[She goes back, they fight again, VASQUEZ falls.

Guy.  Now, Spaniard, beg thy life, and thou shalt live.

Vasq.  ’Twere vain to ask thee what thou canst not give; My breath goes out, and I am now no more; Yet her, I loved, in death I will adore. [Dies.

Guy.  Come, Alibech, let us from hence remove. 
This is a night of horror, not of love. 
From every part I hear a dreadful noise,
The vanquished crying, and the victor’s joys. 
I’ll to my father’s aid and country’s fly,
And succour both, or in their ruin die. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—­A Prison.

MONTEZUMA, Indian High Priest, bound; PIZARRO, Spaniards with swords drawn, a Christian Priest.

Piz.  Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store.

Mont.  I neither can nor will discover more; The gods will punish you, if they be just; The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust.

Chr.  Priest.  Mark how this impious heathen justifies
His own false gods, and our true God denies: 
How wickedly he has refused his wealth,
And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth: 
Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby.

Ind.  High Pr.  Can heaven be author of such cruelty?

Piz.  Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail,
We must by other means your minds assail;
Fasten the engines; stretch ’em at their length,
And pull the straitened cords with all your strength.
[They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them.

Mont.  The gods, who made me once a king, shall know,
I still am worthy to continue so: 
Though now the subject of your tyranny,
I’ll plague you worse than you can punish me. 
Know, I have gold, which you shall never find;
No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind.

Chr.  Pr.  Pull harder yet; he does not feel the rack.

Mont.  Pull ’till my veins break, and my sinews crack.

Ind.  High Pr.  When will you end your barbarous cruelty?  I beg not to escape, I beg to die.

Mont.  Shame on thy priesthood, that such prayers can bring! 
Is it not brave, to suffer with thy king? 
When monarchs suffer, gods themselves bear part;
Then well mayest thou, who but my vassal art: 
I charge thee, dare not groan, nor shew one sign;
Thou at thy torments dost the least repine.

Ind.  High Pr.  You took an oath, when you received the crown,
The heavens should pour their usual blessings down;
The sun should shine, the earth its fruits produce,
And nought be wanting to your subjects’ use: 
Yet we with famine were opprest, and now
Must to the yoke of cruel masters bow.

Mont.  If those above, who made the world, could be Forgetful of it, why then blamest thou me?