Cyd. Oh, my dear father!
Alm. When that is forced, there yet remain two more. [The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in. We shall have time enough to take our way, Ere any can our fatal journey stay.
Mont. Already mine is past: O powers divine,
Take my last thanks: no longer I repine;
I might have lived my own mishap to mourn,
While some would pity me, but more would scorn!
For pity only on fresh objects stays,
But with the tedious sight of woes decays.
Still less and less my boiling spirits flow;
And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do.
Farewell, Almeria. [Dies.
Cyd. He's gone, he's gone, And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.
Alm. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die, That you may bear your father company.
Cyd. O name not death to me! you fright me so,
That with the fear I shall prevent the blow:
I know, your mercy's more than to destroy
A thing so young, so innocent as I.
Cort. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood,
Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good,
Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name,
But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame.
Alm. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart; But on my rival I'll revenge my smart.
Cort. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault,
I'll speak the kindest words—
That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought.
Dear—lovely—sweet—
Alm. This but offends me more; You act your kindness on Cydaria's score.