Trax.  The wretch, that gave you all the power you have,
May venture sure to execute a slave;
And quench a flame your fondness would have burn,
Which may this city into ashes turn,
The nation in your guilty passion lost;
To me ungrateful, to your country most: 
But this shall be their offering, I their priest.

Zemp.  The wounds, thou giv’st, I’ll copy on her breast: 
Strike, and I’ll open here a spring of blood,
Shall add new rivers to the crimson flood. 
How his pale looks are fixed on her!—­’tis so. 
Oh, does amazement on your spirits grow? 
What, is your public love Orazia’s grown? 
Could’st thou see mine, and yet not hide thy own? 
Suppose I should strike first, would it not breed
Grief in your public heart to see her bleed?

Trax.  She mocks my passion; in her sparkling eyes
Death, and a close dissembled fury lies: 
I dare not trust her thus. [Aside.]—­If she must die,
The way to her loved life through mine shall lie.

[He puts her by, and steps before ORAZIA; and she runs before MONTEZUMA.

Zemp.  And he, that does this stranger’s fate design, Must, to his heart, a passage force through mine.

Trax.  Can fair Orazia yet no pity have?  ’Tis just she should her own preserver save.

Zemp.  Can Montezuma so ungrateful prove To her, that gave him life, and offers love?

Oraz.  Can Montezuma live, and live to be
Just to another, and unjust to me? 
You need not be ungrateful; can she give
A life to you, if you refuse to live?—­
Forgive my passion; I had rather see
You dead, than kind to any thing but me.

Mont.  O, my Orazia! 
To what new joys and knowledge am I brought! 
Are death’s hard lessons by a woman taught? 
How to despise my fate I always knew;
But ne’er durst think, at once, of death and you: 
Yet since you teach this generous jealousy,
I dare not wish your life, if I must die. 
How much your love my courage does exceed! 
Courage alone would shrink to see you bleed!

Zemp.  Ungrateful stranger! thou shalt please thy eyes,
And gaze upon Orazia while she dies!—­
I’ll keep my vow!—­It is some joy to see,
That my revenge will prove my piety.

Trax.  Then both shall die!—­We have too long withstood, By private passions urged, the public good.

Zemp.  Sure he dissembles; and, perhaps, may prove
My ruin, with his new ambitious love: 
Were but this stranger kind, I’d cross his art,
And give my empire, where I gave my heart.
[Aside.  Yet, thou ungrateful man,
Let thy approaching ruin make thee wise.

Mont.  Thee, and thy love, and mischief, I despise!

Zemp.  What shall I do?  Some way must yet be tried;—­ What reason can she use whom passions guide!