Alm.  You think my brother born your enemy; He’s of Traxalla’s blood, and so am I.

Mont.  In vain I strive. 
My lion-heart is with love’s toils beset;
Struggling I fall still deeper in the net. 
Cydaria, your new lover’s garland take,
And use him kindly for your father’s sake.

Cyd.  So strong an hatred does my nature sway. 
That, spite of duty, I must disobey: 
Besides, you warned me still of loving two;
Can I love him, already loving you?

Enter a Guard hastily.

Mont.  You look amazed, as if some sudden fear Had seized your hearts; is any danger near?

1 Guard.  Behind the covert, where this temple stands,
Thick as the shades, there issue swarming bands
Of ambushed men, whom, by their arms and dress,
To be Taxallan enemies I guess.

2 Guard.  The temple, sir, is almost compassed round.

Mont.  Some speedy way for passage must be found. 
Make to the city by the postern gate,
I’ll either force my victory, or fate;
A glorious death in arms I’ll rather prove,
Than stay to perish tamely by my love.

[Exeunt.

An alarm within.  Enter MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALIBECH, ORBELLAN, CYDARIA, ALMERIA, as pursued by Taxallans.

Mont.  No succour from the town?

Odm.  None, none is nigh.

Guy.  We are inclosed, and must resolve to die.

Mont.  Fight for revenge, now hope of life is past But one stroke more, and that will be my last.

Enter CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, to the Taxallans:  CORTEZ stays them, just falling on.

Cort.  Contemned? my orders broke even in my sight?  Did I not strictly charge, you should not fight?

[To his Indians.

Ind.  Your choler, general, does unjustly rise,
To see your friends pursue your enemies. 
The greatest and most cruel foes we have,
Are these, whom you would ignorantly save. 
By ambushed men, behind their temple laid,
We have the king of Mexico betrayed.

Cort.  Where, banished virtue, wilt thou shew thy face,
If treachery infects thy Indian race? 
Dismiss your rage, and lay your weapons by: 
Know I protect them, and they shall not die.

Ind.  O wondrous mercy, shewn to foes distrest!

Cort.  Call them not so, when once with odds opprest;
Nor are they foes my clemency defends,
Until they have refused the name of friends: 
Draw up our Spaniards by themselves, then fire
Our guns on all, who do not strait retire.

[To VASQ.

Ind.  O mercy, mercy! at thy feet we fall, [Indians kneeling. 
Before thy roaring Gods destroy us all: 
See, we retreat without the least reply;
Keep thy Gods silent! if they speak we die.