he were living still, and I his wife!
That wish was once my greatest misery:
But 'tis a greater to behold you die.

_Alm_. Either command his death upon the place,
Or never more behold Almeria's face.

_Guy_. You by his valour once from death were freed:
Can you forget so generous a deed?

[_To_ MONTEZUMA.

_Mont_. How gratitude and love divide my breast!
Both ways alike my soul is robbed of rest.
But--let him die--Can I his sentence give?
Ungrateful, must he die, by whom I live?
But can I then Almeria's tears deny?
Should any live whom she commands to die?

_Guy_. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word;
And, as my prisoner, I restore his sword.
[_Gives his sword_.
His life concerns the safety of the state,
And I'll preserve it for a calm debate.

_Mont_. Dar'st thou rebel, false and degenerate boy?
That being, which I gave, I thus destroy.

[_Offers to kill him_, ODMAR _steps between_.

_Odm_. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill,
Since he prevents you but from doing ill.
He is my rival, but his death would be
For him too glorious, and too base for me.

_Guy_. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife:
Alas, I meant not to defend my life:
Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true;
'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you.
You see I live but to dispute your will;
Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill.

_Cort_. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me:
It is enough that I your honour see:
But that your duty may no blemish take,
I will myself your father's captive make:
[_Gives his sword to_ MONTEZUMA.
When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall:
The Spaniards will revenge their general.

_Cyd_. Ah, you too hastily your life resign,
You more would love it, if you valued mine!

_Cort_. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive;
I shall grow tender else, and wish to live;
Such an infectious face her sorrow wears,
I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears.

_Alm_. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three:
They for rebellion, and for murder he.
See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there
O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air;
Revenge, revenge, it cries.

_Mont_. And it shall have;
But two days respite for his life I crave:
If in that space you not more gentle prove,
I'll give a fatal proof how well I love.
'Till when, you, Guyomar, your prisoner take;
Bestow him in the castle on the lake:
In that small time I shall the conquest gain
Of