OCR Text |
Show 124. The Indian Emperour: Or, Cort. I have no reafon, Madam, to excufe Thofe ways of Gallantry I did not ufe ; M y Love was true, and on a- Nobler fcore. Cyd. Your Love! Alas! then have you lov'd before Cort. Tis true I lov'd, but fhe is Dead, file's Dead, And I fhould think with her all Beauty fled, Did not her fair Refemblance live in you, And by that Image m y firft Flames renew. Cyd. A h happy Beauty, whofoe'er thou art.' Though dead, thou keep'ft poffeffion of his Heart; Thou mak'ft m e jealous to the laft degree, And art m y Rival in his memory ; Within his Memory, ah, more than fo, Thou liv'fl and triumph'ft o'er Cydaria too. Cort. What ttrange difquiet has uncalm'd your Breatt, Inhumane fair, to rob the dead of reft! Poor Heart! She (lumbers.in her filentTomb, Let her poffefs in Peace that narrow Room. Cyd. Poor heart, he pities and bewails,her death, Some god, much hated Soul, reftore thy breath, That I may kill thee, but fome eafe('twill be, I'll kill m y felf for but refembling thee. Cort. I dread your angC'r, your difquiet fear, But blows from hands fo foft w h o would not bear ? So kind a Paffion w h y fhould I remove ? Since Jealoufie but fhows h o w well w e love; Yet Jealoufie fo ttrange I never knew, Can fhe w h o loves m e not difquiet you ? For in the Grave no Paffions fill the Breatt, 'Tis all w e gain by death to be at reft. Cyd. That fhe no longer loves brings no relief, Your Love to her ftill lives, and that's m y grief. Cort. The object: of defire once ta'ne away, 'Tis then not Love but Pity which w e pay. Cyd. 'Tis fuch a pity I fhould never have, W h e n I muft lie forgotten in the Grave; I meant to have oblig'd you when I dy'd, That after m e you fhould love none befide, But you are falfe already. Cort. If untrue, By Heaven, m y falfhood is to her, not you. Cyd. Obferve, fweet Heaven, how falfly he does fwear, I O U faid you lov'd m e for refembling her. Cort. That love was in m e by refemblance bred, But fhows you chear'd m y forrows for the Dead. Cyd. You ftill. repeat the greatnefs of your grief. Cort. If that was great, how great was the relief? Cyd. The firft Love ftill the ftrongeft w e account. Lort. I hat feems more ftrong which could the firft furmount j But if you ftill continue thus unkind, W h o m I lov'd beft you by m y Death fhall find. .-cyd. It you fhould die, m y death fhould yours purfue, But yet I a m not fatisfi'd you're true. if ?"f Hca? ™', ye gods' and Punifh him you hear, If ought within thc World I hold fo dear * ' Cyd. You would deceive the Gods and me, fhe's dead And ,s not m the World whofe Love I dread ' N a m e not the World, fay nothing is fo dear.' tort. Then nothing is, let that fecure your fear. Cyd. Tis time muft wear it off, but I muft go Can you yoiir Conftancy in Abfence fhow g ' BIuWt fftta yM aln^d 0kuebept mmVe Ceovnefrt iann cyyo uarn Edy ed.o not try, The Conqueft of Mexico. I25 Cyd. If as a Prifoner I were here, you might Have been infilled on a Conq'rours right, And ftay'd m e here; but now m y Love would bt Th' effect of force, and I would give it free. Cort. T o doubt your Vertue, or your Love were fin ! Call for the Captive Prirtce and bring him in. Enter Guyomar, bound and fad You look, Sir, as your Fate you could not bear. Are Spanifh Fetters then fo hard to wear ? Fortune's unjuft, fhe ruins oft the Brave, And him w h o fhould be Victor, makes the Slave. Guy. Son of the Sun, m y Fetters cannot be But Glorious for me, fince put on by thee ; The Ills of Love, not thofe of Fate I fear, Thefe I can brave, but thofe I cannot bear; M y Rival Brother, while I'm held in Chains, In freedom reaps the fruit of all m y Pains. Cort. Let it be never faid, that he whofe Breaft Is fill'd with Love, fhould break a Lovers reft; Hafte, lofe no time, your Sifter fets you Free, And tell the King, m y generous Enemy, I offer ftill thofe terms he had before, Only ask leave his Daughter to adore. Guy. Brother (that N a m e m y Breaft fhafl ever own. The name of Foe be but in Battels known;) For fome few days all Hoftile Acts forbear, That if the King contents, it feems not fear: His Heart is Noble, and great Souls muft be Moft fought and courted in Adverfity. Three days I hope the wifht fuccefs will tell. Cyd. Till that long time Cort. Till that long time, farewel. Guyomar. [He embraces him. [Exeunt fever ally. A C T III. SCENE Chamber Royal Enter Odmar and Alibech. Odm. f' I ^H E gods, fair Alibech, had fo decreed, Nor could m y Valour againft Fate fucceed :; Yet though our Army brought not Conqueft home, I did not from the Fight inglorious come: If as a Victor you the brave regard, Succeflefs Courage then may hope reward: And I returning fafe, may juftty boaft T o win the prize which m y dead Brother loft. Enter Guyomar behind him, Guy. N o , no thy Brother lives, and lives to be A Witnefs, both againft himfelf and thee: Though both in fafety are return'd agen, I blufh to ask her Love for Vanquifht Men. Odm. Brother, I'll not difpute, but you are brave. Yet I was free, and you it feems a SFave. Guy. Odmar, 'tis true, that I was Captive led As publickly is known, as that you fled; But of two fhames if fhe muft one partake, I think the choice will not be hard to make. Odm. Freedom and Bondage in her choice remain, Dar'ft thou exped fhe will put on thy Cham t Guy. N o , no, fair Alibech, give him the Crown, M y Brother is return'd with high Renown. He |