_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight; I much repent me of this bloody night: Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far, And makes a massacre what was a war: Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move, 'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love. Ha--[_Sees_ MONT. What dismal sight is this, which takes from me All the delight, that waits on victory! [_Runs to take him off the rack_. Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown? Haste, holy avarice, and help him down. Ah, father, father, what do I endure [_Embracing_ MONT. To see these wounds my pity cannot cure! _Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring, And give an infant's comfort to a king? Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned; Or aught have done deserving to be moaned. _Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence? [_To_ Piz. But martial law shall punish thy offence. And you, [_To the Christian Priest_. Who saucily teach monarchs to obey, And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway; Set up by kings as humble aids of power, You that which bred you, viper-like, devour, You enemies of crowns-- _Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away, We but provoke his fury by our stay. _Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline, Which did in Spanish camps severely shine: Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes; Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes! And into Spain wilt fatally be brought, Since with the price of blood thou here art bought. [_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO. [CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_. _Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit? _Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit: Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs: Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears: Must I chear you? _Cort_. Ah heavens! _Mont_. You're much to blame; Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame, Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring: But weep not you, and I'll be still a king. You have forgot, that I your death designed, To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind: You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die. _Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty. _Enter a Spaniard_. _Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains, Our men retreat, and he their ground regains: But once encouraged by our general's sight, We boldly should renew the doubtful fight. _Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend; [_To_ MONTEZUMA. I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend. _Mont_. Excellent man! [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, &c. But I, by living, poorly take the way To injure goodness, which I cannot pay. _Enter_ ALMERIA. _Alm_. Ruin and death run armed through every street; And yet that fate, I seek, I cannot meet: What guards misfortunes are and misery! Death, that strikes all, yet seems afraid of me. _Mont_. Almeria here! Oh turn away your face! Must you be witness too of my disgrace?