Mont.  This noble vote does with my wish comply,—­ I am for war.

Alm.  And so am I.

Orb.  And I.

Mont.  Then send to break the truce, and I’ll take care To chear the soldiers, and for fight prepare.

[Exeunt MONT.  ODM.  GUY. and ALIB.

Alm. to Orb.  ’Tis now the hour which all to rest allow,
And sleep sits heavy upon every brow;
In this dark silence softly leave the town, [GUYOMAR returns, and hears them. 
And to the general’s tent,—­’tis quickly known,—­
Direct your steps:  You may despatch him:  strait,
Drowned in his sleep, and easy for his fate: 
Besides, the truce will make the guards more slack.

Orb.  Courage, which leads me on, will bring me back.—­ But I more fear the baseness of the thing:  Remorse, you know, bears a perpetual sting.

Alm.  For mean remorse no room the valiant find,
Repentance is the virtue of weak minds;
For want of judgment keeps them doubtful still,
They may repent of good, who can of ill;
But daring courage makes ill actions good,
’Tis foolish pity spares a rival’s blood;
You shall about it strait.

[Exeunt ALM. and ORB.

Guy.  Would they betray
His sleeping virtue, by so mean a way!—­
And yet this Spaniard is our nation’s foe,—­
I wish him dead,—­but cannot wish it so;—­
Either my country never must be freed,
Or I consenting to so black a deed.—­
Would chance had never led my steps this way! 
Now if he dies, I murder him, not they;—­
Something must be resolved ere ’tis too late;—­
He gave me freedom, I’ll prevent his fate.

[Exit.

SCENE II.—­A Camp.

Enter CORTEZ alone, in a night-gown.

Cort.  All things are hushed, as nature’s self lay dead;
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head;
The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat,
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat. 
Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies
Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.—­
Three days I promised to attend my doom,
And two long days and nights are yet to come:—­
’Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight, [Noise within. 
They break the truce, and sally out by night.

Enter ORBELLAN, flying in the dark, his sword drawn.

Orb.  Betrayed! pursued!  O, whither shall I fly? 
See, see! the just reward of treachery!—­
I’m sure among the tents, but know not where;
Even night wants darkness to secure my fear.

[Comes near CORTEZ, who hears him.

Cort.  Stand! who goes there?

Orb.  Alas, what shall I say?—­ [Aside. 
A poor Taxallan that mistook his way,
And wanders in the terrors of the night.

Cort.  Soldier, thou seem’st afraid; whence comes thy fright?