_. Look up, look up, and see if you can know
Those, whom in vain you think to find below.

_Cyd_. Look up, and see Cydaria's lost estate.

_Mont_. And cast one look on Montezuma's fate.

_Cort_. Speak not such dismal words as wound my ear;
Nor name death to me, when Cydaria's there.
Despair not, sir; who knows but conquering Spain
May part of what you lost restore again?

_Mont_. No, Spaniard; know, he who, to empire born,
Lives to be less, deserves the victor's scorn:
Kings and their crowns have but one destiny:
Power is their life; when that expires, they die.

_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these!

_Mont_. Name life no more;
'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore;
I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die,
In spite of your mistaken clemency.
I was your slave, and I was used like one;
The shame continues when the pain is gone:
But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_.
He wants no subjects, who can death command:
You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me;
But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free.
[_Stabs himself_.

_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father!

_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more.
[_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_.
We shall have time enough to take our way,
Ere any can our fatal journey stay.

_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine,
Take my last thanks: no longer I repine;
I might have lived my own mishap to mourn,
While some would pity me, but more would scorn!
For pity only on fresh objects stays,
But with the tedious sight of woes decays.
Still less and less my boiling spirits flow;
And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do.
Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_.

_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone,
And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.

_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die,
That you may bear your father company.

_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so,
That with the fear I shall prevent the blow:
I know, your mercy's more than to destroy
A thing so young, so innocent as I.

_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood,
Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good,
Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name,
But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame.

_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart;
But on my rival I'll revenge my smart.

_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault,
I'll speak the kindest words--
That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought.
Dear--lovely--sweet--