Mont.  ’Tis much too late for me new ways to take, Who have but one short step of life to make.

Piz.  Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack.

Chr.  Pr.  I must by force convert him on the rack.

Ind.  High Pr.  I faint away, and find I can no more:  Give leave, O king, I may reveal thy store, And free myself from pains, I cannot bear.

Mont.  Think’st thou I lie on beds of roses here, Or in a wanton bath stretched at my ease?  Die, slave, and with thee die such thoughts as these. [High Priest turns aside, and dies.

Enter CORTEZ attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering.

Cort.  On pain of death, kill none but those who fight;
I much repent me of this bloody night: 
Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far,
And makes a massacre what was a war: 
Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move,
’Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love. 
Ha—­[Sees MONT. 
What dismal sight is this, which takes from me
All the delight, that waits on victory! [Runs to take him off the rack. 
Make haste:  How now, religion, do you frown? 
Haste, holy avarice, and help him down. 
Ah, father, father, what do I endure [Embracing MONT. 
To see these wounds my pity cannot cure!

Mont.  Am I so low that you should pity bring,
And give an infant’s comfort to a king? 
Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned;
Or aught have done deserving to be moaned.

Cort.  Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence? [To Piz. 
But martial law shall punish thy offence. 
And you, [To the Christian Priest. 
Who saucily teach monarchs to obey,
And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway;
Set up by kings as humble aids of power,
You that which bred you, viper-like, devour,
You enemies of crowns—­

Chr.  Pr.  Come, let’s away, We but provoke his fury by our stay.

Cort.  If this go free, farewell that discipline,
Which did in Spanish camps severely shine: 
Accursed gold, ’tis thou hast caused these crimes;
Thou turn’st our steel against thy parent climes! 
And into Spain wilt fatally be brought,
Since with the price of blood thou here art bought.

[Exeunt Priest and PIZARRO. [CORTEZ kneels by MONTEZUMA, and weeps.

Cort.  Can you forget those crimes they did commit?

Mont.  I’ll do what for my dignity is fit: 
Rise, sir, I’m satisfied the fault was theirs: 
Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears: 
Must I chear you?

Cort.  Ah heavens!

Mont.  You’re much to blame;
Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame,
Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring: 
But weep not you, and I’ll be still a king. 
You have forgot, that I your death designed,
To satisfy the proud Almeria’s mind: 
You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die.