_Zemp_. Stay, cozener, thou, that hat'st clear truth like light, And usest words dark as thy own dull night. You tyrant gods, do you refuse to free The soul, you gave, from its perplexity? Why should we in your mercies still believe, When you can never pity, though we grieve? For you have bound yourselves by harsh decrees; And those, not you, are now the deities. [_Sits down sad_. _Ism_. She droops under the weight of rage and care: You spirits, that inhabit in the air, With all your powerful charms of music, try To bring-her soul back to its harmony. SONG SUNG BY AERIAL SPIRITS. _Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below, Sink under love and care, While we, that dwell in air, Such heavy passions never know. Why then should mortals be Unwilling to be free From blood, that sullen cloud, Which shining souls does shroud? Then they'll shew bright, And like us light, When leaving bodies with their care, They slide to us and air_. _Zemp_. Death on these trifles! Cannot your art find Some means, to ease the passions of the mind? Or, if you cannot give a lover rest, Can you force love into a scornful breast? _Ism_. Tis reason only can make passions less; Art gives not new, but may the old increase; Nor can it alter love in any breast, That is with other flames before possessed. _Zemp_. If this be all your slighted arts can do, I'll kindle other flames, since I must burn, And all their temples into ashes turn. _Ism_. Great queen-- _Zemp. If you would have this sentence staid, Summon their godheads quickly to your aid, And presently compose a charm, that may Love's flames into the stranger's breast convey, The captive stranger, he whose sword and eyes Wheree'er they strike, meet ready victories: Make him but burn for me, in flames like mine, Victims shall bleed, and feasted altars shine: If not-- Down go your temples, and your gods shall see They have small use of their divinity. [_Exeunt_. ACT IV. SCENE I.--_The scene opens, and discovers_ MONTEZUMA _sleeping in prison_. _Enter_ TRAXALLA _leading in_ ORAZIA. _Trax_. Now take your choice, and bid him live or die; To both shew pity, or shew cruelty: 'Tis you that must condemn, I'll only act; Your sentence is more cruel than my fact. _Oraz_. You are most cruel, to disturb a mind, Which to approaching fate was so resigned. _Trax_. Reward my passion, and you'll quickly prove There's none dare sacrifice what I dare love. Next to thee, stranger; wake, and now resign The bold pretences of thy love to mine, Or in this fatal minute thou shalt find-- _Mont_. Death, fool; in that thou may'st be just and kind: 'Twas I that loved Orazia, yet did raise The storm, in which she sinks: Why dost thou gaze, Or stay thy hand from giving that just stroke, Which, rather than prevent, I would provoke? When I am dead, Orazia may forgive; She never must, if I dare wish to live.