[_High Priest turns aside, and dies_.
_Enter_ CORTEZ _attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering_.
_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight;
I much repent me of this bloody night:
Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far,
And makes a massacre what was a war:
Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move,
'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love.
Ha--[_Sees_ MONT.
What dismal sight is this, which takes from me
All the delight, that waits on victory!
[_Runs to take him off the rack_.
Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown?
Haste, holy avarice, and help him down.
Ah, father, father, what do I endure
[_Embracing_ MONT.
To see these wounds my pity cannot cure!
_Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring,
And give an infant's comfort to a king?
Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned;
Or aught have done deserving to be moaned.
_Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence?
[_To_ Piz.
But martial law shall punish thy offence.
And you, [_To the Christian Priest_.
Who saucily teach monarchs to obey,
And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway;
Set up by kings as humble aids of power,
You that which bred you, viper-like, devour,
You enemies of crowns--
_Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away,
We but provoke his fury by our stay.
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