From every part I hear a dreadful noise,
The vanquished crying, and the victor's joys.
I'll to my father's aid and country's fly,
And succour both, or in their ruin die. [_Exeunt_.
SCENE II.--_A Prison_.
MONTEZUMA, _Indian High Priest, bound_; PIZARRO, _Spaniards
with swords drawn, a Christian Priest_.
_Piz_. Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store.
_Mont_. I neither can nor will discover more;
The gods will punish you, if they be just;
The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust.
_Chr. Priest_. Mark how this impious heathen justifies
His own false gods, and our true God denies:
How wickedly he has refused his wealth,
And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth:
Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby.
_Ind. High Pr_. Can heaven be author of such cruelty?
_Piz_. Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail,
We must by other means your minds assail;
Fasten the engines; stretch 'em at their length,
And pull the straitened cords with all your strength.
[_They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them_.
_Mont_. The gods, who made me once a king, shall know,
I still am worthy to continue so:
Though now the subject of your tyranny,
I'll plague you worse than you can punish me.
Know, I have gold, which you shall never find;
No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind.
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