Enter MONTEZUMA, and High-Priest.

Mont.  Not that I fear the utmost fate can do,
Come I the event of doubtful war to know;
For life and death are things indifferent;
Each to be chose as either brings content: 
My motive from a nobler cause does spring,
Love rules my heart, and is your monarch’s king;
I more desire to know Almeria’s mind,
Than all that heaven has for my state designed.

High Pr.  By powerful charms, which nothing can withstand, I’ll force the Gods to tell what you demand.

CHARM.

Thou moon, that aidest us with thy magic might,
And ye small stars, the scattered seeds of light,
Dart your pale beams into this gloomy place,
That the sad powers of the infernal race
May read above what’s hid from human eyes,
And in your walks see empires fall and rise. 
And ye, immortal souls, who once were men,
And now, resolved to elements again,
Who wait for mortal frames in depths below,
And did before what we are doomed to do;
Once, twice, and thrice, I wave my sacred wand,
Ascend, ascend, ascend at my command.

[An earthy spirit rises.

Spir.  In vain, O mortal men, your prayers implore
The aid of powers below, which want it more: 
A God more strong, who all the Gods commands,
Drives us to exile from our native lands;
The air swarms thick with wandering deities,
Which drowsily, like humming beetles, rise
From our loved earth, where peacefully we slept,
And, far from heaven, a long possession kept. 
The frighted satyrs, that in woods delight,
Now into plains with pricked-up ears take flight;
And scudding thence, while they their horn-feet ply,
About their sires the little silvans cry. 
A nation loving gold must rule this place,
Our temples ruin, and our rites deface: 
To them, O king, is thy lost sceptre given. 
Now mourn thy fatal search, for since wise heaven
More ill than good to mortals does dispense,
It is not safe to have too quick a sense.

[Descends.

Mont.  Mourn they, who think repining can remove
The firm decrees of those, who rule above;
The brave are safe within, who still dare die: 
Whene’er I fall, I’ll scorn my destiny. 
Doom as they please my empire not to stand,
I’ll grasp my sceptre with my dying hand.

High Pr.  Those earthy spirits black and envious are;
I’ll call up other Gods, of form more fair: 
Who visions dress in pleasing colour still,
Set all the good to shew, and hide the ill. 
Kalib, ascend, my fair-spoke servant rise,
And sooth my heart with pleasing prophesies.

KALIB ascends all in white, in shape of a woman,
and sings.