_Alm_. Give me a sword, and let me take his head. _Mont_. Though, madam, for your brother's loss I grieve, Yet let me beg-- _Alm_. His murderer may live? _Cyd_. 'Twas his misfortune, and the chance of war. _Cort_. It was my purpose, and I killed him fair: How could you so unjust and cruel prove, To call that chance, which was the act of love? _Cyd_. I called it any thing to save your life: Would he were living still, and I his wife! That wish was once my greatest misery: But 'tis a greater to behold you die. _Alm_. Either command his death upon the place, Or never more behold Almeria's face. _Guy_. You by his valour once from death were freed: Can you forget so generous a deed? [_To_ MONTEZUMA. _Mont_. How gratitude and love divide my breast! Both ways alike my soul is robbed of rest. But--let him die--Can I his sentence give? Ungrateful, must he die, by whom I live? But can I then Almeria's tears deny? Should any live whom she commands to die? _Guy_. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word; And, as my prisoner, I restore his sword. [_Gives his sword_. His life concerns the safety of the state, And I'll preserve it for a calm debate. _Mont_. Dar'st thou rebel, false and degenerate boy? That being, which I gave, I thus destroy. [_Offers to kill him_, ODMAR _steps between_. _Odm_. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill, Since he prevents you but from doing ill. He is my rival, but his death would be For him too glorious, and too base for me. _Guy_. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife: Alas, I meant not to defend my life: Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true; 'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you. You see I live but to dispute your will; Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill. _Cort_. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me: It is enough that I your honour see: But that your duty may no blemish take, I will myself your father's captive make: [_Gives his sword to_ MONTEZUMA. When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall: The Spaniards will revenge their general. _Cyd_. Ah, you too hastily your life resign, You more would love it, if you valued mine! _Cort_. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive; I shall grow tender else, and wish to live; Such an infectious face her sorrow wears, I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears. _Alm_. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three: They for rebellion, and for murder he. See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air; Revenge, revenge, it cries. _Mont_. And it shall have; But two days respite for his life I crave: If in that space you not more gentle prove, I'll give a fatal proof how well I love. 'Till when, you, Guyomar, your prisoner take; Bestow him in the castle on the lake: In that small time I shall the conquest gain Of these few sparks of virtue which remain; Then all, who shall my headlong passion see, Shall curse my crimes, and yet shall pity me. [_Exeunt_. ACT IV.