_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these!
_Mont_. Name life no more;
'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore;
I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die,
In spite of your mistaken clemency.
I was your slave, and I was used like one;
The shame continues when the pain is gone:
But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_.
He wants no subjects, who can death command:
You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me;
But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free.
[_Stabs himself_.
_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father!
_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more.
[_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_.
We shall have time enough to take our way,
Ere any can our fatal journey stay.
_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine,
Take my last thanks: no longer I repine;
I might have lived my own mishap to mourn,
While some would pity me, but more would scorn!
For pity only on fresh objects stays,
But with the tedious sight of woes decays.
Still less and less my boiling spirits flow;
And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do.
Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_.
_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone,
And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.
_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die,
That you may bear your father company.
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