Cyd. Sure, 'tis my father calls.
Mont. Dear child, make haste;
All hope of succour, but from thee, is past:
As when, upon the sands, the traveller
Sees the high sea come rolling from afar,
The land grow short, he mends his weary pace,
While death behind him covers all the place:
So I, by swift misfortunes, am pursued,
Which on each other are, like waves, renewed.
Cyd. Are you alone?
Mont. I am.
Cyd. I'll strait descend; Heaven did you here for both our safeties send.
[CYDARIA descends and opens the door, ALMERIA rushes betwixt with MONTEZUMA.
Cyd. Almeria here! then I am lost again. [Both thrust.
Alm. Yield to my strength, you struggle but in vain. Make haste and shut, our enemies appear.
[CORTEZ and Spaniards appear at the other end.
Cyd. Then do you enter, and let me stay here.