[_Draws_.
_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA _hastily, and sets a dagger to_
ORAZIA'S _breast._
_Zemp_. Hold, hold, Traxalla, or Orazia dies.--
O, is't Orazia's name that makes you stay?
'Tis her great power, not mine, that you obey.
Inhuman wretch, dar'st thou the murderer be
Of him, that is not yet condemned by me?
_Trax_. The wretch, that gave you all the power you have,
May venture sure to execute a slave;
And quench a flame your fondness would have burn,
Which may this city into ashes turn,
The nation in your guilty passion lost;
To me ungrateful, to your country most:
But this shall be their offering, I their priest.
_Zemp_. The wounds, thou giv'st, I'll copy on her breast:
Strike, and I'll open here a spring of blood,
Shall add new rivers to the crimson flood.
How his pale looks are fixed on her!--'tis so.
Oh, does amazement on your spirits grow?
What, is your public love Orazia's grown?
Could'st thou see mine, and yet not hide thy own?
Suppose I should strike first, would it not breed
Grief in your public heart to see her bleed?
_Trax_. She mocks my passion; in her sparkling eyes
Death, and a close dissembled fury lies:
I dare not trust her thus. [_Aside_.]--If she must die,
The way to her loved life through mine shall lie.
[_He puts her by, and steps before_ ORAZIA; _and
she runs before_ MONTEZUMA.
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