_3 Mess_. King Montezuma their loud shouts proclaim, The city rings with their new sovereign's name; The banished queen declares he is her son, And to his succour all the people run. [ZEMPOALLA _rises_. _Zemp_. Can this be true? O love! O fate! have I Thus doated on my mortal enemy? _Trax_. To my new prince I thus my homage pay; Your reign is short, young king-- _Zemp_. Traxalla, stay-- 'Tis to my hand that he must owe his fate, I will revenge at once my love and hate. [_She sets a dagger to_ MONTEZUMA'S _breast_. _Trax_. Strike, strike, the conquering enemy is near. My guards are passed, while you detain me here. _Zemp_. Die then, ungrateful, die; Amexia's son Shall never triumph on Acacis' throne. Thy death must my unhappy flames remove: Now where is thy defence--against my love? [_She cuts the cords, and gives him the dagger_. _Trax_. Am I betrayed? [_He draws and thrusts at_ MONTEZUMA, _he puts it by and kills him_. _Mont_. So may all rebels die: This end has treason joined with cruelty. _Zemp_. Live thou whom I must love, and yet must hate; She gave thee life, who knows it brings her fate. _Mont_. Life is a trifle which I would not take, But for Orazia's and her father's sake: Now, Inca, hate me, if thou canst; for he, Whom thou hast scorned, will die, or rescue thee. _As he goes to attack the guards with_ TRAXALLA'S _sword, enter_ AMEXIA, GARUCCA, _Indians, driving some of the other party before them_. _Gar_. He lives; ye gods, he lives! great queen, see here Your coming joys, and your departing fear. _Amex_. Wonder and joy so fast together flow, Their haste to pass has made their passage slow; Like struggling waters in a vessel pent, Whose crowding drops choak up the narrow vent. My son!-- [_She embraces him_. _Mont_. I am amazed! it cannot be That fate has such a joy in store for me. _Amex_. Can I not gain belief that this is true? _Mont_. It is my fortune I suspect, not you. _Gar_. First ask him if he old Garucca know. _Mont_. My honoured father! let me fall thus low. _Gar_. Forbear, great prince; 'tis I must pay to you That adoration, as my sovereign's due: For, from my humble race you did not spring; You are the issue of our murdered king, Sent by that traitor to his blest abode, Whom, to be made a king, he made a god: The story is too full of fate to tell, Or what strange fortune our lost queen befel. _Amex_. That sad relation longer time will crave; I lived obscure, he bred you in a cave, But kept the mighty secret from your ear, Lest heat of blood to some strange course should steer Your youth. _Mont_. I owe him all, that now I am; He taught me first the noble thirst of fame. Shewed me the baseness of unmanly fear, Till the unlicked whelp I plucked from the rough bear, And made the ounce and tyger give me way, While from their hungry jaws I snatched the prey: 'Twas he that charged my young arms first with toils, And drest me glorious in my savage spoils.