Oraz. Is he then left to die, and shall he see Himself forsaken, ere his death, by me?
Mont. That would you do?
Oraz. To prison I'll return, And there, in fetters, with my father mourn.
Mont. That saves not his, but throws your life away.
Oraz. Duty shall give what nature once must pay.
Aca. Life is the gift, which heaven and parents give, And duty best preserves it, if you live.
Oraz. I should but further from my fountain fly, And, like an unfed stream, run on and die: Urge me no more, and do not grieve to see Your honour rivalled by my piety. [She goes softly of, and often looks back.
Mont. If honour would not, shame would lead the way; I'll back with her.
Aca. Stay, Montezuma, stay!— Thy rival cannot let thee go alone, My love will bear me, though my blood is gone.
[As they are going off,