University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Montezuma

A Tragedy
  
  

expand section1. 
collapse section2. 
 1. 
 2. 
 3. 
 4. 
 5. 
 6. 
 7. 
 8. 
 9. 
 10. 
SCENE X.
expand section3. 
expand section4. 
expand section5. 

SCENE X.

Enter Cortez, Vasquez, Pizarro, and Spaniards.
Cort.
Press forward, fellow soldiers, take advantage
Of their new panic! Spare, yet spare the blood
Of Montezuma's royal house!—Success
And glory crown our arms—Come on!

[Exeunt.
As Cortez is going out, Guyomar advances and meets him.
Guy.
Hold, sir—you pass no further—I propose
To win a feather from you; or to grace
My fall, ennobled by your hand.

[Strikes at the helmet of Cortez, his sword breaks.
Cort.
Thou art my prisoner, Indian!—Had thy sword
Been equal to thine arm, I had not lived
To tell thee so—Ha!—let me look again—
Art thou not he, that desperate Mexican,
Who singly dared, this day, to press upon us,
Even in the face of thunder?

Guy.
Cortez, as I hope—
Art thou?

Cort.
Yes, valiant youth.


294

Guy.
Bring me my chains—from any other hand
I should have blush'd beneath them.

Cort.
Whoe'er thou art, my soul claims kindred with thee!—
May'st thou ne'er put ignobler fetters on,
Than those that bind thee now!—

[Embrace.
Guy.
My heart's great master!—
Your bounty, generous leader, must not rob you
Of the large ransom which you ought to claim
Know, that the captive of your arms is son
Of Montezuma.

Cort.
What, Cyderia's brother?

Guy.
Cyderia's second brother.

Cort.
Blest event!
My dear, dear brother!—may I dare to tell you
I am the captive of your sister's beauties?
Never, again, O, never may my Guyomar
Come thus exposed to battle!—Be this helm
The guardian of that precious head—this corselet,
[Dresses Guyomar in his Armour.
Be it henceforth a fence of triple steel
Before thy valiant heart—and may this sword,
In that strong hand, be still assured of conquest!—

Guy.
More estimable are your gifts, my conqueror,
Than all things, save the giver!—Ease my heart,
And teach me how to thank you!

Cort.
With your friendship!
Let that o'erpay me.—Go, my Guyomar;
Thus glorious in the spoils of Spain, return,

295

And spare the many tears, that now, in Mexico,
Bewail your death or bondage.

Guy.
O, my friend,
My best loved brother, till we meet again,
My heart is still your captive.—

Cort.
O, farewell!

[Embrace, and go out severally.