--
But I more fear the baseness of the thing:
Remorse, you know, bears a perpetual sting.
_Alm_. For mean remorse no room the valiant find,
Repentance is the virtue of weak minds;
For want of judgment keeps them doubtful still,
They may repent of good, who can of ill;
But daring courage makes ill actions good,
'Tis foolish pity spares a rival's blood;
You shall about it strait.
[_Exeunt_ ALM. _and_ ORB.
_Guy_. Would they betray
His sleeping virtue, by so mean a way!--
And yet this Spaniard is our nation's foe,--
I wish him dead,--but cannot wish it so;--
Either my country never must be freed,
Or I consenting to so black a deed.--
Would chance had never led my steps this way!
Now if he dies, I murder him, not they;--
Something must be resolved ere 'tis too late;--
He gave me freedom, I'll prevent his fate.
[_Exit_.
SCENE II.--_A Camp_.
_Enter CORTEZ alone, in a night-gown_.
_Cort_. All things are hushed, as nature's self lay dead;
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head;
The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat,
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat.
Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies
Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.--
Three days I promised to attend my doom,
And two long days and nights are yet to come:--
'Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight,
[_Noise within_.
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