godheads quickly to your aid,
And presently compose a charm, that may
Love's flames into the stranger's breast convey,
The captive stranger, he whose sword and eyes
Wheree'er they strike, meet ready victories:
Make him but burn for me, in flames like mine,
Victims shall bleed, and feasted altars shine:
If not--
Down go your temples, and your gods shall see
They have small use of their divinity. [_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_The scene opens, and discovers_ MONTEZUMA
_sleeping in prison_.

_Enter_ TRAXALLA _leading in_ ORAZIA.

_Trax_. Now take your choice, and bid him live or die;
To both shew pity, or shew cruelty:
'Tis you that must condemn, I'll only act;
Your sentence is more cruel than my fact.

_Oraz_. You are most cruel, to disturb a mind,
Which to approaching fate was so resigned.

_Trax_. Reward my passion, and you'll quickly prove
There's none dare sacrifice what I dare love.
Next to thee, stranger; wake, and now resign
The bold pretences of thy love to mine,
Or in this fatal minute thou shalt find--

_Mont_. Death, fool; in that thou may'st be just and kind:
'Twas I that loved Orazia, yet did raise
The storm, in which she sinks: Why dost thou gaze,
Or stay thy hand from giving that just stroke,
Which, rather than prevent, I would provoke?
When I am dead, Orazia may forgive;
She never must, if I dare wish to live.

_Oraz_. Hold, hold--O Montezuma, can you be
So careless of yourself, but more of me?
Though you have brought me to this misery,
I blush to say I cannot see you die.

_Mont_. Can my approaching fate such pity move?
The gods and you at once forgive and love.

_Trax_. Fond fool, thus to mis-spend that little breath
I lent thee to prevent, not hasten, death:
Let her thank you she was unfortunate,
And you thank her for pulling on your fate;
Prove to each other your own destinies. [_Draws_.

_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA _hastily, and sets a dagger to_
ORAZIA'S _breast._

_Zemp_. Hold, hold, Traxalla, or Orazia dies.--
O, is't Orazia's name that makes you stay?
'Tis her great power, not mine, that you obey.
Inhuman wretch, dar'st thou the murderer be
Of him, that is not yet condemned by me?

_Trax_. The wretch, that gave you all the power you have,
May venture sure to execute a slave;
And quench a flame your fondness would have burn,
Which may this city into ashes turn,
The nation in your guilty passion lost;
To me ungrateful, to your country most:
But this shall be their o