Aca.  To break that vow is juster than commit A greater crime, by your preserving it.

Zemp.  The gods themselves their own will best express To like the vow, by giving the success.

Aca.  If all things by success are understood,
Men, that make war, grow wicked to be good: 
But did you vow, those that were overcome,
And he that conquered, both, should share one doom? 
There’s no excuse; for one of these must be
Not your devotion, but your cruelty.

Trax.  To that rash stranger, sir, we nothing owe;
What he had raised, he strove to overthrow: 
That duty lost, which should our actions guide,
Courage proves guilt, when merits swell to pride.

Aca.  Darest thou, who didst thy prince’s life betray,
Once name that duty, thou hast thrown away? 
Like thy injustice to this stranger shown,
To tax him with a guilt, that is thy own?—­
Can you, brave soldiers, suffer him to die,
That gave you life, in giving victory? 
Look but upon this stranger, see those hands,
That brought you freedom, fettered up in bands. 
Not one looks up,—­
Lest sudden pity should their hearts surprise,
And steal into their bosoms through their eyes.

Zemp.  Why thus, in vain, are thy weak spirits prest?  Restore thyself to thy more needful rest.

Aca.  And leave Orazia!—­

Zemp.  Go, you must resign:  For she must be the gods’; not yours, nor mine.

Aca.  You are my mother, and my tongue is tied
So much by duty, that I dare not chide.—­
Divine Orazia! 
Can you have so much mercy to forgive? 
I do not ask it with design to live,
But in my death to have my torments cease: 
Death is not death, when it can bring no peace.

Oraz.  I both forgive, and pity;—­

Aca.  O, say no more, lest words less kind destroy
What these have raised in me of peace and joy: 
You said, you did both pity and forgive;
You would do neither, should Acacis live. 
By death alone the certain way appears,
Thus to hope mercy, and deserve your tears.

[Stabs himself.

Zemp.  O, my Acacis!  What cruel cause could urge this fatal deed?—­

[Weeps.

He faints!—­help, help! some help! or he will bleed
His life, and mine, away!—­
Some water there!—­Not one stirs from his place! 
I’ll use my tears to sprinkle on his face.

Aca.  Orazia,—­

Zemp.  Fond child! why dost thou call upon her name?  I am thy mother.

Aca.  No, you are my shame. 
That blood is shed that you had title in,
And with your title may it end your sin!—­
Unhappy prince, you may forgive me now,
Thus bleeding for my mother’s cruel vow.

Inca.  Be not concerned for me; Death’s easier than the changes I have seen:  I would not live to trust the world again.