_Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline,
Which did in Spanish camps severely shine:
Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes;
Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes!
And into Spain wilt fatally be brought,
Since with the price of blood thou here art bought.
[_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO.
[CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_.
_Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit?
_Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit:
Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs:
Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears:
Must I chear you?
_Cort_. Ah heavens!
_Mont_. You're much to blame;
Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame,
Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring:
But weep not you, and I'll be still a king.
You have forgot, that I your death designed,
To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind:
You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die.
_Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty.
_Enter a Spaniard_.
_Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains,
Our men retreat, and he their ground regains:
But once encouraged by our general's sight,
We boldly should renew the doubtful fight.
_Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend;
[_To_ MONTEZUMA.
I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend.
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