University of Virginia Library

SCENE Changes to the Indian Country.
Enter Mont. attended by his Indians.
Mont.
Charge, charge, their ground the faint Taxallans yield,
Bold in close Ambush, base in open Field:
The envious Devil did my Fortune wrong,
Thus Fought, thus Conquer'd I when I was young.

Exit.
Alarm, Enter Cort. Bloudy.
Cort.
Furies pursue these false Taxallans Flight,
Dare they be Friends to us and dare not Fight?
What Friends can Cowards be, what hopes appear
Of help from such, that where they hate show fear!

Enter Piz. Vasquez.
Piz.
The Field grows thin, and those that now remain,
Appear but like the shadows of the Slain.

Vasq.
The fierce old King is vanish'd from the place,
And in a cloud of dust pursues the Chase.

Cort.
Their eager Chase disorder'd does appear,
Command our Horse to charge them in the rear;
To Piz.
You to our old Castillian Foot retire,
To Vasq.
Who yet stand firm, and at their backs give Fire.

Exeunt severally.
Enter Odm. and Guy. meeting each other.
Odm.
Where hast thou been since first the Fight began,
Thou less then Woman in the shape of Man?

Guy.
Where I have done what may thy Envy move,
Things worthy of my Birth, and of my Love:

Odm.
Two bold Taxallans with one Dart I slew,
And left it sticking ere my Sword I drew.

Guy.
I sought not Honour on so base a Train,
Such Cowards by our Women may be Slain;
I fell'd along a Man of Bearded face,
His Limbs all cover'd with a Shining case:
So wondrous hard, and so secure of wound,
It made my Sword, though edg'd with Flint, rebound.

Odm.
I kill'd a double Man, the one half lay
Upon the ground, the other ran away.

Guns go off within.
Enter Mont. out of breath, with him Alib. and an Indian.
Mont.
All's lost—
Our Foes with Lightning and with Thunder Fight,
My Men in vain shun death by shameful Flight;
For death's Invisible come wing'd with Fire,
They hear a dreadful noise and straight expire.
Take, gods, that Soul ye did in spight create,
And made it great to be unfortunate:
Ill Fate for me unjustly you provide,
Great Souls are Sparks of your own Heavenly Pride,
That lust of power we from your god-heads have,
You'r bound to please those Appetites you gave.

Enter Vasq. and Piz. with Spaniards.
Vasq.
Pizarro, I have hunted hard to day,
Into our toyls the noblest of the prey;
Seize on the King, and him your Prisoner make,
While I in kind revenge, my taker take.

Piz. with two goes to Attaque the King, Vasq. with another to seize Alib.
Guy.
Their danger is alike, whom shall I free?

Odm.
I'le follow Love.

Guy.
—I'le follow Piety.

Odm. retreats from Vasq. with Alib off the Stage, Guy. Fights for his Father.
Guy.
Fly Sir, while I give back that life you gave,
Mine is well lost, if I your life can save.

Mont. Fights off, Guy. making his retreat, stays.
Guy.
'Tis more than Man can do to scape them all,
Stay, let me see where noblest I may fall.

He runs at Vasq. is seized behind and taken.
Vasq.
Conduct him off,
And give command he strictly guarded be.

Guy.
In vain are guards, Death sets the Valiant free.

Exit Guy with Guards.
Vasq.
A Glorious day! and bravely was it Fought,
Great fame our General in great dangers sought;
From his strong Arm I saw his Rival run,
And in a crowd, th'unequal Combat shun.

Enter Cortez leading Cidaria, who seems crying, and begging of him.
Cort.
Mans force is fruitless, and your gods would fail
To save the City, but your Tears prevail;
I'le of my Fortune no advantage make,
Those Terms they had once given, they still may take.

Cyd.
Heaven has of right all Victory design'd,
Where boundless power dwells in a will confin'd;
Your Spanish Honour does the World excel.

Cort.
Our greatest Honour is in loving well.

Cyd.
Strange ways you practice there to win a Heart,
Here Love is Nature, but with you 'tis Art.

Cort.
Love is with us, as Natural as here,
But fetter'd up with customs more severe;
In tedious Courtship we declare our pain,
And ere we kindness find, first meet disdain.

Cyd.
If Women Love they needless pains endure,
Their Pride and Folly but delay their Cure.

Cort.
What you mis-call their Folly, is their care,
They know how fickle common Lovers are:
Their Oaths and Vows are cautiously believ'd,
For few there are but have been once deceiv'd.

Cyd.
But if they are not trusted when they vow,
What other marks of passion can they show?

Cort.
With Feasts, and Musick, all that brings delight,
Men treat their Ears, their Pallats, and their Sight.

Cyd.
Your Gallants sure have little Eloquence,
Failing to move the Soul, they Court the Sence,
With Pomps, and Trains, and in a crowd they Woe,
When true Felicity is but in two;
But can such Toys your Womens passion move?
This is but noise and tumult, 'tis not Love.

Cort.
I have no reason, Madam, to excuse
Those ways of Gallantry I did not use;
My Love was true and on a Nobler score.

Cyd.
Your Love! Alas! then have you Lov'd before!

Cort.
'Tis true I Lov'd, but she is Dead, she's Dead,
And I should think with her all Beauty Fled;
Did not her fair resemblance live in you,
And by that Image, my first Flames renew.

Cyd.
Ah happy Beauty whosoe're thou art!
Though dead thou keep'st possession of his Heart;
Thou mak'st me jealous to the last degree,
And art my Rival in his Memory;
Within his Memory, ah, more then so,
Thou Liv'st and Triumph'st ore Cydaria too.

Cort.
What strange disquiet has uncalm'd your breast,
Inhumane fair, to rob the dead of rest!
Poor Heart!
She slumbers deep, deep in her silent Tomb,
Let her possess in Peace that narrow Room.

Cyd.
Poor-heart he pities and bewails her death,
Some god, much hated soul, restore thy breath
That I may kill thee, but some ease 'twill be,
I'le kill my self for but resembling thee.

Cort.
I dread your anger, your disquiet fear,
But blows from hands so soft who would not bear?
So kind a passion why should I remove?
Since jealousie but shows how well we Love.
Yet jealousie so strange I never knew,
Can she who Loves not me disquiet you?
For in the Grave no Passions fill the Breast,
'Tis all we gain by Death to be at rest.

Cyd.
That she no longer Loves brings no relief,
Your Love to her still lives, and that's my grief.

Cort.
The object of desire once tane away,
'Tis then not Love, but pitty that we pay.

Cyd.
'Tis such a pitty I should never have,
When I must lye forgotten in the Grave;
I meant to have oblig'd you when I dy'd,
That after me you should Love none beside,
But you are false already.

Cort.
—If untrue,
By Heaven my falshood is to her, not you.

Cyd.
Observe sweet Heaven, how falsly he does Swear,
You said you Lov'd me for resembling her.

Cort.
That Love was in me by resemblance bred,
But shows you chear'd my sorrows for the Dead.

Cyd.
You still repeat the greatness of your grief.

Cort.
If that was great, how great was the relief?

Cyd.
The first Love still the strongest we account.

Cort.
That seems more strong which could the first surmount:
But if you still continue thus unkind,
Whom I Love best, you by my Death shall find.

Cyd.
If you should dye my death should yours pursue,
But yet I am not satisfied you'r true.

Cort.
Hear me, ye gods, and punish him you hear,
If ought within the World, I hold so dear.

Cyd.
You would deceive the gods and me, she's dead,
And is not in the World, whose Love I dread.
Name not the world, say nothing is so dear.

Cort.
Then nothing is, let that secure your fear.

Cyd.
'Tis Time must wear it off, but I must go.
Can you your constancy in absence show?

Cort.
Mis-doubt my constancy and do not try,
But stay and keep me ever in your eye.

Cyd.
If as a Prisoner I were here, you might
Have then insisted on a Conqu'rours right,
And stay'd me here; but now my Love would be
Th'effect of force, and I would give it free.

Cort.
To doubt your Vertue or your Love were sin;
Call for the Captive Prince and bring him in.
Enter Guyomar bound and sad.
You look, Sir, as your Fate you could not bear,
[To Guyomar.
Are Spanish Fetters then so hard to wear?
Fortune's unjust, she ruines oft the Brave,
And him who should be Victor, makes the Slave.

Guy.
Son of the Sun, my Fetters cannot be
But Glorious for me, since put on by thee;
The ills of Love, not those of Fate I fear,
These I can brave, but those I cannot bear;
My Rival Brother, while I'm held in Chains,
In freedom reaps the fruit of all my Pains.

Cort.
Let it be never said, that he whose breast
Is fill'd with Love, should break a Lovers rest;
Haste, lose no time, your Sister sets you Free,
And tell the King, my Generous Enemy,
I offer still those terms he had before,
Only ask leave his Daughter to adore.

Guy.
Brother, that Name my breast shall ever own,
He embraces him.
The Name of Foe be but in Battels known;
For some few days all Hostile Acts forbear,
That if the King consents, it seem not fear;
His Heart is Noble, and great Souls must be
Most sought and Courted in Adversity.
Three days I hope the wisht success will tell.

Cyd.
Till that long time.—

Cort.
—Till that long time, farewel.

Exeunt severally.