Chapter 29

_Enter_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ACACIS.

_Aca_. You wrong, me, my best friend, not to believe Your kindness gives me joy; and when I grieve, Unwillingly my sorrows I obey: Showers sometimes fall upon a shining day.

_Mont._. Let me, then, share your griefs, that in your fate Would have took part.

_Aca_. Why should you ask me that? Those must be mine, though I have such excess; Divided griefs increase, and not grow less.

_Mont_. It does not lessen fate, nor satisfy The grave, 'tis true, when friends together die; And yet they are unwilling to divide.

_Aca_. To such a friend nothing can be denied. You, when you hear my story, will forgive My grief, and rather wonder that I live; Unhappy in my title to a throne, Since blood made way for my succession: Blood of an uncle too, a prince so free From being cruel, it taught cruelty. His queen Amexia then was big with child; Nor was he gentler than his queen was mild; Th'impatient people longed for what should come From such a father, bred in such a womb; When false Traxalla, weary to obey, Took with his life their joys and hopes away. Amexia, by the assistance of the night, When this dark deed was acted, took her flight; Only with true Garucca for her aid: Since when, for all the searches that were made, The queen was never heard of more: Yet still This traitor lives, and prospers by the ill: Nor does my mother seem to reign alone, But with this monster shares the guilt and throne. Horror choaks up my words: now you'll believe, 'Tis just I should do nothing else but grieve.

_Mont_. Excellent prince! How great a proof of virtue have you shown, To be concerned for griefs, though not your own!

_Aca_. Pray, say no more.

_Enter a Messenger hastily_.

_Mont_. How now, whither so fast?

_Mess_. O sir, I come too slow with all my haste! The fair Orazia--

_Mont_. Ha, what dost thou say?

_Mess_. Orazia with the Inca's forced away Out of your tent; Traxalla, in the head Of the rude soldiers, forced the door, and led, Those glorious captives, who on thrones once shined, To grace the triumph, that is now designed. [_Exit_.

_Mont_. Orazia forced away!--what tempests roll About my thoughts, and toss my troubled soul! Can there be gods to see, and suffer this? Or does mankind make his own fate or bliss; While every good and bad happens by chance, Not from their orders, but their ignorance?-- I will pull a ruin on them all, And turn their triumph to a funeral.

_Aca_. Be temperate, friend.

_Mont_. You may as well advise That I should have less love, as grow more wise.

_Aca_. Yet stay--I did not think to have revealed A secret, which my heart has still concealed; But, in this cause since I must share with you, 'Tis fit you know--I love Orazia too: Delay not then, nor waste the time in words, Orazia's cause calls only for our swords.

_Mont_. That ties my hand, and turns from thee that rage Another way, thy blood should else assuage: The storm on our proud foes shall higher rise, And, changing, gather blackness as it flies: So, when winds turn, the wandering waves obey, And all the tempest rolls another way.

_Aca_. Draw then a rival's sword, as I draw mine. And, like friends suddenly to part, let's join In this one act, to seek one destiny; Rivals with honour may together die. [_Exeunt_.