ate those we cannot harm,
And fighting gains us but to die more warm:
If that be cowardice, which dares not see
The insolent effects of victory,
The rape of matrons, and their childrens cries,--
Then I am fearful, let the brave advise.

_Odm_. Keen cutting swords, and engines killing far,
Have prosperously begun a doubtful war:
But now our foes with less advantage fight,
Their strength decreases with our Indians' fright.

_Mont_. This noble vote does with my wish comply,--
I am for war.

_Alm_. And so am I.

_Orb_. And I.

_Mont_. Then send to break the truce, and I'll take care
To chear the soldiers, and for fight prepare.

[_Exeunt_ MONT. ODM. GUY. _and_ ALIB.

_Alm_. to _Orb_. 'Tis now the hour which all to rest allow,
And sleep sits heavy upon every brow;
In this dark silence softly leave the town,
[GUYOMAR _returns, and hears them_.
And to the general's tent,--'tis quickly known,--
Direct your steps: You may despatch him: strait,
Drowned in his sleep, and easy for his fate:
Besides, the truce will make the guards more slack.

_Orb_. Courage, which leads me on, will bring me back.--
But I more fear the baseness of the thing:
Remorse, you know, bears a perpetual sting.

_Alm_. For mean remorse no room the valiant find,
Repentance is the virtue of weak minds;
For want of judgment keeps them doubtful still,
They may repent of good, who can of ill;
But daring courage makes ill actions good,
'Tis foolish pity spares a rival's blood;
You shall about it strait.

[_Exeunt_ ALM. _and_ ORB.

_Guy_. Would they betray
His sleeping virtue, by so mean a way!--
And yet this Spaniard is our nation's foe,--
I wish him dead,--but cannot wish it so;--
Either my country never must be freed,
Or I consenting to so black a deed.--
Would chance had never led my steps this way!
Now if he dies, I murder him, not they;--
Something must be resolved ere 'tis too late;--
He gave me freedom, I'll prevent his fate.

[_Exit_.

SCENE II.--_A Camp_.

_Enter CORTEZ alone, in a night-gown_.

_Cort_. All things are hushed, as nature's self lay dead;
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head;
The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat,
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat.
Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies
Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.--
Three days I promised to attend my doom,
And two long days and nights are yet to come:--
'Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight,
[_Noi