[_Kisses her hand_.
_Enter_ CYDARIA.
_Cyd_. May I believe my eyes! what do I see!
Is this her hate to him, his love to me!
'Tis in my breast she sheaths her dagger now.
False man, is this thy faith? is this thy vow?
[_To him_.
_Cort_. What words, dear saint, are these I hear you use?
What faith, what vows, are those which you accuse?
_Cyd_. More cruel than the tyger o'er his spoil;
And falser than the weeping crododile:
Can you add vanity to guilt, and take
A pride to hear the conquests, which you make?
Go, publish your renown; let it be said,
You have a woman, and that loved, betrayed.
_Cort_. With what injustice is my faith accused!
Life, freedom, empire, I at once refused;
And would again ten thousand times for you.
_Alm_. She'll have too great content to find him true;
And therefore, since his love is not for me,
I'll help to make my rival's misery. [_Aside_.
Spaniard, I never thought you false before:
[_To him_.
Can you at once two mistresses adore?
Keep the poor soul no longer in suspence,
Your change is such as does not need defence.
_Cort_. Riddles like these I cannot understand.
_Alm_. Why should you blush? she saw you kiss my hand.
_Cyd_. Fear not; I will, while your first love's denied,
Favour your shame, and turn my eyes aside;
My feeble hopes in her deserts are lost:
I neither can such power nor beauty boast:
I have no tie upon you to be true,
But that, which loosened yours, my love to you.
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