Take, gods! that soul, ye did in spite create,
And made it great, to be unfortunate:
Ill fate for me unjustly you provide,
Great souls are sparks of your own heavenly pride:
That lust of power we from your godheads have,
You're bound to please those appetites you gave.
_Enter_ Vasquez _and_ Pizarro, _with Spaniards._
_Vasq_. Pizarro, I have hunted hard to-day,
Into our toils, the noblest of the prey;
Seize on the king, and him your prisoner make,
While I, in kind revenge, my taker take.
[Pizarro, _with two, goes to attack the king_. Vasquez, _with
another, to seize_ Alibech.
_Guy_. Their danger is alike;--whom shall I free?
_Odm_. I'll follow love!
_Guy_. I'll follow piety!
[Odmar _retreats from_ Vasquez, _with_ Alibech, _off the
stage_; Guyomar _fights for his father_.
_Guy_. Fly, sir! while I give back that life you gave;
Mine is well lost, if I your life can save.
[Montezuma _fights off_; Guyomar, _making his retreat, stays_.
_Guy_. Tis more than man can do to scape them all;
Stay, let me see where noblest I may fall.
[_He runs at_ Vasquez, _is seized behind and taken_.
_Vasq_. Conduct him off,
And give command, he strictly guarded be.
_Guy_. In vain are guards, death sets the valiant free.
[_Exit_ Guyomar, _with guards_.
Pages:
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341