Cort. I till to-morrow will the fight delay; Remember you have conquered me to-day.
Alib. This grant destroys all you have urged before;
Honour could not give this, or can give more.
Our women in the foremost ranks appear;
March to the fight, and meet your mistress there:
Into the thickest squadrons she must run,
Kill her, and see what honour will be won.
Cyd. I must he in the battle, but I'll go
With empty quiver, and unbended bow;
Not draw an arrow in this fatal strife,
For fear its point should reach your noble life.
Enter PIZARRO.
Cort. No more: your kindness wounds me to the death:
Honour, be gone! what art thou but a breath?
I'll live, proud of my infamy and shame,
Graced with no triumph but a lover's name;
Men can but say, love did his reason blind,
And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.—
Draw off my men; the war's already done.
Piz. Your orders come too late, the fight's begun; The enemy gives on, with fury led, And fierce Orbellan combats at their head.
Cort. He justly fears, a peace with me would
prove
Of ill concernment to his haughty love;
Retire, fair excellence! I go to meet
New honour, but to lay it at your feet.
[Exeunt CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, and PIZARRO.]
Enter ODMAR and GUTOMAR, to ALIBECH and CYDARIA.
Odm. Now, madam, since a danger does appear
Worthy my courage, though below my fear;
Give leave to him, who may in battle die,
Before his death, to ask his destiny.