_Cyd_. If you should die, my death shall yours pursue;
But yet I am not satisfied you're true.
_Cort_. Hear me, ye gods! and punish him you hear,
If aught within the world I hold so dear.
_Cyd_. You would deceive the gods and me; she's dead,
And is not in the world, whose love I dread.--
Name not the world; say, nothing is so dear.
_Cort_. Then nothing is,--let that secure your fear.
_Cyd_. 'Tis time must wear it off, but I must go.
Can you your constancy in absence show?
_Cort_. Misdoubt my constancy, and do not try,
But stay, and keep me ever in your eye.
_Cyd_. If as a prisoner I were here, you might
Have then insisted on a conqueror's right,
And staid me here; but now my love would be
The effect of force, and I would give it free.
_Cort_. To doubt your virtue, or your love, were sin!
Call for the captive prince, and bring him in.
_Enter_ Guyomar, _bound and sad_.
You look, sir, as your fate you could not bear:
[_To_ Guy.
Are Spanish fetters, then, so hard to wear?
Fortune's unjust, she ruins oft the brave,
And him, who should be victor, makes the slave.
_Guy_. Son of the sun! my fetters cannot be
But glorious for me, since put on by thee;
The ills of love, not those of fate, I fear;
These can I brave, but those I cannot bear:
My rival brother, while I'm held in chains,
In freedom reaps the fruit of all my pains.
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