_Odm_. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill,
Since he prevents you but from doing ill.
He is my rival, but his death would be
For him too glorious, and too base for me.
_Guy_. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife:
Alas, I meant not to defend my life:
Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true;
'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you.
You see I live but to dispute your will;
Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill.
_Cort_. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me:
It is enough that I your honour see:
But that your duty may no blemish take,
I will myself your father's captive make:
[_Gives his sword to_ MONTEZUMA.
When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall:
The Spaniards will revenge their general.
_Cyd_. Ah, you too hastily your life resign,
You more would love it, if you valued mine!
_Cort_. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive;
I shall grow tender else, and wish to live;
Such an infectious face her sorrow wears,
I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears.
_Alm_. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three:
They for rebellion, and for murder he.
See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there
O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air;
Revenge, revenge, it cries.
_Mont_.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359