_Odm_. Brother, I'll not dispute but you are brave; Yet I was free, and you, it seems, a slave. _Guy_. Odmar, 'tis true that I was captive led; As publicly 'tis known, as that you fled: But of two shames, if she must one partake, I think the choice will not be hard to make. _Odm_. Freedom and bondage in her choice remain; Darest thou expect she will put on thy chain? _Guy_. No, no, fair Alibech, give him the crown, My brother is returned with high renown: He thinks by flight his mistress must be won, And claims the prize, because he best did run. _Alib_. Your chains were glorious, and your flight was wise, But neither have o'ercome your enemies: My secret wishes would my choice decide, But open justice bends to neither side. _Odm_. Justice already does my right approve, If him, who loves you most, you most should love. My brother poorly from your aid withdrew, But I my father left, to succour you. _Guy_. Her country she did to herself prefer, Him who fought best, not who defended her; Since she her interest, for the nation's, waved, Then I, who saved the king, the nation saved. You, aiding her, your country did betray; I, aiding him, did her commands obey. _Odm_. Name it no more; in love there is a time When dull obedience is the greatest crime. She to her country's use resigned your sword, And you, kind lover, took her at her word; You did your duty to your love prefer, Seek your reward from duty, not from her. _Guy_. In acting what my duty did require, 'Twas hard for me to quit my own desire; That fought for her, which, when I did subdue, 'Twas much the easier task I left to you. _Alib_. Odmar a more than common love has shown, And Guyomar's was greater, or was none; Which I should chuse, some god direct my breast. The certain good, or the uncertain best.-- I cannot chuse,--you both dispute in vain,-- Time and your future acts must make it plain; First raise the siege, and set your country free, I, not the judge, but the reward, will be. _To them, Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _talking with_ ALMERIA _and_ ORBELLAN. _Mont_. Madam, I think, with reason, I extol The virtue of the Spanish general; When all the gods our ruin have foretold, Yet generously he does his arms withhold, And, offering peace, the first conditions make. _Alm_. When peace is offered, 'tis too late to take; For one poor loss, to stoop to terms like those!-- Were we o'ercome, what could they worse impose? Go, go, with homage your proud victors meet! Go, lie like dogs beneath your masters' feet! Go, and beget them slaves to dig their mines, And groan for gold, which now in temples shines! Your shameful story shall record of me, The men all crouched, and left a woman free!