Mont.  Already mine is past:  O powers divine,
Take my last thanks:  no longer I repine;
I might have lived my own mishap to mourn,
While some would pity me, but more would scorn! 
For pity only on fresh objects stays,
But with the tedious sight of woes decays. 
Still less and less my boiling spirits flow;
And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do. 
Farewell, Almeria. [Dies.

Cyd.  He’s gone, he’s gone, And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.

Alm.  You shall not long be so:  Prepare to die, That you may bear your father company.

Cyd.  O name not death to me! you fright me so,
That with the fear I shall prevent the blow: 
I know, your mercy’s more than to destroy
A thing so young, so innocent as I.

Cort.  Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood,
Ah, barbarous woman?  Woman! that’s too good,
Too mild for thee:  There’s pity in that name,
But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame.

Alm.  Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart; But on my rival I’ll revenge my smart.

Cort.  Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault,
I’ll speak the kindest words—­
That tongue e’er uttered, or that heart e’er thought. 
Dear—­lovely—­sweet—­

Alm.  This but offends me more; You act your kindness on Cydaria’s score.

Cyd.  For his dear sake let me my life receive.

Alm.  Fool, for his sake alone you must not live: 
Revenge is now my joy; he’s not for me,
And I’ll make sure he ne’er shall be for thee.

Cyd.  But what’s my crime?

Alm.  ’Tis loving where I love.

Cyd.  Your own example does my act approve.

Alm.  ’Tis such a fault I never can forgive.

Cyd.  How can I mend, unless you let me live?  I yet am tender, young, and full of fear, And dare not die, but fain would tarry here.

Cort.  If blood you seek, I will my own resign:  O spare her life, and in exchange take mine!

Alm.  The love you shew but hastes her death the more.

Cort.  I’ll run, and help to force the inner door. [Is going in haste.

Alm.  Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes:  That moment that I lose your sight, she dies.  To look on you, I’ll grant a short reprieve.

Cort.  O make your gift more full, and let her live!  I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay!—­ Her I would save, I murder either way.

Cyd.  Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy
My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy? 
I just approach to all I would possess: 
Death only stands ’twixt me and happiness.

Alm.  Your father, with his life, has lost his throne:  Your country’s freedom and renown is gone.  Honour requires your death; you must obey.