

So shall not I be known; or if I be,

They cannot take away my crown from me.

Here will I hide it in this simple hole.

Enter TAMBURLAINE.

TAMBURLAINE. What, fearful coward, straggling from the camp,

When kings themselves are present in the