The Indian Emperor/Act III/Scene IV

SCENE IV.—Mexico.

Enter

Mont. It moves my wonder that in two days' space, This early famine spreads so swift a pace.

Odm. 'Tis, sir, the general cry; nor seems it strange, The face of plenty should so swiftly change: This city never felt a siege before, But from the lake received its daily store; Which now shut up, and millions crowded here, Famine will soon in multitudes appear.

Mont. The more the number, still the greater shame.

Alm. What if some one should seek immortal fame, By ending of the siege at one brave blow ?

Mont. That were too happy!

Alm. Yet it may be so. What if the Spanish general should be slain?

Guy. Just heaven, I hope, does otherwise ordain. Aside.

Mont. If slain by treason, I lament his death.

Enter and whispers his sister.

Odm. Orbellan seems in haste, and out of breath.

Mont. Orbellan, welcome; you are early here, A bridegroom's haste does in your looks appear. [ aside to her brother.

Alm. Betrayed! no, 'twas thy cowardice and fear; He had not 'scaped with life, had I been there: But since so ill you act a brave design, Keep close your shame;—fate makes the next turn mine,

Enter and

Alib. O, sir, if ever pity touched your breast, Let it be now to your own blood exprest: In tears your beauteous daughter drowns her sight, Silent as dews that fall in dead of night.

Cyd. To your commands I strict obedience owe, And my last act of it I come to show: I want the heart to die before your eyes, But grief will finish that which fear denies.

Aim. Your will should by your father's precept move.

Cyd. When he was young, he taught me truth in love.

Aim. He found more love than he deserved, 'tis true, And that, it seems, is lucky too to you; Your father's folly took a headstrong course, But I'll rule yours, and teach you love by force.

Enter Messenger.

Mess. Arm, arm, O king! the enemy comes on, A sharp assault already is begun; Their murdering guns play fiercely on the walls.

Odm. Now, rival, let us run where honour calls.

Guy. I have discharged what gratitude did owe, And the brave Spaniard is again my foe. [Exeunt and

Mont. Our walls are high, and multitudes defend: Their vain attempt must in their ruin end; The nuptials with my presence shall be graced.

Alib. At least but stay 'till the assault be past.

Alm. Sister, in vain you urge him to delay, The king has promised, and he shall obey.

Enter second Messenger.

2 Mess. From several parts the enemy's repelled, One only quarter to the assault does yield.

Enter third Messenger.

3 Mess. Some foes are entered, but they are so few, They only death, not victory, pursue.

Orb. Hark, hark, they shout! From virtue's rules I do too meanly swerve. I, by my courage, will your love deserve. [Exit.

Mont. Here, in the heart of all the town, I 'll stay; And timely succour, where it wants, convey.

Cort. He's found, he's found! degenerate coward, stay: Night saved thee once, thou shalt not 'scape by day. [Kills

Orb. O, I am killed—— [Dies.

Enter and

Guy. Yield, generous stranger, and preserve your life; Why choose you death in this unequal strife? [He is beset. [ and ' fall on ' body.

Cort. What nobler fate could any lover meet? I fall revenged, and at my mistress' feet.

[They fall on him, and bear him down; takes his sword.

Alib. He's past recovery; my dear brother's slain, Fate's hand was in it, and my care is vain.

Alm. In weak complaints you vainly waste your breath: They are not tears that can revenge his death. Despatch the villain straight. Cort. The villain 's dead.

Alm. Give me a sword, and let me take his head.

Mont. Though, madam, for your brother's loss I grieve, Yet let me beg——

Alm. His murderer may live?

Cyd. 'Twas his misfortune, and the chance of war.

Cort. It was my purpose, and I killed him fair: How could you so unjust and cruel prove, To call that chance, which was the act of love?

Cyd. I called it anything to save your life: Would he were living still, and I his wife! That wish was once my greatest misery: But 'tis a greater to behold you die.

Alm. Either command his death upon the place, Or never more behold Almeria's face.

Guy. You by his valour once from death were freed: Can you forget so generous a deed? [To

Mont. How gratitude and love divide my breast! Both ways alike my soul is robbed of rest. But—let him die—Can I his sentence give? Ungrateful, must he die, by whom I live? But can I then Almeria's tears deny? Should any live whom she commands to die?

Guy. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word; And, as my prisoner, I restore his sword. [Gives his sword. His life concerns the safety of the state, And I 'll preserve it for a calm debate.

Mont. Dar'st thou rebel, false and degenerate boy? That being, which I gave, I thus destroy.

Odm. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill. Since he prevents you but from doing ill. He is my rival, but his death would be For him too glorious, and too base for me.

Guy. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife: Alas, I meant not to defend my life: Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true; 'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you. You see I live but to dispute your will: Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill.

Cort. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me: It is enough that I your honour see: But that your duty may no blemish take, I will myself your father's captive make: [Gives his sword to When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall: The Spaniards will revenge their general.

Cyd. Ah, you too hastily your life resign, You more would love it, if you valued mine!

Cort. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive; I shall grow tender else, and wish to live; Such an infectious face her sorrow wears, I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears.

Alm. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three: They for rebellion, and for murder he. See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air; Revenge, revenge, it cries.

Mont. And it shall have; But two days' respite for his life I crave: If in that space you not more gentle prove, I'll give a fatal proof how well I love. 'Till when, you, Guyomar, your prisoner take; Bestow him in the castle on the lake: In that small time I shall the conquest gain Of these few sparks of virtue which remain; Then all, who shall my headlong passion see, Shall curse my crimes, and yet shall pity me. [Exeunt.