Cyd. If you should die, my death shall yours pursue; But yet I am not satisfied you're true.
Cort. Hear me, ye gods! and punish him you hear, If aught within the world I hold so dear.
Cyd. You would deceive the gods and me; she's dead, And is not in the world, whose love I dread.— Name not the world; say, nothing is so dear.
Cort. Then nothing is,—let that secure your fear.
Cyd. 'Tis time must wear it off, but I must go. Can you your constancy in absence show?
Cort. Misdoubt my constancy, and do not try, But stay, and keep me ever in your eye.
Cyd. If as a prisoner I were here, you might
Have then insisted on a conqueror's right,
And staid me here; but now my love would be
The effect of force, and I would give it free.
Cort. To doubt your virtue, or your love, were sin! Call for the captive prince, and bring him in.
Enter Guyomar, bound and sad.
You look, sir, as your fate you could not bear:
[To Guy.
Are Spanish fetters, then, so hard to wear?
Fortune's unjust, she ruins oft the brave,
And him, who should be victor, makes the slave.