AURENG-ZEBE: A TRAGEDY. Acted at the Royal Theatre.  
Written by JOHN DRYDEN, Servant to his Majesty.  
— Sed, cum fregit subsellia versu,  
Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendat Agaven.  Juv. 
Licenced, ROGER L'ESTRANGE.  
LONDON, Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1676.   

To the Right Honourable, JOHN, Earl of MULGRAVE, Gentleman of his Majesty's Bedchamber, and Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter.  
My Lord,  
'TIs a severe Reflection which Montaign has made on Princes, That we ought not, in reason, to have any expectations of Favour from them; and that 'tis kindness enough, if they leave us in possession of our own. The boldness of the Censure shows the free Spirit of the Author: And the Subjects of England may justly congratulate to themselves, that both the Nature of our Government, and the Clemency of our King, secure us from any such Complaint. ay, in particular, who subsist wholly by his Bounty, am obliged to give postcrity a far other account of my Royal Master, than what Montaign has left of his. Those Accusations had been more reasonable, if they had been placed on inferior Persons. For in all Courts, there are too many, who make it their business to ruin Wit: And Montaign, in other places, tells us, what effects he found of their good Natures. He describes them such, whose Ambition, Lust, or private Interest, seem to be the only end of their Creation. If good accrue to any from them, 'tis only in order to their own designs: conferred most commonly on the base and infamous; and never given, but only happening sometimes on well deservers. Dulness has brought them to what they are; and Malice secures them in their Fortunes. But somewhat of Specious they must have, to recommend themselves to Princes, (for Folly will not easily go down in its own natural form with discerning judges.) And diligence in waiting, is their gild of the Pill; for that looks like Love, though 'tis only Interest. 'Tis that which gains 'em their advantage over witty Men; whose love of Liberty and Ease, makes them willing too often to discharge their burden of Attendance on these officious Gentlemen. 'Tis true, that the nauseousness of such Company is enough to disgust a reasonable Man; when he sees, he can hardly approach Greatness, but as a Moated Castle; he must first pass through the Mud and Filth with which it is encompassed. These are they, who wanting Wit, affect Gravity, and go by the name of Solid men: and a solid man is, in plain English, a solid, solemn Fool. Another disguise they have, (for Fools, as well as Knaves, take other names, and pass by an Alias) and that is the Title of honest Fellows. But this honesty of theirs aught to have many Grains for its Allowance; for certainly they are no farther honest, than they are silly: They are naturally mischievous to their power; and if they speak not maliciously, or sharply, of witty men, 'tis only because God has not bestowed on them the gift of utterance. They fawn and crouch to men of parts, whom they cannot ruin: quote their Wit when they are present, and when they are absent, steal their jests: But to those who are under 'em, and whom they can crush with ease, they show themselves in their natural Antipathy; there they treat Wit like the common Enemy, and give it no more quarter, than a Dutchman would to an English Vessel in the Indies; they strike Sail where they know they shall be mastered, and murder where they can with safety.  
This, my Lord, is the Character of a Courtier without Wit; and therefore that which is a Satire to other men, must be a Panegyric to your Lordship, who are a Master of it. If the least of these Reflections could have reached your Person, no necessity of mine could have made me to have sought so earnestly, and so long to have cultivated your kindness. As a Poet, I cannot but have made some observations on Mankind: The lowness of my Fortune has not yet brought me to flatter Vice; and 'tis my duty to give testimony to Virtue. 'Tis true, your Lordship is not of that nature, which either seeks a Commendation, or want it. Your mind has always been above the wretched affectation of Popularity. A popular man is, in truth, no better than a Prostitute to common Fame, and to the People. He lies down to every one he meets for the hire of praise; and his Humility is only a disguised Ambition. Even Cicero himself, whose Eloquence deserved the admiration of Mankind; yet by his insatiable thirst of Fame, he has lessened his Character with succeeding Ages: His Action against Catiline may be said to have ruined the Consul, when it saved the City: for it so swelled his Soul, which was not truly great, that ever afterwards it was apt to be overset with vanity. And this made his Virtue so suspected by his Friends, that Brutus, whom of all men he adored, refused him a place in his Conspiracy. A Modern Wit has made this Observation on him, That coveting to recommend himself to Posterity, he begged it as an Alms of all his Friends, the Historians, to remember his Consulship: And observe, if you please, the odness of the event; all their Histories are lost, and the vanity of his request stands yet recorded in his own Writings. How much more great and manly in your Lordship, is your contempt of popular applause, and your retired Virtue, which shines only to a few; with whom you live so easily and freely, that you make it evident, you have a Soul which is capable of all the tenderness of Friendship; and that you only retire yourself from those, who are not capable of returning it. Your kindness, where you have once placed it, is inviolable: And 'tis to that only I attribute my happiness in your love. This makes me more easily forsake an Argument, on which I could otherwise delight to dwell: I mean, your judgement in your choice of Friends; because I have the honour to be one. After which, I am sure you will more easily permit me to be silent, in the care you have taken of my Fortune; which you have rescued, not only from the power of others, but from my worst of Enemies, my own modesty and Laziness. Which favour, had it been employed on a more deserving Subject, had been an effect of justice in your Nature; but, as placed on me, is only Charity. Yet, withal, 'tis conferred on such a man, as prefers your kindness itself, before any of its Consequences; and who values, as the greatest of your Favours, those of your Love, and of your Conversation. From this constancy to your Friends, I might reasonably assume, that your Resentments would be as strong and lasting, if they were not restrained by a nobler Principle of good Nature and Generosity. For certainly, 'tis the same composition of Mind, the same Resolution and Courage, which makes the greatest Frienships', and the greatest Enmities. And he who is too lightly reconciled, after high Provocations, may recommend himself to the World for a Christian, but I should hardly trust him for a Friend. The Italians have a Proverb to that purpose, To forgive the first time shows me a good Catholic, the second time a Fool. To this firmness in all your Actions (though you are wanting in no other Ornaments of Mind and Body, yet to this) I principally ascribe the Interest your Merits have acquired you in the Royal Family. A Prince, who is constant to himself, and steady in all his undertakings; one with whom that Character of Horace will agree, 
Si fractus illabatur orbis  
Impavidum ferient ruinae,  Such an one cannot but place an esteem, and repose a confidence on him, whom no Adversity, no change of Courts, no Bribery of Interests, or Cabals of Factions, or Advantages of Fortune, can remove from the solid foundations of Honour and Fidelity.  
Ille meos, primus qui me sibi junxit, amores  
Abstulit; ille habeat secum, servetque sepulcro.  
How well your Lordship will deserve that praise, I need no inspiration to foretell. You have already left no room for Prophecy: your early undertakings have been such, in the service of your King and Country, when you offered yourself to the most dangerous employment, that of the Sea; when you chose to abandon those delights, to which your Youth and Fortune did invite you, to undergo the hazards, and, which was worse, the company of common Seamen, that you have made it evident, you will refuse no opportunity of rendering yourself useful to the Nation, when either your Courage or Conduct shall be required. The same zeal and faithfulness continues in your Blood, which animated one of your Noble Ancestors to sacrifice his life in the Quarrel of his Sovereign: though, I hope, both for your sake, and for the public Tranquillity, the same occasion will never be offered to your Lordship, and that a better Destiny will attend you. But I make haste to consider you as abstracted from a Court, which (if you will give me leave to use a term of Logic) is only an Adjunct, not a Propriety of Happiness. The Academics, I confess, were willing to admit the Goods of Fortune into their Notion of Felicity; but I do not remember, that any of the Sects of old Philosophers did ever leave a room for Greatness. Neither am I formed to praise a Court, who admire and covet nothing, but the easiness and quiet of retirement. I naturally withdraw my sight from a Precipice; and admit the Prospect be never so large and goodly, can take no pleasure even in looking on the downful, though I am secure from the danger. Methinks there's something of a malignant joy in that excellent description of Lucretius, 
Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis  
E terrâ magnum alterius spectare laborem;  
Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas  
Sed quibus ipse malis caicas, quiâ cernere suave est.  I am sure his Master Epicurus, and my better Master Cowley, preferred the solitude of a Garden, and the conversation of a friend to any consideration, so much as a regard, of those unhappy People, whom in our own wrong, we call the great. True greatness, if it be any where on Earth, is in a private Virtue; removed from the notion of Pomp and Vanity, confined to a contemplation of itself, and centring on itself: 
Omnis enim per se Divum natura, necesse est  
Immortali aevo summâ cum pace fruatur;  
— Curâ semota, metuque  
Ipsa suis pollens opibus—  If this be not the life of a Deity, because it cannot consist with Providence; 'tis at lest a godlike life: I can be contented, (and I am sure I have your Lordship of my opinion) with an humbler station in the Temple of Virtue, than to be set on the Pinnacle of it. 
Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre  
Errare, atque viam palantis quaerere vitae.  The truth is, the consideration of so vain a Creature as man, is not worth our pains. I have fool enough at home without looking for it abroad: and am a sufficient Theatre to myself of ridiculous actions, without expecting company, either in a Court, a Town, or Playhouse. 'Tis on this account that I am weary with drawing the deformities of Life, and Lazars of the People, where every figure of imperfection more resembles me than it can do others. If I must be condemned to Rhyme, I should find some ease in my change of punishment. I desire to be no longer the Sisyphus of the Stage; to roll up a Stone with endless labour (which to follow the proverb, gathers no Moss) and which is perpetually falling down again. I never thought myself very fit for an Employment, where many of my Predecessors have excelled me in all kinds; and some of my Contemporaries, even in my own partial judgement, have outdone me in Comedy. Some little hopes I have yet remaining, and those too, considering my abilities, may be vain, that I may make the world some part of amends, for many ill Plays, by an Heroic Poem. Your Lordship has been long acquainted with my design; the subject of which you know is great, the story English, and neither too far distant from the present Age, nor too near approaching it. Such it is in my opinion that I could not have wished a nobler occasion to do honour by it to my King, my Country, and my friends; most of our ancient Nobility being concerned in the Action. And your Lordship has one particular reason to promote this undertaking, because you were the first who gave me the opportunity of discoursing it to his Majesty, and his Royal Highness: They were then pleased, both to commend the Design, and to encourage it by their Commands. But the vnsettl'dness of my condition has hitherto put a stop to my thoughts concerning it. As I am no successor to Homer in his Wit, so neither do I desire to be in his Poverty. I can make no Rhapsodies, nor go a begging at the Grecian doors, while I sing the praises of their Ancestors. The times of Virgil please me better, because he had an Augustus for his Patron. And to draw the Allegory nearer you, I am sure I shall not want a Maecenas with him. 'Tis for your Lordship to stir up that remembrance in his Majesty, which his many avocations of business have caused him, I fear, to lay aside. And, (as himself and his Royal Brother are the Heroes of the Poem) to represent to them the Images of their Warlike Predecessors; as Achilles is said to be roused to Glory, with the sight of the Combat before the Ships. For my own part, I am satisfied to have offered the Design; and it may be to the advantage of my Reputation to have it refused me.  
In the mean time, my Lord, I take the confidence to present you with a Tragedy; the Characters of which are the nearest to those of an Heroic Poem. 'Twas dedicated to you in my heart, before 'twas presented on the Stage. Some things in it have passed your approbation, and many your amendment. You were likewise pleased to recommend it to the King's perusal, before the last hand was added to it, when I received the favour from him, to have the most considerable event of it modelled by his Royal Pleasure. It may be some vanity in me to add his Testimony then, and which he graciously confirmed afterwards, that it was the best of all my Tragedies; in which he has made Authentic my private opinion of it; at least, he has given it a value by his Commendation, which it had not by my Writing.  
That which was not pleasing to some of the fair Ladies in the last Act of it, as I dare not vindicate, so neither can I wholly condemn, till I find more reason for their Censures. The procedure of Indamora and Melesinda, seems yet, in my judgement, natural, and not unbecoming of their Characters. If they who arraign them fail not more, the World will never blame their conduct: And I shall be glad, for the honour of my Country, to find better Images of Virtue drawn to the life in their behaviour, than any I could feign to adorn the Theatre. I confess, I have only represented a practicable Virtue, mixed with the frailties and imperfections of humane life. I have made my Heroine fearful of death, which neither Cassandra nor Cleopatra would have been; and they themselves, I doubt it not, would have outdone Romance in that particular. Yet their Mandana (and the Cyrus was written by a Lady) was not altogether so hard-hearted: for she sat down on the cold ground by the King of Assyria, and not only pitied him, who died in her defence; but allowed him some favours, such, perhaps, as they would think, should only be permitted to her Cyrus. I have made my Melesinda, in opposition to Nourmahal, a Woman passionately loving of her Husband, patient of injuries and contempt, and constant in her kindness, to the last: and in that, perhaps, I may have erred, because it is not a Virtue much in use. Those Indian Wives are loving Fools, and may do well to keep themselves in their own Country, or, at least, to keep company with the Arria's and Portia's of old Rome: some of our Ladies know better things. But, it may be, I am partial to my own Writings: yet I have laboured as much as any man, to divest myself of the self-opinion of an Author; and am too well satisfied of my own weakness, to be pleased with any thing I have written. But on the other side, my reason tells me, that, in probability, what I have seriously and long considered, may be as likely to be just and natural, as what an ordinary judge (if there be any such amongst those Ladies) will think fit, in a transient Presentation, to be placed in the room of that which they condemn. The most judicious Writer is sometimes mistaken, after all his care: but the hasty Critic, who judges on a view, is full as liable to be deceived. Let him first consider all the Arguments, which the Author had, to write this, or to design the other, before he arraigns' him of a fault: and then, perhaps, on second thoughts, he will find his Reason oblige him to revoke his Censure. Yet, after all, I will not be too positive. Homo sum, humani à me nihil alienum puto. As I am a Man, I must be changeable: and sometimes the gravest of us all are so, even upon ridiculous accidents. Our minds are perpetually wrought on by the temperament of our Bodies: which makes me suspect, they are nearer allied, than either our Philosophers or School-Divines will allow them to be. I have observed, says Montaign, that when the Body is out of Order, its Companion is seldom at his ease. An ill Dream, or a Cloudy day, has power to change this wretched Creature, who is so proud of a reasonable Soul, and make him think what he thought not yesterday. And Homer was of this opinion, as Cicero is pleased to translate him for us: 
Tales sunt hominum mentes quali pater ipse  
Jupiter, auctiferâ lustravit lampade terras.  Or as the same author, in his Thusculane Questions, speaks with more modesty than usual of himself: Nos in diem vivimus; quodcunque animos nostros probabilitate percussit, id dicimus. 'Tis not therefore impossible, but that I may alter the conclusion of my Play, to restore myself into the good Graces of my fair Critics. And your Lordship, who is so well with them, may do me the Office of a Friend and Patron, to intercede with them on my promise of amendment. The Impotent Lover in Petronius, though his was a very unpardonable crime, yet was received to mercy on the terms I offer. Summa excusationis meae haec est: placebo tibi, si culpam emendare permiseris.  
But I am conscious to myself of offering at a greater boldness, in presenting to your view what my meanness can produce, than in any other error of my Play. And therefore make haste to break off this tedious Address, which has, I know not how, already run itself into so much of Pedantry, with an excuse of Tully's, which he sent with his Books De Finibus, to his Friend Brutus, De ipsis rebus autem, saepenumerò Brute vereor ne reprehendar, cum haec ad te scribam, qui tum in Poesi, (I change it from Philosophiâ) tum in optimo genere Poeseos tantum processeris. Quod si facerem quasi te erudiens, jure reprehenderer. Sed ab eo plurimùm absum: nec, ut ea cognoscas quae tibi notissima sunt ad te mitto: sed quià facillimè in nomine tuo acquiesco, & quia te habeo aequissimum eorum studiorum, quae mihi communia tecum sunt, aestimatorem & judicem. Which you may please, my Lord, to apply to yourself, from him, who is  
Your Lordship's most obedient humble Servant, DRYDEN.   

PROLOGUE.  
OUr Author by experience finds it true,  
'Tis much more hard to please himself than you:  
And out of no feigned modesty, this day,  
Damns his laborious Trifle of a Play:  
Not that its worse than what before he writ,  
But he has now another taste of Wit;  
And to confess a truth, (though out of time)  
Grows weary of his long-loved Mistress, Rhyme.  
Passion's too fierce to be in Fetters bound,  
And Nature flies him like Enchanted Ground.  
What Verse can do, he has performed in this,  
Which he presumes the most correct of his:  
But spite of all his pride a secret shame,  
Invades his breast at Shakespear's sacred name:  
Aw'd when he hears his Godlike Romans rage,  
He, in a just despair, would quit the Stage.  
And to an Age less polished, more unskilled,  
Does, with disdain the foremost Honours yield.  
As with the greater Dead he dares not strive,  
He would not match his Verse with those who live:  
Let him retire, betwixt two Ages cast,  
The first of this, and hindmost of the last.  
A losing Gamester, let him sneak away;  
He bears no ready Money from the Play.  
The Fate which governs Poets, thought it fit,  
He should not raise his Fortunes by his Wit.  
The Clergy thrive, and the litigious Bar;  
Dull Heroes fatten with the spoils of War:  
All Southern Vices, Heaven be praised, are here;  
But Wit's a luxury you think too dear.  
When you to cultivate the Plant are loath,  
'Tis a shrewd sign 'twas never of your growth:  
And Wit in Northern Climates will not blow,  
Except, like Orange-trees, 'tis housed from Snow.  
There needs no care to put a Playhouse down,  
'Tis the most desert place of all the Town.  
We and our Neighbours, to speak proudly, are  
Like Monarchs, ruined with expensive War.  
While, like wise English, unconcerned, you sit,  
And see us play the Tragedy of Wit..   

Persons Represented By THe old Emperor. Mr. Mohun. Aureng-Zebe his Son. Mr. Hart. Morat, his younger Son. Mr. Kynaston. Arimant, Governor of Agra. Mr. Wintershal. Dianet. Indian Lords, or Omrahs', of several Factions. Solyman.  Mir Baba.  Abas.  Asaph Chan.  Fazel Chan.  Nourmahal, the Empress. Mrs. Marshal. Indamora, a Captive Queen. Mrs. Cox. Melesinda, Wife to Morat. Mrs. Corbet. Zayda, Favourite Slave to the Empress. Mrs. Vphil.  
SCENE, Agra, in the Year 1660.   

AURENG-ZEBE, A TRAGEDY.  
ACT I.  Arimant, Asaph chawn, Fazel Chawn. Arim. 
Heaven seems the Empire of the East to lay  
On the success of this important day:  
Their Arms are to the last decision bent,  
And Fortune labours with the vast event:  
She now has in her hand the greatest stake,  
Which for contending Monarchs she can make.  
What e'er can urge ambitious Youth to fight,  
She pompously displays before their sight:  
Laws, Empire, All permitted to the Sword,  
And Fate could ne'er an ampler Scene afford.  Asaph. 
Four several Armies to the Field are led,  
Which, high in equal hopes four princes' Head:  
Indus and Ganges, our wide Empire's Bounds,  
Swell their died Currents with their Natives wounds:  
Each purple River winding, as he runs,  
His bloody arms about his slaughtered Sons.  Fazel. 
I well remember you foretold the Storm,  
When first the Brothers did their Factions form:  
When each, by cursed Cabals of Women, strove  
To draw th'indulgent King to partial Love.  Arim. 
What Heaven decrees, no prudence can prevent.  
To cure their mad Ambition, they were sent  
To rule a distant Province each alone.  
What could a careful Father more have done?  
He made provision against all, but Fate;  
While, by his health, we held our peace of State.  
The weight of seventy Winters pressed him down,  
He bent beneath the burden of a Crown:  
Sickness, at last▪ did his spent Body seize,  
And life almost sunk under the disease:  
Mortal 'twas thought, at least by them desired,  
Who, impiously, into his years enquired:  
As at a Signal, straight the Sons prepare  
For open force, and rush to sudden War:  
Meeting, like Winds broke loose upon the Main,  
To prove, by Arms, whose Fate it was to Reign.  Asaph. 
Rebels and Parricides!  Arim. 
Brand not their actions with so foul a name:  
Pity, at least, what we are forced to blame.  
When Death's cold hand has closed the Father's eye,  
You know the younger Sons are doomed to die.  
Less ills are chosen greater to avoid,  
And Nature's Law are by the States destroyed.  
What courage tamely could to death consent,  
And not, by striking first, the blow prevent?  
Who falls in fight, cannot himself accuse,  
And he dies greatly who a Crown pursues.  To them, Solyman Agah. Solym. 
A new Express all Agra does affright:  
Darah and Aureng-Zebe are joined in Fight;  
The Press of people thickens to the Court,  
Th'impatient crowd devouring the report.  Arim. 
T'each changing news they changed affections bring,  
And servilely from Fate expect a King.  Solym. 
The Ministers of State, who gave us Law,  
In corners, with selected Friends, withdraw:  
There, in deaf murmurs, solemnly are wise;  
Whispering, like Winds, ere Hurricanes arise.  
The most corrupt are most obsequious grown,  
And those they scorned, officiously they own.  Asaph. 
In change of Government,  
The Rabble rule their great Oppressor's Fate:  
Do Sovereign Justice, and revenge the State.  Solym. 
The little Courtiers, who ne'er come to know  
The depth of Factions, as in Mazes go,  
Where interests meet and cross so oft, that they  
With too much care are wildered in their way.  Arim. 
What of the Emperor?  Solym. 
Unmoved, and brave, he like himself appears,  
And, meriting no ill, no danger fears:  
Yet mourns his former vigour lost so far,  
To make him now spectator of a War:  
Repining that he must preserve his Crown  
By any help or courage but his own:  
Wishes, each minute, he could unbeget  
Those Rebel-Sons, who dare t'usurp his Seat:  
To sway his Empire with unequal skill,  
And mount a Throne, which none but he can fill.  Arim. 
Oh! had he still that Character maintained,  
Of Valour, which in blooming Youth he gained!  
He promised in his East a glorious Race;  
Now, sunk from his Meridian, sets apace.  
But as the Sun, when he from Noon declines,  
And with abated heat, less fiercely shines,  
Seems to grow milder as he goes away,  
Pleasing himself with the remains of Day:  
So he who, in his Youth, for Glory strove,  
Would recompense his Age with Ease and Love.  Asaph. 
The name of Father hateful to him grows,  
Which, for one Son, produces him three Foes.  Fazel. 
Darah, the eldest, bears a generous mind;  
But to implacable revenge inclined.  
Too openly does Love and hatred show:  
A bounteous Master, but a deadly Foe.  Solym. 
From Suja's valour I should much expect,  
But he's a Bigot of the Persian Sect:  
And, by a Foreign Interest seeks to Reign,  
Hopeless by Love and Sceptre to obtain.  Asaph. 
Morat's too insolent, too much a Brave,  
His Courage to his Envy is a Slave.  
What he attempts, if his endeavours fail  
T'effect, he is resolved no other shall.  Arim. 
But Aureng-Zebe, by no strong passion swayed,  
Except his Love, more temperate is, and weighed:  
This Atlas must our sinking State uphold;  
In Council cool, but in Performance bold:  
He sums their Virtues in himself alone,  
And adds the greatest, of a Loyal Son:  
His Father's Cause upon his Sword he wears,  
And with his Arms, we hope, his Fortune bears.  Solym. 
Two vast Rewards may well his courage move,  
A Parent's Blessing, and a Mistress Love.  
If he succeed, his recompense, we hear,  
Must be the Captive Queen of Cassimere.  To them, Abas. Abas. 
Mischiefs on mischiefs, greater still, and more:  
The neighbouring Plain with Arms is covered o'er:  
The Vale an Iron-Harvest seems to yield  
Of thick-sprung Lances in a waving Field.  
The polished Steel gleams terribly from far,  
And every moment nearer shows the War.  
The Horses Neighing by the Wind is blown,  
And Castl'd-Elephants o'r-look the Town.  Arim. 
If, as I fear, Morat these Powers commands,  
Our Empire on the brink of ruin stands,  
Th'ambitious Empress with her Son is joined,  
And, in his Brother's absence, has designed  
The unprovided Town to take with ease,  
And then, the Person of the King to seize.  Solym. 
To all his former Issue she has shown  
Long hate, and laboured to advance her own.  Ab. 
These Troops are his.  
Surat he took; and thence, preventing Fame,  
By quick and painful Marches hither came.  
Since his approach, he to his Mother sent,  
And two long hours in close debate were spent.  Arim. 
I'll to my Charge, the Citadel, repair,  
And show my duty by my timely care.  To them the Emperor with a Letter in his hand: after him, an Ambassador, with a Train following. Asaph. 
But see, the Emperor! a fiery red  
His Brows and glowing Temples does o'r-spread,  
Morat has some displeasing Message sent.  Amb. 
Do not, great Sir, misconstrue his intent;  
Nor call Rebellion what was prudent care,  
To guard himself by necessary War:  
While he believed you living, he obeyed:  
His Governments but as your Viceroy swayed:  
But, when he thought you gone,  
T'augment the number of the Blessed above,  
He deemed 'em Legacies of Royal love:  
Nor armed his Brother's Portions to invade,  
But to defend the present you had made.  Emp. 
By frequent Messages, and strict Commands,  
He knew my pleasure to discharge his Bands:  
Proof of my life my Royal Signet made;  
Yet still hearmed, came on, and disobeyed.  Amb. 
He thought the Mandate forged, your death concealed:  
And but delayed, till truth should be revealed.  Emp. 
News of my death from Rumour he received;  
And what he wished, he easily believed:  
But long demurred, though from my hand he knew  
I lived, so loathe he was to think it true.  
Since he pleads ignorance to that command,  
Now let him show his duty, and disband.  Amb. 
His Honour, Sir, will suffer in the Cause,  
He yields his Arms unjust if he withdraws:  
And begs his Loyalty may be declared,  
By owning those he leads to be your guard.  Emp. 
ay, in myself, have all the Guard I need;  
Bid the presumptuous Boy draw off with speed:  
If his audacious Troops one hour remain,  
My Cannon from the Fort shall scour the Plain.  Amb. 
Since you deny him entrance, he demands  
His Wife, whom cruelly you hold in Bands:  
Her, if unjustly you from him detain,  
He justly will by force of Arms regain.  Emp. 
O'er him, and his, a right from Heaven I have;  
Subject, and Son, he's doubly born my Slave.  
But whatsoe'er his own demerits are,  
Tell him, I shall not make on Women, War.  
And yet I'll do her Innocence the grace,  
To keep her here, as in the safer place.  
But thou, who dar'st this bold defiance bring,  
May'st feel the rage of an offended King.  
Hence from my sight, without the least reply:  
One word, nay, one look more, and thou shalt die.  Exit Ambassador. Re-enter Arimant. Arim. 
May Heaven, great Monarch, still augment your bliss  
With length of days, and every day like this.  
For, from the Banks of Gemna news is brought,  
Your Army has a bloody Battle fought:  
Darah from Loyal Aureng-Zebe is fled;  
And forty thousand of his Men lie dead.  
To Sujah next your conquering Army drew;  
Him they surprised, and easily o'r-threw.  Emp. 
'Tis well.  Arim. 
But well! what more could at your wish be done,  
Than two such Conquests gained by such a Son?  
Your pardon, mighty Sir;  
You seem not high enough your Joys to rate;  
You stand indebted a vast sum to Fate:  
And should large thanks for the great Blessing pay.  Emp. 
My fortune owes me greater every day.  
And, should my joy more high for this, appear,  
It would have argued me before of fear.  
How is Heaven kind, where I have nothing won,  
And Fortune only pays me with my own?  Arim. 
Great Aureng-Zebe did duteous care express:  
And durst not push too far his good success.  
But lest Morat the City should attack,  
Commanded his victorious Army back;  
Which, left to march as swiftly as they may,  
Himself comes first, and will be here this day,  
Before a close-formed Siege shut up his way.  Emp. 
Prevent his purpose, hence, hence with all thy speed.  
Stop him; his entrance to the Town forbid.  Arim. 
How, Sir? your Loyal, your Victorious Son?  Emp. 
Him would I, more than all the Rebels, shun.  Arim. 
Whom with your power and fortune, Sir, you trust;  
Now to suspect is vain, as 'tis unjust.  
He comes not with a Train to move your fear,  
But trusts himself, to be a prisoner here.  
You knew him brave, you know him faithful now:  
He aims at Fame, but Fame from serving you.  
'Tis said, Ambition in his breast does rage:  
Who would not be the Hero of an Age?  
All grant him prudent: prudence interest weighs,  
And interest bids him seek your love and praise.  
I know you grateful; When he marched from hence,  
You bade him hope an ample recompense:  
He conquered in that hope; and from your hands,  
His Love, the precious pledge he left, demands.  Emp. 
No more; you search too deep my wounded mind:  
And show me what I fear, and would not find.  
My Son has all the debts of duty paid:  
Our Prophet sends him to my present aid.  
Such virtue to distrust were base and low:  
I'm not ungrateful— or I was not so!  
Inquire no farther, stop his coming on:  
I will not, cannot, dare not see my Son.  Arim. 
'Tis now too late his entrance to prevent:  
Nor must I to your ruin give consent.  
At once your People's heart and Son's you lose:  
And give him all, when you just things refuse.  Emp. 
Thou lov'st me sure; thy faith has oft been tried,  
In ten pitched Fields, not shrinking from my side,  
Yet giv'st me no advice to bring me ease.  Arim. 
Can you be cured, and tell not your disease?  
I asked you, Sir.  Emp. 
— Thou shouldst have asked again:  
There hangs a secret shame on guilty men.  
Thou shouldst have pulled the secret from my breast,  
Torn out the bearded Steel to give me rest:  
At least, thou shouldst have guessed—  
Yet thou art honest, thou couldst near have guessed.  
Hast thou been never base? did Love ne'er bend  
Thy frailer Virtue, to betray thy Friend?  
Flatter me, make thy Court, and say, It did:  
Kings in a Crowd would have their Vices hid.  
We would be kept in countenance, saved from shame:  
And owned by others who commit the same.  
Nay, now I have confessed.—  
Thou seest me naked, and without disguise:  
I look on Aureng-Zebe with Rivals eyes.  
He has abroad my enemies o'ercome,  
And I have sought to ruin him at home.  Arim. 
This free confession shows you long did strive:  
And virtue, though oppressed, is still alive.  
But what success did your injustice find?  Emp. 
What it deserved, and not what I designed.  
Unmoved she stood, and deaf to all my prayers,  
As Seas and Winds to sinking Mariners.  
But Seas grow calm, and Winds are reconciled:  
Her Tyrant beauty never grows more mild.  
Prayers, promises, and threats were all in vain.  Arim. 
Then cure yourself by generous disdain.  Emp. 
Virtue, disdain, despair, I oft have tried,  
And foiled, have with new Arms my Foe defied  
This made me with so little joy to hear  
The Victory, when I the Victor fear.  Arim. 
Something you swiftly must resolve to do,  
Lest Aureng-Zebe your secret Love should know.  
Morat without does for your ruin wait;  
And would you lose the Buckler of your State?  
A jealous Empress lies within your Arms,  
Too haughty to endure neglected Charms.  
Your Son is duteous, but (as Man) he's frail.  
And just revenge o'er virtue may prevail.  Emp. 
Go then to Indamora, say from me,  
Two Lives depend upon her secrecy.  
Bid her conceal my passion from my Son.  
Though Aureng-Zebe return a Conqueror,  
Both he and she are still within my power.  
Say, I'm a Father, but a Lover too:  
Much to my Son, more to myself I owe.  
When she receives him, to her words give Law:  
And even the kindness of her glances awe.  
See, he appears!  After a short whisper, Arimant departs. Enter Aureng-Zebe, Dianet, and Attendants. AurengZebe kneels to his Father, and kisses his hand. Aur. 
My Vows have been successful as my Sword:  
My prayers are heard, you have your health restored.  
Once more 'tis given me to behold your face:  
The best of Kings and Fathers to embrace.  
Pardon my tears; 'tis joy which bids 'em flow,  
A joy which never was sincere till now.  
That which my Conquest gave I could not prize;  
Or 'twas imperfect till I saw your eyes.  Emp. 
Turn the discourse: I have a reason why  
I would not have you speak so tenderly.  
Knew you what shame your kind expressions bring,  
You would in pity spare a wretched King.  Aur. 
A King! you rob me, Sir, of half my due:  
You have a dearer name, a Father too.  Emp. 
I had that name.  Aur. 
— What have I said or done,  
That I no longer must be called your Son?  
'Tis in that name, Heaven knows, I glory more,  
Than that of Prince, or that of Conqueror.  Emp. 
Then you upbraid me; I am pleased to see  
You're not so perfect, but can fail, like me.  
I have no God to deal with.  Aur. 
— Now I find  
Some sly Court-Devil has seduced your mind:  
Filled it with black suspicions, not your own:  
And all my actions through false Optics shown.  
I ne'er did Crowns ambitiously regard:  
Honour I sought, the generous mind's reward.  
Long may you live! while you the Sceptre sway  
I shall be still most happy to obey.  Emp. 
Oh, Aureng-Zebe! thy virtues shine too bright,  
They flash too fierce: I, like the Bird of Night,  
Shut my dull eyes, and sicken at the sight.  
Thou hast deserved more love than I can show:  
But 'tis thy fate to give, and mine to owe.  
Thou seest me much distempered in my mind:  
Pulled back, and then pushed forward to be kind.  
Virtue, and— feign I would my silence break,  
But have not yet the confidence to speak.  
Leave me, and to thy needful rest repair.  Aur. 
Rest is not suiting with a Lover's care.  
I have not yet my Indamora seen. Is going.  Emp. 
Somewhat I had forgot; come back again:  
So weary of a Father's company!  Aur. 
Sir, you were pleased yourself to licence me.  Emp. 
You made me no relation of the Fight.  
Besides, a Rebel's Army is in sight.  
Advise me first: yet go—  
He goes to Indamora; I should take Aside.  
A kind of envious joy to keep him back.  
Yet to detain him makes my love appear:  
I hate his presence, and his absence fear. Exit.  Aur. 
To some new Clime, or to thy native Sky.  
Oh friendless and forsaken Virtue fly.  
Thy Indian Air is deadly to thee grown:  
Deceit and cankered malice rule thy Throne.  
Why did my Arms in Battle prosperous prove,  
To gain the barren praise of Filial love?  
The best of Kings by Women is misled,  
Charmed by the Witchcraft of a second Bed.  
Against myself I Victories have won,  
And by my fatal absence am undone.  To him Indamora, with Arimant. 
But here she comes!  
In the calm Harbour of whose gentle breast,  
My Tempest-beaten Soul may safely rest.  
Oh, my heart's joy! what e'er my sorrows be,  
They cease and vanish, in beholding thee!  
Care shuns thy walks; as at the cheerful light,  
The groaning Ghosts, and Birds obscene take flight.  
By this one view, all my past pains are paid:  
And all I have to come more easy made.  Ind. 
Such sullen Planets at my Birth did shine,  
They threaten every Fortune mixed with mine.  
Fly the pursuit of my disastrous love,  
And from unhappy Neighbourhood remove.  Aur. 
Bid the laborious Hind,  
Whose hardened hands did long in Tillage toil,  
Neglect the promised Harvest of the Soil.  
Should I, who cultivated Love with Blood,  
Refuse possession of approaching good?  Ind. 
Love is an airy good Opinion makes:  
Which he who only thinks he has, partakes.  
Seen by a strong Imagination's Beam;  
That tricks and dresses up the gaudy Dream.  
Presented so, with rapture 'tis enjoyed:  
Raised by high Fancy, and by low destroyed.  Aur. 
If Love be Vision, mine has all the fire  
Which, in first Dreams, young Prophets does inspire:  
I dream, in you, our promised Paradise:  
An Age's tumult of continued bliss.  
But you have still your happiness in doubt:  
Or else 'tis past, and you have dreamt it out.  Ind. 
Perhaps not so.  Aur. 
— Can Indamora prove  
So altered? Is it but, Perhaps you Love?  
Then farewell all! I thought in you to find  
A Balm, to cure my much distempered mind.  
I came to grieve a Father's heart estranged;  
But little thought to find a Mistress changed.  
Nature herself is changed to punish me:  
Virtue turned Vice, and Faith Inconstancy.  Ind. 
You heard me not Inconstancy confess:  
'Twas but a Friend's advice to love me less.  
Who knows what adverse Fortune may befall?  
Arm well your mind: hope little, and fear all.  
Hope, with a goodly prospect, feeds your Eye:  
Shows, from a rising ground, possession nigh:  
Shortens the distance, or o'r-looks it quite:  
So easy 'tis to travel with the sight▪  Aur. 
Then to despair you would my Love betray,  
By taking hope, its last kind Friend, away.  
You hold the Glass, but turn the Perspective;  
And farther off the lessened Object drive.  
You bid me fear: in that your change I know:  
You would prepare me for the coming blow.  
But, to prevent you, take my last Adieu;  
I'll sadly tell myself you are untrue,  
Rather than stay to hear it told by you▪ Going.  Ind. 
Stay, Aureng-Zebe, I must not let you go.  
And yet believe yourself, your own worst Foe,  
Think I am true, and seek no more to know.  
Let in my breast the fatal Secret lie,  
'Tis a sad Riddle, which, if known, we die. Seeming to pause.  Aur. 
Fair Hypocrite, you seek to cheat in vain;  
Your silence argues you ask time to feign.  
Once more, farewell: the snare in sight is laid,  
'Tis my own fault if I am now betrayed. Going again.  Ind. 
Yet once more stay; you shall believe me true,  
Though in one Fate I wrap myself and you.  
Your absence—  Arim. 
— Hold; you know the hard Command  
I must obey: you only can withstand  
Your own mishap. I beg you on my Knee,  
Be not unhappy by your own Decree.  Aur. 
Speak, Madam, by (if that be yet an Oath)  
Your Love, I'm pleased we should be ruined both.  
Both is a sound of joy.  
In Death's dark Bowers our Bridals we will keep:  
And his cold hand  
Shall draw the Curtain when we go to sleep.  Ind. 
Know then, that Man whom both of us did trust,  
Has been to you unkind, to me unjust.  
The Guardian of my Faith so false did prove,  
As to solicit me with lawless Love:  
Prayed, promised, threatened, all that Man could do,  
Base as he's great; and need I tell you who?  Aur. 
Yes; for I'll not believe my Father meant:  
Speak quickly, and my impious thoughts prevent.  Ind. 
You've said; I wish I could some other name!  Arim. 
My duty must excuse me, Sir, from blame.  
A Guard there.  Enter Guards. Aur. 
— Slave, for me?  Arim. 
— My Orders are  
To seize this Princess, whom the Laws of War  
Long since made Prisoner.  Aur. 
— Villain.  Arim. 
— Sir, I know  
Your Birth, nor durst another call me so.  Aur. 
I have redeemed her; and as mine she's free.  Arim. 
You may have right to give her liberty:  
But with your Father, Sir, that right dispute;  
For his commands to me were absolute;  
If she disclosed his love, to use the right  
Of War, and to secure her from your sight.  Aur. 
I'll rescue her, or die. Draws.  
And you, my friends, though few, are yet too brave  
To see your Generals Mistress made a Slave. All draw.  Ind. 
Hold, my dear Love! if so much power there lies,  
As once you owned, in Indamora's Eyes,  
Lose not the Honour you have early won;  
But stand the blameless pattern of a Son.  
My love your claim inviolate secures:  
'Tis writ in Fate, I can be only yours.  
My sufferings for you make your heart my due:  
Be worthy me, as I am worthy you.  Aur. 
(Putting up his sword.) I've thought, and blessed be you who gave me time:  
My Virtue was surprised into a Crime.  
Strong Virtue, like strong Nature, struggles still:  
Exerts itself, and then throws off the ill.  
I to a Son's and Lover's praise aspire:  
And must fulfil the parts which both require.  
How dear the cure of jealousy has cost!  
With too much care and tenderness you're lost.  
So the fond Youth from Hell redeemed his Prize,  
Till▪ looking back, she vanished from his eyes!  Exeunt severally.  

ACT II. Betwixt the Acts, a Warlike Tune is played, shooting off Guns, and shouts of Soldiers are heard, as in an Assault.  Aureng-Zebe, Arimant, Asaph Chawn, Fazel Chawn, Solyman. Aur. 
WHat man could do, was by Morat performed:  
The Fortress thrice himself in person stormed.  
Your valour bravely did th'Assault sustain;  
And filled the Moats and Ditches with the Slain.  
Till, mad with rage, into the Breach he fired:  
Slew Friends and Foes, and in the Smoke retired.  Arim. 
To us you give what praises are not due:  
Morat was thrice repulsed, but thrice by you.  
High, over all, was your great conduct shown:  
You sought our safety, but forgot your own.  Asaph. 
Their Standard, planted on the Battlement,  
Despair and death among the Soldiers sent:  
You, the bold Omrah tumbled from the Wall;  
And shouts of Victory pursued his fall.  Fazel. 
To you, alone, we owe this prosperous day:  
Our Wives and Children rescued from the prey:  
Know your own interest Sir, where e'er you lead,  
We jointly vow to own no other Head.  Solym. 
Your wrongs are known. Impose but your commands;  
This hour shall bring you twenty thousand hands.  Aur. 
Let them who truly would appear my friends,  
Employ their Swords, like mine, for noble ends.  
No more: remember you have bravely done:  
Shall Treason end, what Loyalty begun?  
I own no wrongs; some grievance I confess,  
But Kings, like Gods, at their own time redress.  
Yet, some becoming boldness I may use:  
I've well deserved, nor will he now refuse. Aside.  
I'll strike my Fortunes with him at a heat:  
And give him not the leisure to forget.  Exit, attended by the Omrahs'. Arim. 
Oh! Indamora, hide these fatal Eyes;  
Too deep they wound whom they too soon surprise:  
My Virtue, Prudence, Honour, Interest, all  
Before this Universal Monarch fall.  
Beauty, like Ice, our footing does betray;  
Who can tread sure on the smooth slippery way?  
Pleased with the passage, we slide swiftly on:  
And see the dangers which we cannot shun.  To him, Indamora. Ind. 
I hope my liberty may reach thus far:  
These Terras Walks within my limits are.  
I came to seek you, and to let you know,  
How much I to your generous Pity owe.  
The King, when he designed you for my Guard,  
Resolved he would not make my Bondage hard:  
If otherwise, you have deceived his end;  
And whom he meant a Guardian, made a Friend.  Arim. 
A Guardian's Title I must own with shame:  
But should be prouder of another Name.  Ind. 
And therefore 'twas I changed that Name before:  
I called you Friend, and could you wish for more?  Arim. 
I dare not ask for what you would not grand:  
But wishes, Madam, are extravagant.  
They are not bounded with things possible:  
I may wish more than I presume to tell:  
Desire's the vast extent of humane mind,  
It mounts above, and leaves poor hope behind.  
I could wish—  Ind. 
What?  Arim. 
Why did you speak? you've dashed my Fancy quite:  
Even in th' approaching minute of delight.  
I must take breath—  
Ere I the Rapture of my wish renew,  
And tell you then, It terminates in you.  Ind. 
Have you considered what th'event would be?  
Or know you, Arimant, yourself, or me?  
Were I no Queen, did you my beauty weigh,  
My Youth in bloom, your Age in its decay?  Arim. 
I my own Judge, condemned myself before:  
For pity aggravate my crime no more.  
So weak I am, I with a frown am slain;  
You need have used but half so much disdain.  Ind. 
I am not cruel yet to that degree:  
Have better thoughts both of yourself, and me.  
Beauty a Monarch is,  
Which Kingly power magnificently proves,  
By crowds of Slaves, and peopled Empire loves.  
And such a Slave as you, what Queen would lose?  
Above the rest, I Arimant would choose:  
For counsel, valour, truth, and kindness too,  
All I could wish in man, I find in you.  Arim. 
What Lover could to greater joy be raised!  
I am, methinks, a God by you thus praised.  Ind. 
To what may not desert, like yours, pretend?  
You have all qualities— that fit a Friend.  Arim. 
So Mariners mistake the promised Coast:  
And, with full Sails, on the blind Rocks are lost.  
Think you my aged veins so faintly beat,  
They rise no higher than to friendship's heat?  
So weak your Charms, that, like a Winter's night,  
Twinkling with Stars, they freeze me while they light?  Ind. 
Mistake me not, good Arimant, I know  
My Beauty's power, and what my charms can do.  
You your own Talon have not learned so well;  
But practise one, where you can ne'er excel.  
You can at most,  
To an indifferent Lover's praise pretend:  
But you would spoil an admirable Friend.  Arim. 
Never was Amity so highly prized;  
Nor ever any Love so much despised.  
Even to myself ridiculous I grow;  
And would be angry, if I knew but how.  Ind. 
Do not. Your Anger, like your Love, is vain:  
When e'er I please, you must be pleased again.  
Knowing what power I have your will to bend,  
I'll use it; for I need just such a Friend.  
You must perform, not what you think is fit:  
But, to what ever I propose, submit.  Arim. 
Madam, you have a strange Ascendant gained;  
You use me like a Courser, spurred and reined:  
If I fly out, my fierceness you command,  
Then sooth, and gently struck me with your hand.  
Impose; but use your power of Taxing well:  
When Subjects cannot Pay, they soon Rebel.  Enter the Emperor, unseen by them. Ind. 
My Rebel's punishment would easy prove:  
You know you're in my power by making Love.  Arim. 
Would I, without dispute, your will obey,  
And could you, in return, my life betray?  Emp. 
What danger, Arimant, is this you fear?  
Or what Love-secret which I must not hear?  
These altered looks some inward motion show.  
His cheeks are pale, and yours with blushes glow. To her.  Ind. 
'Tis what, with justice, may my anger move:  
He has been bold, and talked to me of Love.  Arim. 
I am betrayed, and shall be doomed to die! Aside.  Emp. 
Did he, my Slave, presume to look so high?  
That crawling Insect, who from Mud began,  
Warmed by my Beams, and kindled into Man?  
Durst he, who does but for my pleasure live,  
Entrench on Love, my great Prerogative?  
Print his base Image on his Sovereign's Coin?  
'Tis Treason if he stamp his Love with mine.  Arim. 
'Tis true, I have been bold; but if it be  
A crime—  Ind. 
— He means, 'tis only so to me.  
You, Sir, should praise, what I must disapprove:  
He insolently talked to me of Love:  
But, Sir, 'twas yours, he made it in your name:  
You, if you please, may all he said disclaim.  Emp. 
I must disclaim what e'er he can express:  
His groveling sense will show my passion less.  
But stay, if what he said my message be,  
What fear, what danger could arrive from me?  
He said, He feared you would his life betray.  Ind. 
Should he presume again, perhaps I may.  
Though in your hands he hazard not his life,  
Remember, Sir, your fury of a Wife;  
Who, not content to be revenged on you,  
The Agents of your passion will pursue.  Emp. 
If I but hear her named, I'm sick that day;  
The sound is mortal, and frights life away.  
Forgive me, Arimant, my jealous thought:  
Distrust in Lovers is the tenderest fault.  
Leave me, and tell thyself in my excuse,  
Love, and a Crown, no Rivalship can bear;  
And precious things are still possessed with fear.  Exit Arimant bowing. 
This, Madam, my excuse to you may plead;  
Love should forgive the faults which Love has made.  Ind. 
From me, what pardon can you hope to have,  
Robbed of my Love, and treated as a Slave?  Emp. 
Force is the last relief which Lovers find:  
And 'tis the best excuse of Wooman-kind.  Ind. 
Force never yet a generous Heart did gain:  
We yield on parley, but are stormed in vain.  
Constraint, in all things, makes the pleasure less;  
Sweet is the Love which comes with willingness.  Emp. 
No; 'tis resistance that inflames desire:  
Sharpens the Darts of Love, and blows his Fire.  
Love is disarmed that meets with too much ease:  
He languishes, and does not care to please.  
And therefore 'tis your golden Fruit you guard  
With so much care, to make possession hard.  Ind. 
Was't not enough you took my Crown away,  
But cruelly you must my Love betray?  
I was well pleased to have transferred my right,  
And better changed your Claim of Lawless might,  
By taking him, whom you esteemed above  
Your other Sons, and taught me first to love.  Emp. 
My Son, by my command his course must steer:  
I bade him love, I bid him now forbear.  
If you have any kindness for him still,  
Advise him not to shock a Father's will.  Ind. 
Must I advise?  
Then let me see him, and I'll try t'obey.  Emp. 
I had forgot, and dare not trust your way.  
But send him word,  
He has not here an Army to command:  
Remember he and you are in my hand.  Ind. 
Yes, in a Father's hand, whom he has served;  
And, with the hazard of his life, preserved.  
But piety to you, unhappy Prince,  
Becomes a crime, and duty an offence:  
Against yourself, you with your Foes combine,  
And seem your own destruction to design.  Emp. 
You may be pleased your Politics to spare:  
I'm old enough, and can myself take care.  Ind. 
Advice from me was, I confess, too bold:  
You're old enough it may be, Sir, too old.  Emp. 
You please yourself with your contempt of Age:  
But Love, neglected, will convert to Rage.  
If on your head my fury does not turn,  
Thank that fond dotage which so much you scorn.  
But, in another's person, you may prove,  
There's warmth for Vengeance left, though not for Love.  Re-enter Arimant. Arimant. 
The Empress has the Antichambers past,  
And this way moves with a disordered haste:  
Her brows, the stormy marks of anger bear.  Emp. 
Madam, retire: she must not find you here.  Exit Indamora with Arimant. Enter Nourmahal hastily. Nour. 
What have I done, that Nourmahal must prove  
The scorn and triumph of a Rival's Love?  
My eyes are still the same, each glance, each grace,  
Keep their first lustre, and maintain their place;  
Not second yet to any other face.  Emp. 
What rage transports you? are you well awake?  
Such Dreams distracted minds in Fevers make.  Nour. 
Those Fevers you have given, those Dreams have bred,  
By broken Faith, and an abandoned Bed.  
Such Visions hourly pass before my sight;  
Which from my eyes their Balmy slumbers fright,  
In the severest silence of the night.  
Visions, which in this Citadel are seen;  
Bright, glorious Visions of a Rival Queen.  Emp. 
Have patience, my first flames can ne'er decay:  
These are but Dreams, and soon will pass away.  
Thou know'st, my Heart, my Empire, all is thine:  
In thy own Heaven of Love serenely shine:  
Fair as the face of Nature did appear,  
When Flowers first peeped, and Trees did Blossoms bear,  
And Winter had not yet deformed th'inverted Year.  
Calm as the Breath which fans our Eastern Groves,  
And bright as when thy Eyes first lighted up our Loves.  
Let our eternal Peace be sealed by this,  
With the first ardour of a Nuptial Kiss. Offers to kiss her.  Nour. 
Me would you have, me your faint kisses prove,  
The dregs and droppings of enervate Love?  
Must I your cold long-labouring age sustain,  
And be to empty joys provoked in vain?  
Receive you sighing after other Charms,  
And take an absent Husband in my Arms?  Emp. 
Even these reproaches I can bear from you:  
You doubted of my Love, believe it true.  
Nothing but Love this patience could produce;  
And I allow your rage that kind excuse.  Nour. 
Call it not patience; 'tis your guilt stands mute:  
You have a cause too foul to bear dispute.  
You wrong me first, and urge my rage to rise,  
Then I must pass for mad; you, meek and wise,  
Good man, plead merit by your soft replies.  
Vain privilege poor Women have of tongue:  
Men can stand silent, and resolve on wrong.  Emp. 
What can I more? my friendship you refuse,  
And even my mildness, as my crime, accuse.  Nour. 
Your sullen silence cheats not me, false Man;  
I know you think the bloodiest things you can.  
Could you accuse me, you would raise your voice:  
Watch for my crimes, and in my guilt rejoice.  
But my known virtue is from scandal free,  
And leaves no shadow for your calumny.  Emp. 
Such virtue is the plague of humane life:  
A virtuous Woman, but a cursed Wife.  
In vain of pompous chastity you're proud:  
Virtue's adultery of the Tongue, when loud,  
I, with less pain, a Prostitute could bear,  
Than the shrill sound of Virtue, virtue hear.  
In unchaste Wives—  
There's yet a kind of recompensing ease:  
Vice keeps 'em humble, gives 'em care to please:  
But against clamorous Virtue, what defence?  
It stops our mouths, and gives your noise pretence.  Nour. 
Since Virtue does your indignation raise,  
'Tis pity but you had that Wife you praise.  
Your own wild appetites are prone to range;  
And than you tax our humours with your change.  Emp. 
What can be sweeter than our native home!  
Thither for ease, and soft repose, we come:  
Home is the sacred refuge of our life:  
Secured from all approaches, but a Wife.  
If thence we fly, the cause admits no doubt:  
None but an Inmate Foe could force us out.  
Clamours, our privacies uneasy make:  
Birds leave their Nests disturbed, and Beasts their Haunts forsake.  Nour. 
Honour's my crime that has your loathing bred:  
You take no pleasure in a virtuous Bed.  Emp. 
What pleasure can their be in that estate,  
Which your unquietness has made me hate?  
I shrink far off—  
Dissembling sleep, but wakeful with the fright.  
The day takes off the pleasure of the night.  Nour. 
My thoughts no other joys but power pursue:  
Or, if they did, they must be lost in you.  
And yet the fault's not mine—  
Though Youth and Beauty cannot warmth command;  
The Sun in vain shines on the barren Sand.  Emp. 
'Tis true, of Marriage-bands I'm weary grown.  
Love scorns all ties, but those that are his own.  
Chains that are dragged, must needs uneasy prove:  
For there's a Godlike liberty in Love.  Nour. 
What's Love to you?  
The bloom of Beauty other years' demands;  
Nor will be gathered by such withered hands:  
You importune it with a false desire:  
Which sparkles out, and makes no solid fire.  
This impudence of Age, whence can it spring?  
All you expect, and yet you nothing bring.  
Eager to ask, when you are passed a grant;  
Nice in providing what you cannot want.  
Have conscience; give not her you love this pain:  
Solicit not yourself, and her, in vain.  
All other Debts may compensation find:  
But Love is strict, and will be paid in kind.  Emp. 
Sure of all ills, Domestic are the worst;  
When most secure of blessings, we are cursed.  
When we lay next us what we hold most dear,  
Like Hercules, envenomed Shirts we wear;  
And cleaving mischiefs.  Nour. 
— What you merit, have:  
And share, at least, the miseries you gave.  
Your days, I will alarm, I'll haunt your nights:  
And, worse than Age, disable your delights.  
May your sick Fame still languish, till it die:  
All Offices of Power neglected lie,  
And you grow cheap in every Subject's eye.  
Then, as the greatest Curse that I can give;  
Unpitied, be deposed; and after live. Going off.  Emp. 
Stay; and now learn,  
How criminal soe'er we Husbands are,  
'Tis not for Wives to push our crimes too far.  
Had you still Mistress of your temper been,  
I had been modest, and not owned my Sin.  
Your fury hardens me: and what e'er wrong  
You suffer, you have canceled by your tongue.  
A Guard there; seize her: she shall know this hour,  
What is a Husband's and a Monarch's power,  Guard seizes her. Enter Aureng-Zebe. Nour. 
I see for whom your Charter you maintain:  
I must be fettered, and my Son be slain,  
That Zelyma's ambitious Race may reign.  
Not so you promised, when my Beauty drew  
All Asia's Vows; when Persia left for you  
The Realm of Candahar for dower I brought:  
That long contended Prize for which you fought.  Aur. 
The name of Stepmother, your practised Art,  
By which you have estranged my Father's heart,  
All you have done against me, or design,  
Shows your aversion, but begets not mine.  
Long may my Father India's Empire guide:  
And may not breach your Nuptial Vows divide.  Emp. 
Since Love obliges not, I from this hour,  
Assume the right of Man's Despotie power:  
Man is by Nature formed your Sex's head:  
And is himself the Canon of his Bed.  
In Bands of Iron fettered you shall be:  
An easier yoke than what you put on me.  Aur. 
Though much I fear my interest is not great, Kneeling.  
Let me your Royal Clemency entreat.  
Secrets of Marriage still are Sacred held:  
There sweet and bitter by the wise concealed.  
Errors of Wives reflect on Husbands still:  
And, when divulged, proclaim you've chosen ill.  
And the mysterious power of Bed and Throne,  
Should always be maintained, but rarely shown.  Emp. 
To so perverse a Sex all Grace is vain:  
It gives 'em courage to offend again:  
For with feigned tears they penitence pretend:  
Again are pardoned, and again offend.  
Fathom our pity when they seem to grieve;  
Only to try how far we can forgive.  
Till launching out into a Sea of strife,  
They scorn all pardon, and appear all Wife.  
But be it as you please: for your loved sake,  
This last and fruitless trial I will make.  
In all requests, your right of merit use:  
And know, There is but one I can refuse.  He signs to the Guards, and they remove from the Empress. Nour. 
You've done enough, for you designed my Chains:  
The Grace is vanished, but th'Affront remains.  
Nor is't a Grace, or for his merit done;  
You durst no farther, for you feared my Son.  
This you have gained by the rough course you prove;  
I'm past Repentance, and you past my Love. Exit.  Emp. 
A Spirit so untamed the world ne'er bore.  Aur. 
And yet worse usage had incensed her more.  
But since by no obligement she is tied,  
You must betimes for your defence provide.  
I cannot idle in your danger stand;  
But beg once more I may your Arms command:  
Two Battles your auspicious Cause has won;  
My Sword can perfect what it has begun,  
And, from your Walls, dislodge that haughty Son.  Emp. 
My Son, your valour has, this day, been such,  
None can enough admire, or praise too much.  
But now, with reason, your success I doubt:  
Her Faction's strong within, his Arms without.  Aur. 
I left the City in a Panic fright:  
Lions they are in Council, Lambs in Fight.  
But my own Troops, by Mirzah led, are near:  
I, by to morrow's dawn, expect 'em here.  
To favour 'em, I'll Sally out ere day,  
And through our slaughtered Foes enlarge their way.  Emp. 
Age has not yet  
So shrunk my Sinews, or so chilled my Veins,  
But conscious Virtue in my breast remains.  
But had I now  
That strength, with which my boiling Youth was fraught;  
When in the Vale of Balasor I fought,  
And from Bengale their Captive Monarch brought;  
When Elephant 'gainst Elephant did rear  
His Trunk, and Castles justled in the Air;  
My Sword thy way to Victory had shown:  
And owed the Conquest to itself alone.  Aur. 
Those fair Ideas to my aid I'll call,  
And emulate my great Original.  
Or, if they fail, I will invoke in Arms,  
The power of Love, and Indamora's Charms.  Emp. 
I doubt the happy influence of your Star:  
T'invoke a Captives name bodes ill in War.  Aur. 
Sir, give me leave to say, What ever now  
The Omen prove, it boded well to you.  
Your Royal Promise, when I went to fight,  
Obliged me to resign a Victor's right.  
Her liberty I fought for, and I won:  
And claim it as your General, and your Son.  Emp. 
My ears still ring with noise, I'm vexed to death:  
Tongue-killed, and have not yet recover'd-breath.  
Nor will I be prescribed my time by you:  
First end the War, and then your Claim renew.  
While to your Conduct I my Fortune trust,  
To keep this pledge of duty is but just.  Aur. 
Some hidden cause your jealousy does move,  
Or you could ne'er suspect my Loyal Love.  Emp. 
What love soever by an Heir is shown,  
He waits but time to step into the Throne.  
You're neither justified, nor yet accused:  
Mean while, the Prisoner with respect is used.  Aur. 
I know the kindness of her Guardian such,  
I need not fear too little, but too much.  
But how, Sir, how have you from virtue swerved?  
Or what so ill return have I deserved?  
You doubt not me, nor have I spent my blood,  
To have my faith no better understood:  
Your Soul's above the baseness of distrust:  
Nothing but Love could make you so unjust.  Emp. 
You know your Rival then; and know 'tis fit,  
The Son's should to the Father's Claim submit.  Aur. 
Sons may have right, which they can never quit.  
Yourself first made that Title which I claim:  
First bid me love, and authorised my flame.  Emp. 
The value of my gift I did not know:  
If I could give, I can resume it too.  Aur. 
Recall your gift, for I your power confess:  
But first, take back my life, a gift that's less.  
Long life would now but a long burden prove:  
You're grown unkind, and I have lost your love.  
My grief let unbecoming speeches fall:  
I should have died, and not complained at all.  Emp. 
Witness ye Powers,  
How much I suffered, and how long I strove  
Against th'assaults of this imperious Love!  
I represented to myself the shame  
Of perjured Faith, and violated Fame.  
Your great deserts, how ill they were repaid;  
All arguments, in vain, I urged and weighed:  
For mighty Love, who Prudence does despise,  
For Reason, showed me Indamora's Eyes.  
What would you more, my crime I sadly view,  
Acknowledge, am ashamed, and yet pursue.  Aur. 
Since you can love, and yet your error see,  
The same resistless power may plead for me.  
With no less ardour I my claim pursue:  
I love, and cannot yield her even to you.  Emp. 
Your elder Brothers, though overcome, have right:  
The youngest yet in Arms prepared to fight.  
But, yielding her, I firmly have decreed,  
That you alone to Empire shall succeed.  Aur. 
To after Ages let me stand a shame,  
When I exchange for Crowns my Love or Fame.  
You might have found a mercenary Son,  
To profit of the Battles he had won:  
Had I been such, what hindered me to take  
The Crown? nor had th'exchange been yours to make.  
While you are living, I no right pretend;  
Wear it, and let it where you please descend.  
But from my Love, 'tis Sacrilege to part:  
There, there's my Throne in Indamora's heart.  Emp. 
'Tis in her heart alone that you must Reign:  
You'll find her person difficult to gain.  
Give willingly what I can take by force:  
And know, Obedience is your safest course.  Aur. 
I'm taught, by Honour's precepts, to obey:  
Fear to Obedience is a slavish way.  
If ought my want of duty could beget;  
You take the most prevailing means, to threat.  
Pardon your Blood that boils within my veins;  
It rises high, and menacing disdains.  
Even death's become to me no dreadful name:  
I've often met him, and have made him tame:  
In fighting fields, where our acquaintance grew,  
I saw him, and contemned him first for you.  Emp. 
Of formal duty make no more thy boast:  
Thou disobey'st where it concerns me most.  
Fool, with both hands thus to push back a Crown:  
And headlong cast thyself from Empire down.  
Though Nourmahal I hate, her Son shall Reign:  
Inglorious thou, by thy own fault remain.  
Thy younger Brother I'll admit this hour:  
So mine shall be thy Mistress, his thy Power. Exit.  Aur. 
How vain is Virtue which directs our ways  
Through certain danger to uncertain praise!  
Barren, and airy name! thee Fortune flies;  
With thy lean Train, the Pious and the Wise.  
Heaven takes thee at thy word, without regard;  
And lets thee poorly be thy own reward.  
The World is made for the bold impious man;  
Who stops at nothing, seizes all he can.  
Justice to merit does weak aid afford;  
She trusts her Balance, and neglects her Sword.  
Virtue is nice to take what's not her own;  
And, while she long consults, the Prize is gone.  To him, Dianet. Dia. 
Forgive the Bearer of unhappy news:  
Your altered Father openly pursues  
Your ruin; and, to compass his intent,  
For violent Morat in haste has sent.  
The Gates he ordered all to be unbarred:  
And from the Marketplace to draw the Guard.  Aur. 
How look the People in this turn of State?  Dia. 
They mourn your ruin as their proper Fate.  
Cursing the Empress: for they think it done  
By her procurement, to advance her Son.  
Him too, though awed, they scarcely can forbear:  
His pride they hate, his violence they fear.  
All bent to rise, would you appear their Chief,  
Till your own Troops come up to your relief.  Aur. 
Ill treated, and forsaken, as I am,  
I'll not betray the glory of my name:  
'Tis not for me, who have preserved a State,  
To buy an Empire at so base a rate.  Dia. 
The points of Honour Poets may produce;  
Trappings of life, for Ornament, not Use:  
Honour, which only does the name advance,  
Is the mere raving madness of Romance.  
Pleased with a word, you may sit tamely down;  
And see your younger Brother force the Crown.  Aur. 
I know my fortune in extremes does lie:  
The Sons of Indostan must Reign, or die.  
That desperate hazard Courage does create;  
As he plays frankly, who has least Estate,  
And that the World the Coward will despise,  
When Life's a Blank, who pulls not for a Prize.  Dia. 
Of all your knowledge, this vain fruit you have,  
To walk with eyes broad open to your Grave.  Aur. 
From what I've said, conclude, without reply,  
I neither would Usurp, nor tamely die.  
Th'attempt to fly, would guilt betray, or fear:  
Besides, 'twere vain; the Fort's our Prison here.  
Somewhat I have resolved—  
Morat, perhaps, has Honour in his breast:  
And, in extremes, bold Counsels are the best.  
Like Emp'ric Remedies, they last are tried;  
And by th'event condemned, or justified.  
Presence of mind and courage in distress,  
Are more than Armies to procure success. Exit.   

ACT III.  Arimant, with a Letter in his hand: Indamora. Arim. 
ANd I the Messenger to him from you?  
Your Empire you to Tyranny pursue:  
You lay commands, both cruel and unjust,  
To serve my Rival, and betray my trust.  Ind. 
You first betrayed your trust in loving me,  
And should not I my own advantage see?  
Serving my Love, you may my Friendship gain,  
You know the rest of your pretences vain.  
You must, my Arimant, you must be kind:  
'Tis in your Nature, and your Noble Mind.  Arim. 
I'll to the King, and straight my trust resign.  Ind. 
His trust you may, but you shall never mine.  
Heaven made you love me for no other end,  
But to become my Confident and Friend:  
As such, I keep no Secret from your sight,  
And therefore make you judge how ill I write:  
Read it, and tell me freely then your mind:  
If 'tis indicted as I meant it, kind.  Arim. 
(reading) I ask not Heaven my freedom to restore,  
But only for your sake— I'll read no more:  
And yet I must—  
(Reading) Less for my own, than for your sorrow, sad—  
Another line, like this, would make me mad—  
(As reading) Heaven! she goes on— yet more— and yet more kind!  
Each Sentence is a Dagger to my mind.  
(Reading) See me this night—  
Thank Fortune, who did such a Friend provide,  
For faithful Arimant shall be your Guide.  
Not only to be made an Instrument,  
But preingaged without my own consent!  Ind. 
Unknown t'engage you still augments my score,  
And gives you scope of meriting the more.  Arim. 
The best of men  
Some interest in their actions must confess;  
None merit but in hope they may possess.  
The fatal Paper rather let me tear,  
Than, like Bellerophon, my own Sentence bear.  Ind. 
You may; but 'twill not be your best advice:  
'Twill only give me pains of writing twice.  
You know you must obey me, soon or late:  
Why should you vainly struggle with your Fate?  Arim. 
I thank thee, Heaven, thou hast been wondrous kind!  
Why am I thus to slavery designed,  
And yet am cheated with a freeborn mind?  
Or make thy Orders with my reason suit,  
Or let me live by Sense a glorious Brute—  She frowns. 
You frown, and I obey with speed, before  
That dreadful Sentence comes, See me no more:  
See me no more! that sound, methinks, I hear  
Like the last Trumpet thundering in my ear.  Enter Solyman. Solym. 
The Princess Melesinda, bathed in tears,  
And tossed alternately with hopes and fears,  
If your affairs such leisure can afford,  
Would learn from you the fortunes of her Lord.  Arim. 
Tell her, that I some certainty may bring;  
I go this minute to attend the King.  Ind. 
This lonely Turtle I desire to see:  
Grief, though not cured, is eased by Company.  Arim. 
(to Solym.) Say, if she please, she hither may repair,  
And breathe the freshness of the open Air. Exit Solym.  Ind. 
Poor Princess! how I pity her estate,  
Wrapped in the ruins of her Husband's Fate!  
She mourned Morat should in Rebellion rise;  
Yet he offends, and she's the Sacrifice.  Arim. 
Not knowing his design, at Court she stayed;  
Till, by command, close prisoner she was made.  
Since when,  
Her Chains with Roman Constancy she bore;  
But that, perhaps, an Indian Wife's is more.  Ind. 
Go, bring her comfort; leave me here alone.  Arim. 
My love must still be in obedience shown. Exit Arim.  Enter Melesinda, led by Solyman, who retires afterwards. Ind. 
When graceful sorrow in her pomp appears,  
Sure she is dressed in Melesinda's tears.  
Your head reclined, (as hiding grief from view,)  
Droops, like a Rose surcharged with morning Dew.  Mel. 
Can Flowers but droop in absence of the Sun,  
Which waked their sweets? and mine, alas! is gone.  
But you the noblest Charity express:  
For they who shine in Courts still shun distress.  Ind. 
Distressed myself, like you, confined I live:  
And therefore can compassion take, and give.  
We're both Love's Captives, but with Fate so cross,  
One must be happy by the other's loss.  
Morat, or Aureng-Zebe must fall this day.  Mel. 
Too truly Tamerlain's Successors they,  
Each thinks a World too little for his sway.  
Could you and I the same pretences bring,  
Mankind should with more ease receive a King:  
I would to you the narrow World resign,  
And want no Empire while Morat was mine.  Ind. 
Wished freedom I presage you soon will find;  
If Heaven be just, and be to Virtue kind.  Mel. 
Quite otherwise my mind foretells my Fate:  
Short is my life, and that unfortunate.  
Yet should I not complain, would Heaven afford  
Some little time, ere death, to see my Lord.  Ind. 
These thoughts are but your melancholy's food;  
Raised from a lonely life, and dark abode:  
But whatsoe'er our jarring fortunes prove,  
Though our Lords hate, methinks we two may love.  Mel. 
Such be our Loves as may not yield to Fate:  
I bring a heart more true than fortunate.  Giving their hands. To them Arimant. Arim. 
I come with haste suprising news to bring:  
In two hours' time, since last I saw the King,  
Th'affairs of Court have wholly changed their face:  
Unhappy Aureng-Zebe is in disgrace:  
And your Morat, (proclaimed the Successor)  
Is called, to awe the City with his power.  
Those Trumpets his triumphant Entry tell.  
And now the Shouts waft near the Citadel.  Ind. 
See, Madam, see th'event by me foreshown:  
I envy not your chance, but grieve my own.  Mel. 
A change so unexpected must surprise:  
And more, because I am unused to joys.  Ind. 
May all your wishes ever prosperous be,  
But I'm too much concerned th'event to see.  
My eyes too tender are—  
To view my Lord become the public scorn.  
I came to comfort, and I go to mourn. Taking her leave.  Mel. 
Stay, I'll not see my Lord,  
Before I give your sorrow some relief;  
And pay the charity you lent my grief.  
Here he shall see me first with you confined:  
And, if your virtue fail to move his mind,  
I'll use my interest that he may be kind.  
Fear not, I never moved him yet in vain.  Ind. 
So fair a Pleader any Cause may gain.  Mel. 
I have no taste, methinks, of coming joy;  
For black presages all my hopes destroy.  
Die, something whispers, Melesinda, die;  
Fulfil, fulfil thy mournful Destiny.  
Mine is a gleam of bliss, too hot to last,  
Watery it shines, and will be soon o'r-cast.  Indamora and Melesinda re-enter, as into the Chamber: Arim. 
Fortune seems weary grown of Aureng-Zebe,  
While to her new-made Favourite, Morat,  
Her lavish hand is wastefully profuse:  
With Fame and flowing Honours tided in,  
Born on a swelling Current smooth beneath him.  
The King and haughty Empress, to our wonder,  
If not atoned, yet seemingly at peace.  
As Fate for him that Miracle reserved.  Enter in Triumph, Emperor, Morat, and Train. Emp. 
I have confessed I love.  
As I interpret fairly your design,  
So look not with severer eyes on mine.  
Your Fate has called you to th'Imperial Seat:  
In duty be, as you in Arms are, great.  
For Aureng-Zebe a hated name is grown,  
And Love less bears a Rival than the Throne.  Mor. 
To me, the cries of fighting Fields are Charms:  
Keen be my Sable, and of proof my Arms.  
I ask no other blessing of my Stars:  
No prize but Fame, nor Mistress but the Wars.  
I scarce am pleased I tamely mount the Throne:  
Would Aureng-Zebe had all their Souls in one:  
With all my elder Brothers I would fight,  
And so from partial Nature force my right.  Emp. 
Had we but lasting Youth, and time to spare,  
Some might be thrown away on Fame and War:  
But Youth, the perishing good, runs on too fast:  
And unenjoyed will spend itself to waste;  
Few know the use of life before 'tis past.  
Had I once more thy vigour to command,  
I would not let it die upon my hand:  
No hour of pleasure should pass empty by,  
Youth should watch joys, and shoot 'em as they fly.  Mor. 
Methinks all pleasure is in greatness found.  
Kings, like heavens' Eye, should spread their beams around.  
Pleased to be seen while Glory's race they run:  
Rest is not for the Chariot of the Sun.  
Subjects are stiffnecked Animals, they soon  
Feel slackened Reins, and pitch their Rider down.  Emp. 
To thee that drudgery of Power I give:  
Cares be thy lot: Reign thou, and let me live.  
The Fort I'll keep for my security,  
Business, and public State resign to thee.  Mor. 
Luxurious Kings are to their People lost;  
They live, like Drones, upon the public cost.  
My Arms, from Pole to Pole, the World shall shake:  
And, with myself, keep all Mankind awake.  Emp. 
Believe me, Son, and needless trouble spare;  
'Tis a base World, and is not worth our care.  
The Vulgar, a scarce animated Clod,  
Ne'er pleased with ought 'em, above Prince or God.  
Were I a God, the drunken Globe should roll:  
The little Emmets with the humane Soul  
Care for themselves, while at my ease I sat,  
And second Causes did the work of Fate.  
Or, if I would take care, that care should be  
For Wit that scorned the World, and lived like me.  To them, Nourmahal, Zayda, and Attendants. Nour. 
My dear Morat, Embracing her Son.  
This day propitious to us all has been:  
You're now a Monarch's Heir, and I a Queen.  
Your youthful Father now may quit the State,  
And finds the ease he sought, indulged by Fate.  
Cares shall not keep him on the Throne awake,  
Nor break the golden Slumbers he would take.  Emp. 
In vain I struggled to the Goal of Life,  
While Rebel-Sons, and an imperious Wife  
Still dragged me backward into noise and strife.  Mor. 
Be that remembrance lost; and be't my pride  
To be your pledge of peace on either side.  To them, Aureng-Zebe. Aur. 
With all th'assurance Innocence can bring,  
Fearless without, because secure within,  
Armed with my courage, unconcerned I see  
This pomp; a shame to you, a pride to me.  
Shame is but where with wickedness 'tis joined;  
And, while no baseness in this breast I find,  
I have not lost the birthright of my mind.  Emp. 
Children (the blind effect of Love and Chance,  
Formed by their sportive Parent's ignorance)  
Bear from their birth th'impression of a Slave:  
Whom Heaven for play-games first, and then for service gave.  
One than may be displaced, and one may Reign:  
And want of Merit, render Birthright vain.  Mor. 
Comes he t'upbraid us with his innocence?  
Seize him, and take the preaching Brachman hence.  Aur. 
Stay, Sir; I, from my years, no merit plead: To his Father.  
All my designs and acts to duty lead.  
Your Life and Glory are my only end;  
And for that Prize I with Morat contend.  Mor. 
Not him alone; I all Mankind defy.  
Who dares adventure more for both than I?  Aur. 
I know you brave, and take you at your word:  
That present service which you vaunt, afford.  
Our two Rebellious Brothers are not dead:  
Though vanquished, yet again they gather head.  
I dare you, as your Rival in renown,  
March out your Army from th'Imperial Town:  
Choose whom you please, the other leave to me:  
And set our Father absolutely free.  
This, if you do, to end all future strife,  
I am content to lead a private life:  
Disband my Army to secure the State,  
Nor aim at more, but leave the rest to Fate.  Morat. 
I'll do't. Draw out my Army on the Plain:  
War is to me a pastime, Peace a pain.  Emp. 
(to Mor.) Think better first.  
(To Aurelia) You see yourself enclosed beyond escape,  
And therefore, Proteus-like, you change your shape.  
Of promise prodigal, while power you want,  
And preaching in the Self-denying Cant.  Morat. 
Plot better; for these Arts too obvious are,  
Of gaining time, the Masterpiece of War:  
Is Aureng-Zebe so known?  Aur. 
— If Acts like mine,  
So far from interest, profit, or design,  
Can show my heart, by those I would be known:  
I wish you could as well defend your own.  
My absent Army for my Father fought:  
Yours, in these Walls▪ is to enslave him brought.  
If I come singly, you an armed guest,  
The World with ease may judge whose Cause is best.  Mor. 
My Father saw you ill designs pursue:  
And my admission showed his fear of you.  Aur. 
Himself best knows why he his Love withdraws:  
I owe him more than to declare the cause.  
But still I press our duty may be shown  
By Arms.  Mor. 
— I'll vanquish all his foes alone.  Aur. 
You speak as if you could the Fates command,  
And had no need of any other hand.  
But, since my Honour you so far suspect,  
'Tis just I should on your designs reflect.  
To prove yourself a Loyal Son, declare  
You'll lay down Arms when you conclude the War.  Mor. 
No present answer your demand requires;  
The War once done, I'll do what Heaven inspires.  
And while the Sword this Monarchy secures,  
'Tis managed by an abler Arm than yours.  Emp. 
Morat's design a doubtful meaning bears: Apart.  
In Aureng-Zebe true Loyalty appears.  
He, for my safety, does his own despise;  
Still, with his wrongs, I find his duty rise.  
I feel my Virtue struggling in my Soul,  
But stronger Passion does its power control.  
Yet be advised your ruin to prevent. To Aur. apart.  
You might be safe, if you would give consent.  Aur. 
So to your welfare I of use may be,  
My life or death are equal both to me.  Emp. 
The People's hearts are yours; the Fort yet mine:  
Be wise, and Indamora's love resign.  
I am observed: remember that I give  
This my last proof of kindness, die, or live.  Aur. 
Life, with my Indamora, I would choose;  
But, losing her, the end of living lose.  
I had considered all I ought before;  
And fear of death can make me change no more.  
The People's love so little I esteem,  
Condemned by you, I would not live by them.  
May he who must your favour now possess,  
Much better serve you, and not love you less.  Emp. 
I've heard you; and, to finish the debate, Aloud.  
Commit that Rebel prisoner to the State.  Mor. 
The deadly draught he shall begin this day:  
And languish with insensible decay.  Aur. 
I hate the lingering summons to attend,  
Death all at once would be the nobler end.  
Fate is unkind! methinks a General  
Should warm, and at the head of Armies fall.  
And my ambition did that hope pursue,  
That so I might have died in fight for you. To his Father.  Mor. 
Would I had been disposer of thy Stars;  
Thou shouldst have had thy wish, and died in Wars.  
'Tis I, not thou, have reason to repine,  
That thou shouldst fall by any hand, but mine.  Aur. 
When thou wert formed, Heaven did a Man begin;  
But the brute Soul, by chance, was shuffled in.  
In Woods and wild's thy Monarchy maintain:  
Where valiant Beasts, by force and rapine, reign.  
In Life's next Scene, if Transmigration be,  
Some Bear or Lion is reserved for thee.  Mor. 
Take heed thou com'st not in that Lion's way:  
I prophesy thou wilt thy Soul convey  
Into a Lamb, and be again my Prey.  
Hence with that dreaming Priest.  Nour. 
— Let me prepare  
The poisonous draught: his death shall be my care.  
Near my Apartment let him prisoner be:  
That I his hourly ebbs of life may see.  Aur. 
My life I would not ransom with a prayer:  
'Tis vile, since 'tis not worth my Father's care.  
I go not, Sir, indebted to my grave:  
You paid yourself, and took the life you gave. Exit.  Emp. 
O that I had more sense of virtue left, Aside.  
Or were of that, which yet remains, bereft.  
I've just enough to know how I offend,  
And, to my shame, have not enough to mend.  
Lead to the Mosque—  Mor. 
Love's pleasures why should dull devotion stay?  
Heaven to my Melesinda's but the way.  Exeunt Emperor, Morat, and Train. Zayd. 
Sure Aureng-Zebe has somewhat of Divine,  
Whose virtue through so dark a cloud can shine.  
Fortune has from Morat this day removed  
The greatest Rival, and the best beloved.  Nour. 
He is not yet removed.  Zayd. 
— He lives, 'tis true;  
But soon must die, and, what I mourn, by you.  Nour. 
My Zayda, may thy words prophetic be: Embracing her eagerly.  
I take the Omen, let him die by me.  
He stifled in my arms shall lose his breath:  
And Life itself shall envious be of Death.  Zay. 
Bless me, you Powers above!  Nour. 
— Why dost thou start?  
Is Love so strange? or have not I a heart?  
Could Aureng-Zebe so lovely seem to thee,  
And I want eyes that noble worth to see?  
Thy little Soul was but to wonder moved:  
My sense of it was higher, and I loved.  
That Man, that Godlike Man, so brave, so great;  
But these are thy small praises I repeat.  
I'm carried by a Tide of Love away:  
He's somewhat more than I myself can say.  Zay. 
Though all th'idea you can form be true,  
He must not, cannot be possessed by you.  
If contradicting interests could be mixed,  
Nature herself hast cast a bar betwixt.  
And, ere you reach to this incestuous Love,  
You must Divine and Humane Rights remove,  Nour. 
Count this among the Wonders Love has done:  
I had forgot he was my Husband's Sun!  Zay. 
Nay, more; you have forgot who is your own:  
For whom your care so long designed the Throne.  
Morat must fall, if Aureng-Zebe should rise.  Nour. 
'Tis true; but who was ere in love, and wise?  
Why was that fatal knot of Marriage tied,  
Which did, by making us too near, divide?  
Divides me from my Sex! for Heaven, I find  
Excludes but me alone of Womankind.  
I stand with guilt confounded, lost with shame,  
And yet made wretched only by a name.  
If names have such command on humane Life,  
Love sure's a name that's more Divine than Wife.  
That Sovereign power all guilt from action takes,  
At least the stains are beautiful it makes.  Zay. 
Th'encroaching ill you early should oppose:  
Flattered 'tis worse, and by indulgence grows.  Nour. 
Alas! and what have I not said or done?  
I fought it to the last: and Love has won.  
A bloody Conquest; which destruction brought,  
And ruined all the Country where he fought.  
Whether this Passion from above was sent  
The Fate of him Heaven favours to prevent,  
Or as the curse of Fortune in excess;  
That, stretching, would beyond its reach possess:  
And, with a taste which plenty does deprave,  
Loathes lawful good, and lawless ill does crave?  Zay. 
But yet consider—  Nour. 
— No, 'tis loss of time:  
Think how to farther, not divert my crime.  
My artful Engines instantly I'll move:  
And choose the soft and gentlest hour of Love.  
The Under-Provost of the Fort is mine.  
But see, Morat! I'll whisper my design.  Enter Morat with Arimant, as talking: Attendants. Arim. 
And for that cause was not in public seen:  
But stays in Prison with the captive Queen.  Mor. 
Let my Attendants wait; I'll be alone:  
Where least of State, there most of Love is shown.  Nour. 
My Son, your business is not hard to guess; To Mor.  
Long absence makes you eager to possess:  
I will not importune you by my stay;  
She merits all the Love which you can pay.  Exit with Zayda. Re-enter Arimaut, with Melesinda; than Exit. Morat runs to Melecinda, and embraces her. Mor. 
Should I not chide you, that you chose to stay  
In gloomy shades, and lost a glorious day?  
Lost the first fruits of joy you should possess  
In my return, and made my Triumph less?  Mel. 
Should I not chide, that you could stay and see  
Those joys, preferring public Pomp to me?  
Through my dark Cell your shouts of Triumph rung:  
I heard with pleasure; but I thought 'em long.  Mor. 
The Public will in Triumphs rudely share.  
And Kings the rudeness of their joys must bear:  
But I made haste to set my Captive free:  
And thought that work was only worthy me.  
The Fame of ancient Matrons you pursue;  
And stand a blameless pattern to the new.  
I have not words to praise such Acts as these:  
But take my Heart, and mould it as you please.  Mel. 
A trial of your kindness I must make,  
Though not for mine so much as Virtue's sake.  
The Queen of Cassimeer—  Mor. 
— No more, my love;  
That only suit I beg you not to move.  
That she's in Bonds for Aureng-Zebe I know,  
And should, by my consent, continue so.  
The good old man, I fear, will pity show.  
My Father dotes, and let him still dote on;  
He buys his Mistress dearly with his Throne.  Mel. 
See her; and then be cruel if you can.  Mor. 
'Tis not with me as with a private Man.  
Such may be swayed by Honour, or by Love;  
But Monarchs, only by their interest move.  Mel. 
Heaven does a Tribute for your power demand:  
He leaves th'oppressed and poor upon your hand.  
And those who Stewards of his pity prove,  
He blesses, in return, with public Love.  
In his distress, some Miracle is shown:  
If exiled, Heaven restores him to his Throne.  
He needs no Guard while any Subjects near:  
Nor, like his Tyrant Neighbours, lives in fear:  
No Plots th'Alarm to his retirements give:  
'Tis all Mankind's concern that he should live.  Mor. 
You promised friendship in your low estate▪  
And should forget it in your better Fate;  
Such Maxims are more plausible than true;  
But somewhat must be given to Love and you.  
I'll view this Captive Queen; to let her see,  
Prayers and complaints are lost on such as me.  Mel. 
I'll bear the news: Heaven knows how much I'm pleased,  
That, by my care, th'afflicted may be eased.  As she is going off, Enter Indamora. Ind. 
I'll spare your pains, and venture out alone,  
Since you, fair Princess, my protection own.  
But you, brave Prince, a harder task must find; To Morat kneeling, who takes her up.  
In saving me, you would but half be kind.  
An humble Suppliant at your feet I lie;  
You have condemned my better part to die.  
Without my Aureng-Zebe I cannot live;  
Revoke his Doom, or else my Sentence give.  Mel. 
If Melesinda in your love have part,  
Which, to suspect, would break my tender heart:  
If Love, like mine, may for a Lover plead,  
By the chaste pleasures of our Nuptial Bed,  
By all the interest my past sufferings make,  
And all I yet would suffer for your sake;  
By you yourself, the last and dearest tie—  Mor. 
You move in vain; for Aureng-Zebe must die.  Ind. 
Could that Decree from any Brother come?  
Nature herself is sentenced in your doom.  
Piety is no more, she sees her place  
Usurped by Monsters, and a savage Race.  
From her soft Eastern Climes you drive her forth,  
To the cold Mansions of the utmost North.  
How can our Prophet suffer you to Reign,  
When he looks down, and sees your Brother slain?  
Avenging Furies will your life pursue:  
Think there's a Heaven, Morat, though not for you.  Mel. 
Her words imprint a terror on my mind.  
What if this death, which is for him designed,  
Had been your Doom, (far be that Augury!)  
And you, not Aureng-Zebe, condemned to die?  
Weigh well the various turns of Humane Fate,  
And seek, by Mercy, to secure your State.  Ind. 
Had Heaven the Crown for Aureng-Zebe designed,  
Pity, for you, had pierced his generous mind.  
Pity does with a Noble Nature suit:  
A Brother's life had suffered no dispute.  
All things have right in life, our Prophet's care  
Commands the being's even of Brutes to spare.  
Though interest his restraint has justified,  
Can life, and to a Brother, be denied?  Mor. 
All Reasons for his safety urged, are weak:  
And yet, methinks, 'tis Heaven to hear you speak.  Mel. 
'Tis part of your own being to invade—  Mor. 
Nay, if she fail to move, would you persuade? Turning to Inda.  
My Brother does a glorious Fate pursue.  
I envy him, that he must fall for you.  
He had been base had he released his right:  
For such an Empire none but Kings should fight.  
If with a Father, he disputes this prize,  
My wonder ceases when I see these Eyes.  Mel. 
And can you then deny those Eyes you praise?  
Can Beauty wonder, and not pity raise?  Mor. 
Your intercession now is needless grown:  
Retire, and let me speak with her alone.  Melesinda retires, weeping, to the side of the Theatre. 
Queen, that you may not fruitless tears employ, Taking Indamora 's hand.  
I bring you news to fill your heart with joy:  
Your Lover King of all the East shall Reign:  
For Aureng-Zebe to morrow shall be slain.  Ind. 
The hopes you raised you've blasted with a breath: Starting back.  
With Triumphs you began, but end with Death.  
Did you not say, my Lover should be King?  Mor. 
ay, in Morat, the best of Lovers bring?  
For one forsaken both of Earth and Heaven,  
Your kinder Stars a nobler choice have given:  
My Father, while I please, a King appears;  
His Power is more declining than his Years.  
An Emperor and Lover, but in show:  
But you, in me, have Youth and Fortune too.  
As Heaven did to your eyes and form Divine,  
Submit the Fate of all th'Imperial Line;  
So was it ordered by its wise Decree,  
That you should find 'em all comprised in me.  Ind. 
If, Sir, I seem not discomposed with rage,  
Feed not your fancy with a false presage.  
Farther to press your Courtship is but vain:  
A cold refusal carries more disdain,  
Unsettled Virtue stormy may appear;  
Honour, like mine, serenely is severe.  
To scorn your person, and reject your Crown,  
Disorder not my face into a frown. Turns from him.  Mor. 
Your Fortune you should reverently have used:  
Such offers are not twice to be refused.  
I go to Aureng-Zebe, and am in haste:  
For your Commands, they're like to be the last.  Ind. 
Tell him,  
With my own death I would his life redeem;  
But, less than Honour, both our Lives esteem.  Mor. 
Have you no more?  Ind. 
— What shall I do or say? Aside.  
He must not in this fury go away.  
Tell him, I did in vain his Brother move;  
And yet he falsely said, he was in love.  
Falsely; for had he truly loved, at least,  
He would have given one day to my request.  Mor. 
A little yielding may my love advance:  
She darted from her eyes a sidelong glance,  
Just as she spoke; and, like her words, it flew:  
Seemed not to beg, what yet she bid me do.  
To her. A Brother, Madam, cannot give a day;  
A Servant, and who hopes to merit, may.  Mel. 
If, Sir— coming to him.  Mor. 
No more— set speeches, and a formal tale,  
With none but Statesmen and grave Fools prevail.  
Dry up your tears, and practise every Grace,  
That fits the Pageant of your Royal place. Exit.  Mel. 
Madam, the strange reverse of Fate you see: To Ind.  
I pitied you, now you may pity me. Exit after him.  Ind. 
Poor Princess! thy hard Fate I could bemoan,  
Had I not nearer sorrows of my own.  
Beauty is seldom fortunate, when great:  
A vast Estate, but overcharged with Debt.  
Like those whom want to baseness does betray:  
I'm forced to flatter him I cannot pay.  
O would he be content to seize the Throne:  
I beg the life of Aureng-Zebe alone.  
Whom Heaven would bless, from Pomp it will remove,  
And make their wealth in privacy and Love. Exit.   

ACT IU.  Aureng-Zebe solus. 
DIstrust, and darkness, of a future state,  
Make poor Mankind so fearful of their Fate.  
Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear  
To be we know not what, we know not where. Soft Music.  
This is the Ceremony of my Fate:  
A parting Treat; and I'm to die in State.  
They lodge me, as I were the Persian King:  
And with luxurious Pomp my death they bring.  To him Nourmahal. Nour. 
I thought, before you drew your latest breath,  
To smooth your passage, and to soften death;  
For I would have you, when you upward move,  
Speak kindly of me, to our Friends above:  
Nor name me there th' occasion of your Fate;  
Or what my Interest does, impute to Hate.  Aur. 
I ask not for what end your Pomp's designed;  
Whether t'insult, or to compose my mind:  
I marked it not;  
But, knowing Death would soon th'Assault begin,  
Stood firm collected in my Strength within:  
To guard that breach did all my Forces guide,  
And left unmanned the quiet Senses side.  Nour. 
Because Morat from me his being took,  
All I can say will much suspected look:  
'Tis little to confess your Fate I grieve;  
Yet more than you would easily believe.  Aur. 
Since my inevitable death you know,  
You safely unavailing pity show:  
'Tis Popular to mourn a dying Foe.  Nour. 
You made my Liberty your late request:  
Is no return due from a grateful breast?  
I grow impatient, till I find some way  
Great Offices, with greater, to repay.  Aur. 
When I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat;  
Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;  
Trust on, and think to morrow will repay:  
To morrow's falser than the former day;  
Lies worse; and while it says, We shall be blessed  
With some new joys, cuts off what we possessed.  
Strange cozenage! none would live passed years again,  
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;  
And, from the dregs of Life, think to receive  
What the first sprightly running could not give.  
I'm tired with waiting for this Chymic Gold,  
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.  Nour. 
'Tis not for nothing that we life pursue;  
It pays our hopes with something still that's new:  
Each day's a Mistress, unenjoyed before;  
Like Travellers, we're pleased with seeing more.  
Did you but know what joys your way attend,  
You would not hurry to your journey's end.  Aur. 
I need not haste the end of Life to meet;  
The precipice is just beneath my feet.  Nour. 
Think not my sense of Virtue is so small:  
I'll rather leap down first, and break your fall.  
My Aureng-Zebe, (may I not call you so?) Taking him by the hand.  
Behold me now no longer as your Foe;  
I am not, cannot be your Enemy:  
Look, is there any malice in my eye?  
Pray sit— Both sit.  
That distance shows too much respect, or fear:  
You'll find no danger in approaching near.  Aur. 
Forgive th'amazement of my doubtful state:  
This kindness from the Mother of Morat!  
Or is't some Angel, pitying what I bore,  
Who takes that shape, to make my wonder more?  Nour. 
Think me your better Genius in disguise;  
Or any thing that more may charm your eyes.  
Your Guardian Angel never could excel  
In care, nor could he love his charge so well.  Aur. 
Whence can proceed so wonderful a change?  Nour. 
Can kindness to desert, like yours, be strange?  
Kindness by secret Sympathy is tied;  
For Noble Souls in Nature are allied.  
I saw with what a brow you braved your Fate;  
Yet with what mildness bore your Father's hate.  
My Virtue, like a String wound up by Art,  
To the same sound, when yours was touched, took part,  
At distance shook, and trembled at my heart.  Aur. 
I'll not complain my Father is unkind,  
Since so much pity from a Foe I find.  
Just Heaven reward this act.  Nour. 
'Tis well the debt no payment does demand,  
You turn me over to another hand.  
But happy, happy she,  
And with the Blessed above to be compared,  
Whom you yourself would, with yourself, reward:  
The greatest, nay, the fairest of her kind,  
Would envy her that Bliss which you designed.  Aur. 
Great Princes thus, when Favourites they raise,  
To justify their Grace, their Creatures praise.  Nour. 
As Love the Noblest Passion we account,  
So to the highest Object it should mount.  
It shows you brave when mean desires you shun.  
An Eagle only can behold the Sun:  
And so must you; if yet, presage Divine  
There be in Dreams, or was't a Vision mine?  Aur. 
Of me?  Nour. 
— And who could else employ my thought?  
I dreamed, your Love was by Love's Goddess sought;  
Officious Cupid's, hovering o'er your head,  
Held Myrtle wreaths: beneath your feet were spread  
What Sweets soe'er Sabean Springs disclose,  
Our Indian Jasmine, or the Syrian Rose:  
The wanton Ministers arround you strove  
For service, and inspired their Mother's Love:  
Close by your side, and languishing, she lies,  
With blushing cheeks, short breath, and wishing eyes;  
Upon your breast supinely lay her head,  
While, on your face, her famished sight she fed.  
Then, with a sigh, into these words she broke,  
(And gathered humid kisses as she spoke.)  
Dull, and ingrateful! must I offer love?  
Desired of Gods, and envied even by jove:  
And dost thou ignorance or fear pretend?  
Mean Soul! and dar'st not gloriously offend?  
Then, pressing thus his hand—  Aur. 
— I'll hear no more. Rising up.  
'Twas impious to have understood before;  
And I, till now, endeavoured to mistake  
Th'incestuous meaning which too plain you make.  Nour. 
And why this niceness to that pleasure shown,  
Where Nature sums up all her joys in one;  
Gives all she can, and labouring still to give,  
Makes it so great, we can but taste and live:  
So fills the Senses, that the Soul seems fled,  
And thought it self-does, for the time, lie dead;  
Till, like a String screwed up with eager haste,  
It breaks, and is too exquisite to last?  Aur. 
heavens'! can you this, without just vengeance, hear?  
When will you thunder, if it now be clear?  
Yet her alone let not your Thunder seize:  
I, too, deserve to die, because I please.  Nour. 
Custom our Native Royalty does awe;  
Promiscuous Love is Nature's general Law:  
For whosoever the first Lovers were,  
Brother and Sister made the second Pair,  
And doubled, by their love, their piety.  Aur. 
Hence, hence, and to some barbarous Climate fly,  
Which only Brutes in humane form does yield,  
And Man grows wild in Nature's common Field.  
Who eat their Parents, piety pretend;  
Yet there no Sons their Sacred Bed ascend.  
To veil great Sins, a greater Crime you choose;  
And, in your Incest, your adultery lose.  Nour. 
In vain this haughty fury you have shown.  
How I adore a Soul so like my own!  
You must be mine, that you may learn to live:  
Know joys, which only she who loves can give.  
Nor think that action you upbraid, so ill:  
I am not changed; I love my Husband still;  
But love him as he was, when youthful grace,  
And the first down began to shade his face:  
That Image does my Virgin-flames renew,  
And all your Father shines more bright in you.  Aur. 
In me a horror of myself you raise;  
Cursed by your love, and blasted by your praise.  
You find new ways to prosecute my Fate;  
And your least-guilty passion was your Hate.  Nour. 
I beg my death, if you can Love deny. Offering him a Dagger.  Aur. 
I'll grant you nothing; no, not even to die.  Nour. 
Know then, you are not half so kind as I.  Stamps with her foot. Enter Mutes, some with Swords drawn, one with a Cup. 
You've chosen, and may now repent too late.  
Behold th'effect of what you wished, my Hate.  
This Cup, a cure for both our ills has brought: Taking the Cup to present him.  
You need not fear a Philtre in the Draught.  Aur. 
All must be poison which can come from thee; Receiving it from her.  
But this the least. T'immortal Liberty  
This first I pour— like dying Socrates; Spilling a little of it.  
Grim though he be, Death pleases when he frees.  As he is going to drink, Enter Morat attended. Mor. 
Make not such haste, you must my leisure stay:  
Your Fate's deferred, you shall not die to day. Taking the Cup from him.  Nour. 
What foolish pity has possessed your mind,  
To alter what your prudence once designed?  Mor. 
What if I please to lengthen out his date  
A day, and take a pride to cozen Fate?  Nour. 
'Twill not be safe to let him live an hour.  Mor. 
I'll do't, to show my Arbitrary power.  Nour. 
Fortune may take him from your hands again,  
And you repent th'occasion lost in vain.  Mor. 
I smile at what your Female fear foresees:  
I'm in Fate's place, and dictate her Decrees.  
Let Arimant be called. Exit one of his Attendants.  Aur. 
Give me the poison, and I'll end your strife:  
I hate to keep a poor precarious life.  
Would I my safety on base terms receive,  
Know, Sir, I could have lived without your leave.  
But those I could accuse, I can forgive:  
By my disdainful silence, let 'em live.  Nour. 
What am I, that you dare to bind my hand? To Mor.  
So low, I've not a Murder at command!  
Can you not one poor Life to her afford,  
Her who gave up whole Nations to your Sword?  
And from th'abundance of whose Soul and Heat,  
Th'o'erflowing served to make your mind so great.  Mor. 
What did that greatness in a Woman's mind?  
Ill lodged, and weak to act what it designed.  
Pleasure's your portion, and your slothful ease:  
When Man's at leisure, study how to please.  
Soften his angry hours with servile care,  
And when he calls, the ready Feast prepare.  
From Wars, and from affairs of State abstain:  
Women Emasculate a Monarch's Reign;  
And murmuring Crowds, who see 'em shine with Gold,  
That pomp, as their own ravished Spoils behold.  Nour. 
Rage chokes my words: 'tis Womanly to weep: Aside.  
In my swollen breast my close revenge I'll keep;  
I'll watch his tenderest part, and there strike deep. Exit.  Aur. 
Your strange proceeding does my wonder move;  
Yet seems not to express a Brother's love.  
Say to what Cause my rescued life I owe.  Mor. 
If what you ask would please, you should not know.  
But since that knowledge, more than Death, will grieve,  
Know, Indamora gained you this Reprieve.  Aur. 
And whence had she the power to work your change?  Mor. 
The power of Beauty is not new or strange.  
Should she command me more, I could obey;  
But her request was bounded with a day.  
Take that; and, if you'll spare my farther crime,  
Be kind, and grieve to death against your time.  Enter Arimant. 
Remove this Prisoner to some safer place:  
He has, for Indamora's sake, found grace:  
And, from my Mother's rage must guarded be,  
Till you receive a new Command from me.  Arim. 
Thus Love, and Fortune, persecute me still,  
And make me Slave to every Rivals will. Aside.  Aur. 
How I disdain a Life, which I must buy  
With your contempt, and her inconstancy!  
For a few hours, my whole content I pay:  
You shall not force on me another day.  Exit with Arimant. Enter Melesinda. Mel. 
I have been seeking you this hour's long space,  
And feared to find you in another place;  
But, since you're here, my jealousy grows less:  
You will be kind to my unworthiness.  
What shall I say? I love to that degree,  
Each glance another way is robbed from me.  
Absence, and Prisons, I could bear again;  
But sink, and die, beneath your least disdain.  Mor. 
Why do you give your mind this needless care,  
And, for yourself, and me, new pains prepare?  
I ne'er approved this passion in excess:  
If you would show your love, distrust me less.  
I hate to be pursued from place to place:  
Meet, at each turn, a stale domestic face.  
Th'approach of jealousy Love cannot bear,  
He's wild, and soon on wing, if watchful eyes come near.  Mel. 
From your loved presence, how can I depart?  
My eyes pursue the object of my heart.  Mor. 
You talk as if it were our Bridal night:  
Fondness is still th' effect of new delight;  
And Marriage but the pleasure of a day:  
The metal's base the Gild worn away.  Mel. 
I fear I'm guilty of some great offence,  
And that has bred this cold indifference.  Mor. 
The greatest in the world to flesh and blood:  
You fondly love much longer than you should.  Mel. 
If that be all which makes your discontent,  
Of such a crime I never can repent.  Mor. 
Would you force Love upon me, which I shun?  
And bring course fare, when appetite is gone?  Mel. 
Why did I not, in Prison, die before  
My fatal freedom made me suffer more?  
I had been pleased to think I died for you,  
And doubly pleased, because you then were true:  
Then I had hope; but now, alas, have none.  Mor. 
You say you love me; let that love be shown.  
'Tis in your power to make my happiness.  Mel. 
Speak quickly: to command me is to bless.  Mor. 
To Indamora you my Suit must move:  
You'll sure speak kindly of the man you love.  Mel. 
Oh! rather let me perish by your hand,  
Than break my heart, by this unkind command:  
Think 'tis the only one I could deny;  
And that 'tis harder to refuse than die.  
Try, if you please, my Rival's heart to win:  
I'll bear the pain, but not promote the sin.  
You own what e'er perfections man can boast,  
And if she view you with my eyes, she's lost.  Mor. 
Here I renounce all love, all Nuptial ties:  
Hence forward live a stranger to my eyes:  
When I appear, see you avoid the place,  
And haunt me not with that unlucky face.  Mel. 
Hard, as it is, I this command obey,  
And haste, while I have life, to go away:  
In pity stay some hours, till I am dead,  
That blameless you may court my Rival's Bed.  
My hated face I'll not presume to show;  
Yet I may watch your steps where e'er you go.  
Unseen, I'll gaze; and with my latest breath,  
Bless, while I die, the Author of my death. Weeping.  Enter Emperor. Emp. 
When your Triumphant Fortune high appears,  
What cause can draw these unbecoming tears?  
Let cheerfulness on happy Fortune wait,  
And give not thus the Counter-time to Fate.  Mel. 
Fortune long frowned, and has but lately smiled:  
I doubt a Foe so newly reconciled.  
You saw but sorrow in its waning form,  
A working Sea remaining from a Storm;  
When the now weary Waves roll o'er the Deep,  
And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep.  Emp. 
Your inward griefs you smother in your mind;  
But Fame's loud voice proclaims your Lord unkind.  Mor. 
Let Fame be busy where she has to do:  
Tell of fought Fields, and every pompous Show.  
Those Tales are fit to fill the People's ears;  
Monarchs, unquestioned, move in higher Spheres.  Mel. 
Believe not Rumour, but yourself; and see  
The kindness 'twixt my plighted Lord and me. Kissing Morat.  
This is our State; thus happily we live;  
These are the quarrels which we take and give.  
(Aside to Mor.) I had no other way to force a Kiss.  
Forgive my last Farewell to you, and Bliss. Exit.  Emp. 
Your haughty carriage shows too much of scorn,  
And love, like hers, deserves not that return.  Mor. 
You'll please to leave me judge of what I do,  
And not examine by the outward show.  
Your usage of my Mother might be good:  
I judged it not.  Emp. 
— Nor was it fit you should.  Mor. 
Then, in as equal Balance weigh my deeds.  Emp. 
My Right, and my Authority, exceeds.  
Suppose (what I'll not grant) Injustice done;  
Is judging me the duty of a Son?  Mor. 
Not of a Son, but of an Emperor:  
You canceled Duty when you gave me power.  
If your own Actions on your Will you ground,  
Mine shall hereafter know no other bound.  
What meant you when you called me to a Throne?  
Was it to please me with a Name alone?  Emp. 
'Twas that I thought your gratitude would know  
What to my partial kindness you did owe:  
That what your Birth did to your Claim deny,  
Your merit of Obedience might supply.  Mor. 
To your own thoughts such hopes you might propose;  
But I took Empire not on terms like those.  
Of business you complained; now take your ease:  
Enjoy what e'er decrepit Age can please:  
Eat, Sleep, and tell long Tales of what you were  
In flower of Youth, if any one will hear,  Emp. 
Power like new Wine, does your weak Brain surprise,  
And its mad fumes, in hot discourses, rise;  
But time these giddy vapours will remove;  
Mean while I'll taste the sober joys of Love.  Mor. 
You cannot Love, nor pleasures take, or give;  
But life begin, when 'tis too late to live.  
On a tired Courser you pursue delight,  
Let slip your morning and set out at night.  
If you have lived, take thankfully the past:  
Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.  
If you have not enjoyed what Youth could give,  
But life sunk through you like a leaky Sieve,  
Accuse yourself you lived not while you might;  
But, in the Captive Queen resign your right.  
I've now resolved to fill your useless place;  
I'll take that Post to cover your disgrace,  
And love her, for the honour of my Race.  Emp. 
Thou dost but try how far I can forbear,  
Nor art that Monster which thou wouldst appear:  
But do not wantonly my passion move;  
I pardon nothing that relates to Love.  
My fury does, like jealous Forts, pursue  
With death, even Strangers who but come to view.  Mor. 
I did not only view, but will invade:  
Could you shed venom from your reverend shade,  
Like Trees, beneath whose arms 'tis death to sleep;  
Did rolling Thunder your fenced Fortress keep,  
Thence would I snatch my Semele, like jove,  
And midst the dreadful Rack enjoy my Love.  Emp. 
Have I for this, ungrateful as thou art,  
When Right, when Nature, struggled in my heart;  
When Heaven called on me for thy Brother's claim,  
Broke all, and fullied my unspotted Fame?  
Wert thou to Empire, by my baseness, brought,  
And wouldst thou ravish what so dear I bought?  
Dear! for my Conscience and its peace I gave:  
Why was my Reason made my passion's slave?  
I see heavens' Justice; thus the Powers Divine,  
Pay Crimes with Crimes and punish mine by thine.  Mor. 
Crimes let them pay, and punish as they please:  
What Power makes mine, by Power I mean to seize.  
Since 'tis to that they their own greatness owe  
Above, why should they question mine below? Exit.  Emp. 
Prudence, thou vainly in our Youth art sought,  
And with Age purchased art too dearly bought:  
We're passed the use of Wit, for which we toil;  
Late Fruit, and planted in too cold a Soil.  
My Stock of Fame is lavished and decayed;  
No profit of the vast profusion made.  
Too late my folly I repent; I know  
My Aureng-Zebe would ne'er have used me so.  
But, by his ruin I prepared my own;  
And, like a naked Tree, my shelter gone,  
To Winds and Winter-storms must stand exposed alone. Exit.  Aureng-Zebe, Arimant. Arim. 
Give me not thanks, which I will ne'er deserve;  
But know, 'tis for a Nobler Price I serve.  
By Indamora's will you're hither brought:  
All my reward, in her command I sought.  
The rest your Letter tells you.— See, like Light,  
She comes; and I must vanish, like the Night. Exit.  Enter Indamora. Ind. 
'Tis now that I begin to live again:  
heavens', I forgive you all my fear and pain:  
Since I behold my Aureng-Zebe appear,  
I could not buy him at a Price too dear.  
His name alone afforded me relief,  
Repeated as a charm to cure my grief.  
I that loved name did, as some God, invoke,  
And printed kisses on it while I spoke.  Aur. 
Short ease; but long, long pains from you I find:  
Health, to my eyes; but poison, to my mind.  
Why are you made so excellently fair?  
So much above what other Beauties are,  
That, even in cursing, you new form my breath;  
And make me bless those Eyes which give me death?  Ind. 
What reason for your curses can you find?  
My Eyes your conquest, not your death, designed.  
If they offend, 'tis that they are too kind.  Aur. 
The ruins they have wrought, you will not see:  
Too kind they are, indeed, but not to me,  Ind. 
Think you base Interest Souls, like mine, can sway?  
Or that, for Greatness, I can Love betray?  
No, Aureng-Zebe, you merit all my heart,  
And I'm too Noble but to give a part.  
Your Father, and an Empire! am I known  
No more? or have so weak a judgement shown,  
In choosing you, to change you for a Throne?  Aur. 
How, with a Truth, you would a Falsehood blind!  
'Tis not my Father's love you have designed;  
Your choice is fixed where Youth and Power are joined.  Ind. 
Where Youth and Power are joined! has he a name?  Aur. 
You would be told; you glory in your shame:  
There's Music in the Sound; and, to provoke  
Your pleasure more, by me it must be spoke.  
Then, than it ravishes, when your pleased ear  
The sound does from a wretched Rival hear.  
Morat's the name your heart leaps up to meet,  
While Aureng-Zebe lies dying at your feet.  Ind. 
Who told you this?  Aur. 
— Are you so lost to shame?  
Morat, Morat, Morat: You love the name  
So well, your ev'ry question ends in that;  
You force me still to answer you, Morat.  
Morat, who best could tell what you revealed;  
Morat, too proud to keep his joy concealed.  Ind. 
Howe'er unjust your jealousy appear,  
It shows the loss, of what you love, you fear;  
And does my pity, not my anger move:  
I'll fond it, as the froward Child of Love.  
To show the truth of my unaltered breast,  
Know, that your life was given at my request:  
At least Reprieved. When Heaven denied you aid,  
She brought it; she, whose falsehood you upbraid.  Aur. 
And 'tis by that you would your falsehood hide;  
Had you not asked, how happy had I died!  
Accurst Reprieve! not to prolong my breath,  
It brought a lingering, and more painful death.  
I have not lived since first I heard the news;  
The gift the guilty giver does accuse.  
You knew the price, and the request did move,  
That you might pay the Ransom with your love.  Ind. 
Your accusation must, I see, take place;  
And I am guilty, infamous, and base!  Aur. 
If you are false, those Epithets are small;  
You're then the things, the abstract of'em all.  
And you are false: you promised him your love.  
No other price a heart so hard could move.  
Do not I know him? could his Brutal mind  
Be wrought upon? could he be just, or kind?  
Insultingly, he made your love his boast;  
Gave me my life, and told me what it cost.  
Speak; answer. I would fain yet think you true:  
Lie; and I'll not believe myself, but you.  
Tell me you love; I'll pardon the deceit,  
And, to be fooled, myself assist the cheat.  Ind. 
No; 'tis too late: I have no more to say.  
If you'll believe I have been false, you may.  Aur. 
I would not; but your crimes too plain appear:  
Nay, even that I should think you true, you fear.  
Did I not tell you, I would be deceived?  Ind. 
I'm not concerned to have my truth believed.  
You would be cozined! would assist the cheat!  
But I'm too plain to join in the deceit:  
I'm pleased you think me false—  
And, whatsoe'er my Letter did pretend,  
I made this meeting for no other end.  Aur. 
Kill me not quite, with this indifference:  
When you are guiltless, boast not an offence.  
I know you better than yourself you know:  
Your heart was true, but did some frailty show:  
You promised him your Love, that I might live;  
But promised what you never meant to give.  
Speak, was't not so? confess; I can forgive.  Ind. 
Forgive what dull excuses you prepare!  
As if your thoughts of me were worth my care.  Aur. 
Ah Traitress! Ah ingrate! Ah faithless mind!  
Ah Sex, invented first to damn Mankind!  
Nature took care to dress you up for sin:  
Adorned, without; unfinished left, within.  
Hence, by no judgement you your loves direct;  
Talk much, ne'er think, and still the wrong affect.  
So much self-love in your composures mixed,  
That love to others still remains unfixed:  
Greatness, and Noise, and Show, are your delight;  
Yet wise men love you, in their own despite:  
And, finding in their native Wit no ease.  
Are forced to put your folly on to please.  Ind. 
Now you shall know what cause you have to rage;  
But to increase your fury, not assuage:  
I found the way your Brother's heart to move,  
Yet promised not the least return of Love.  
His Pride, and Brutal fierceness I abhor;  
But scorn your mean suspicions of me more.  
I owed my Honour and my Fame this care:  
Know what your folly lost you, and despair. Turning from him.  Aur. 
Too cruelly your innocence you tell;  
Show Heaven, and damn me to the pit of Hell.  
Now I believe you; 'tis not yet too late:  
You may forgive, and put a stop to Fate:  
Save me, just sinking, and no more to rise. She frowns.  
How can you look with such relentless eyes?  
Or let your mind by penitence be moved,  
Or I'm resolved to think you never loved.  
You are not cleared, unless you mercy speak:  
I'll think you took th'occasion thus to break.  Ind. 
Small jealousies, 'tis true, inflame desire;  
Too great, not Fan, but quite blow out the Fire:  
Yet I did love you, till such pains I bore,  
That I dare trust myself and you no more.  
Let me not love you; but here end my pain:  
Distrust may make me wretched once again.  
Now, with full Sails, into the Port I move,  
And safely can unlade my breast of Love;  
Quiet, and calm: why should I then go back,  
To tempt the second hazard of a Wrack?  Aur. 
Behold these dying eyes, see their submissive awe;  
These tears, which fear of death could never draw:  
Heard you that sigh? from my heaved heart it passed,  
And said, If you forgive not, 'tis my last.  
Love mounts, and rowls about my stormy mind,  
Like Fire, that's born by a tempestuous Wind.  
Oh, I could stifle you, with eager haste!  
Devour your kisses with my hungry taste!  
Rush on you! eat you! wander o'er each part,  
Raving with pleasure, snatch you to my heart!  
Then hold you off, and gaze! then, with new rage,  
Invade you, till my conscious Limbs presage  
Torrents of joy, which all their banks overflow!  
So lost, so blessed, as I but then could know!  Ind. 
Be no more jealous. Giving him her hand.  Aur. 
— Give me cause no more:  
The danger's greater after, than before,  
If I relapse; to cure my jealousy  
Let me (for that's the easiest parting) die.  Ind. 
My life!  Aur. 
— My Soul!  Ind. 
— My all that Heaven can give!  
Death's life with you; without you, death to live.  To them Arimant hastily. Arim. 
Oh, we are lost, beyond all humane aid!  
The Citadel is to Morat betrayed.  
The Traitor, and the Treason, known too late;  
The false Abas delivered up the Gate.  
Even, while I speak, we're compassed round with Fate.  
The Valiant cannot fight, or Coward fly;  
But both in undistinguished Crowds must die.  Aur. 
Then my Prophetic fears are come to pass:  
Morat was always bloody; now, he's base:  
And has so far in Usurpation gone,  
He will by Parricide secure the Throne.  To them the Emperor. Emp. 
Am I forsaken, and betrayed, by all?  
Not one brave man dare, with a Monarch, fall?  
Then, welcome death, to cover my disgrace;  
I would not live to Reign o'er such a Race.  
My Aureng-Zebe! Seeing Aureng-Zebe.  
But thou no more art mine; my cruelty  
Has quite destroyed the right I had in thee.  
I have been base,  
Base even to him from whom I did receive  
All that a Son could to a Parent give:  
Behold me punished in the selfsame kind,  
Th'ungrateful does a more ungrateful find.  Aur. 
Accuse yourself no more; you could not be  
Ungrateful: could commit no crime to me:  
I only mourn my yet uncancelled score:  
You put me past the power of paying more:  
That, that's my grief, that I can only grieve,  
And bring but pity, where I would relieve;  
For had I yet ten thousand lives to pay,  
The mighty sum should go no other way.  Emp. 
Can you forgive me? 'tis not fit you should.  
Why will you be so excellently good?  
'Twill stick too black a brand upon my name:  
The Sword is needless; I shall die with shame.  
What had my age to do with Love's delight,  
Shut out from all enjoyments but the sight?  Arim. 
Sir, you forget the danger's imminent:  
This minute is not for excuses lent.  Emp. 
Disturb me not—  
How can my latest hour be better spent?  
To reconcile myself to him is more,  
Than to regain all I possessed before.  
Empire, and Life are now not worth a prayer:  
His love, alone, deserves my dying care.  Aur. 
Fighting for you, my death will glorious be.  Ind. 
Seek to preserve yourself, and live for me.  Arim. 
Lose then no farther time.  
Heaven has inspired me with a sudden thought,  
Whence your unhoped for safety may be wrought,  
Though with the hazard of my blood 'tis bought.  
But, since my life can ne'er be fortunate,  
'Tis so much sorrow well redeemed from Fate.  
You, Madam, must retire;  
Your Beauty is its own security,  
And leave the conduct of the rest to me.  
Glory will crown my life, if I succeed;  
If not, she may afford to love me dead. Aside.  Aur. 
My Father's kind; and, Madam, you forgive:  
Were Heaven so pleased, I now could wish to live.  
And, I shall live.  
With Glory, and with Love, at once I burn:  
I feel th'inspiring heat, and absent God return. Exeunt.   

ACT. V.  Indamora alone. 
THe night seems doubled with the fear she brings,  
And, o'er the Citadel, new spreads her wings.  
The Morning, as mistaken, turns about,  
And all her early fires again go out.  
Shouts, cries, and groans, first pierce my ears, and then  
A flash of Lightning draws the guilty Scene,  
And shows me Arms, and Wounds, and Dying men.  
Ah, should my Aureng-Zebe be fighting there,  
And envious Winds distinguished to my ear,  
His dying groans, and his last accents bear!  To her Morat, attended. Mor. 
The bloody business of the Night is done,  
And, in the Citadel, an Empire won.  
Our Swords so wholly did the Fates employ,  
That they, at length, grew weary to destroy:  
Refused the work we brought; and, out of breath,  
Made Sorrow and Despair attend for Death.  
But what of all my Conquest can I boast?  
My haughty pride, before your eyes, is lost:  
And Victory but gains me to present  
That Homage, which our Eastern World has sent.  Ind. 
Your Victory, alas, begets my fears:  
Can you not then triumph without my tears?  
Resolve me; (for you know my Destiny  
In Aureng-Zebe's) say, do I live, or die?  Mor. 
Urged by my Love, by hope of Empire fired;  
'Tis true, I have performed what both required:  
What Fate decreed; for when great Souls are given,  
They bear the marks of Sovereignty from Heaven.  
My Elder Brothers my forerunners came;  
Rough-draughts of Nature, ill designed, and lame:  
Blown off, like Blossoms, never made to bear;  
Till I came, finished; her last laboured care.  Ind. 
This Prologue leads to your succeeding sin:  
Blood ended what Ambition did begin.  Mor. 
'Twas rumoured, but by whom I cannot tell,  
My Father scaped from out the Citadel:  
My Brother too may live.  Ind. 
— He may.  Mor. 
— He must:  
I killed him not: and a less Fate's unjust.  
Heaven owes it me, that I may fill his room;  
A Phoenix-Lover, rising from his Tomb.  
In whom you'll lose your sorrows for the dead;  
More warm, more fierce, and fitter for your Bed.  Ind. 
Should I from Aureng-Zebe my heart divide,  
To love a Monster, and a Parricide?  
These names your swelling Titles cannot hide.  
Severe Decrees may keep our Tongues in awe;  
But to our thoughts, what Edict can give Law?  
Even you yourself, to your own breast, shall tell  
Your crimes; and your own Conscience be your Hell.  Mor. 
What business has my Conscience with a Crown?  
She sinks in Pleasures, and in Bowls will drown.  
If mirth should fail, I'll busy her with cares;  
Silence, her clamorous voice with louder Wars:  
Trumpets and Drums shall fright her from the Throne,  
As sounding Cymbals aid the labouring Moon.  Ind. 
Repelled by these, more eager she will grow;  
Spring back more strongly than a Scythian Bow:  
Amidst your Train, this unseen Judge will wait;  
Examine how you came by all your State;  
Upbraid your impious Pomp; and, in your ear,  
Will hauling, Rebel, Tyrant, Murderer.  
Your ill-got Power wan looks and care shall bring:  
Known but by discontent to be a King.  
Of Crowds afraid, yet anxious when alone;  
You'll sit and brood your sorrows on a Throne.  Mor 
Birthright's a vulgar road to Kingly sway;  
'Tis every dull-got Elder Brother's way.  
Dropped from above, he lights into a Throne;  
Grows of a piece with that he sits upon,  
heavens' choice, a low, inglorious, rightful Drone.  
But who by force a Sceptre does obtain,  
Shows he can govern that which he could gain.  
Right comes of course, what e'er he was before;  
Murder and Usurpation are no more.  Ind. 
By your own Laws you such Dominion make,  
As every stronger Power has right to take:  
And Parricide will so deform your name,  
That dispossessing you will give a claim.  
Who next Usurps, will a just Prince appear;  
So much your ruin will his Reign endear.  Mor. 
I without guilt, would mount the Royal Seat;  
But yet 'tis necessary to be great.  Ind. 
All Greatness is in Virtue understood:  
'Tis only necessary to be good.  
Tell me, what is't at which great Spirits aim,  
What most yourself desire?  Mor. 
— Renown, and Fame,  
And Power, as uncontroled as is my will.  Ind. 
How you confound desires of good and ill!  
For true renown is still with Virtue joined;  
But lust of Power le's lose th'unbridled mind.  
Yours is a Soul irregularly great,  
Which wanting temper, yet abounds with heat:  
So strong, yet so unequal pulses beat.  
A Sun which does, through vapours dimly shine:  
What pity 'tis you are not all Divine!  
New moulded, thorough lightened, and a breast  
So pure, to bear the last severest test;  
Fit to command an Empire you should gain  
By Virtue, and without a blush to Reign.  Mor. 
You show me somewhat I ne'er learned before;  
But 'tis the distant prospect of a Shore,  
Doubtful in mists; which, like enchanted ground,  
Flies from my sight, before 'tis fully found.  Ind. 
Dare to be great, without a guilty Crown;  
View it, and lay the bright temptation down:  
'Tis base to seize on all, because you may;  
That's Empire, that which I can give away:  
There's joy when to wild Will you Laws prescribe,  
When you bid Fortune carry back her Bribe:  
A joy, which none but greatest minds can taste;  
A Fame, which will to endless Ages last.  Mor. 
Renown, and Fame, in vain, I courted long;  
And still pursued 'em, though directed wrong.  
In hazard, and in toils, I heard they lay;  
Sailed farther than the Coast, but missed my way▪  
Now you have given me Virtue for my guide;  
And, with true Honour, ballasted my Pride.  
Unjust Dominion I no more pursue;  
I quit all other claims but those to you.  Ind. 
Oh be not just to halves! pay all you owe:  
Think there's a debt to Melesinda too.  
To leave no blemish on your after life;  
Reward the virtue of a Suffering Wife:  Mor. 
To love once past, I cannot backward move;  
Call yesterday again, and I may love.  
'Twas not for nothing I the Crown resigned;  
I still must own a Mercenary mind:  
I, in this venture, double gains pursue,  
And laid out all my Stock to purchase you.  To them Asaph Chan. 
Now, what success? does Aureng-Zebe yet live?  Asaph. 
Fortune has given you all that she can give,  
Your Brother—  Mor. 
— Hold; thou showest an impious joy,  
And think'st I still take pleasure to destroy:  
Know, I am changed, and would not have him slain.  Asaph. 
'Tis past; and you desire his life in vain.  
He prodigal of Soul, rushed on the stroke  
Of lifted Weapons, and did wounds provoke:  
In scorn of Night, he would not be concealed;  
His Soldiers, where he fought, his name revealed:  
In thickest crowds, still Aureng-Zebe did sound:  
The vaulted Roofs did Aureng-Zebe rebound,  
Till late, and in his fall, the name was drowned.  Ind. 
Whither that hand which brought him to his fate,  
And blasted be the tongue which did relate.  Asaph. 
His Body—  Mor. 
— Cease to inhanse her misery:  
Pity the Queen, and show respect to me.  
'Tis every Painter's Art to hide from sight,  
And cast in shades, what seen would not delight.  
Your grief, in me such sympathy has bred, To her.  
I mourn; and wish I could recall the dead.  
Love softens me; and blows up fires, which pass  
Through my tough heart, and melt the stubborn Mass.  Ind. 
Break, heart; or choke, with sobs, my hated breath;  
Do thy own work: admit no foreign death.  
Alas! why do I make this useless moan?  
I'm dead already, for my Soul is gone.  To them, Mirabel Baba. Mir. 
What tongue the terror of this night can tell,  
Within, without, and round the Citadel!  
A new-formed Faction does your power oppose;  
The Fight's confused, and all who meet are foes:  
A second clamour, from the Town, we hear;  
And the far noise so loud, it drowns the near.  
Abas, who seemed our Friend, is either fled;  
Or, what we fear, our Enemies does head:  
Your frighted Soldiers scarce their ground maintain.  Mor. 
I thank their fury; we shall fight again:  
They rouse my rage; I'm eager to subdue:  
'Tis fatal to withhold my eyes from you.  Exit with the two Omrahs'. Enter Melesinda. Mel. 
Can misery no place of safety know?  
The noise pursues me wheresoe'er I go,  
As Fate sought only me, and where I fled,  
Aimed all its Darts at my devoted head.  
And let it; I am now past care of life;  
The last of Women; an abandoned Wife.  Ind. 
Whether Design or Chance has brought you here,  
I stand obliged to Fortune, or to Fear:  
Weak Women should, in danger, herd like Deer.  
But say, from whence this new combustion springs?  
Are there yet more Morats? more fighting Kings?  Mel. 
Him from his Mother's love your eyes divide,  
And now her Arms the cruel strife decide.  Ind. 
What strange misfortunes my vexed life attend?  
Death will be kind, and all my sorrows end.  
If Nourmahal prevail, I know my fate.  Mel. 
I pity, as my own, your hard estate;  
But what can my weak charity afford?  
I have no longer interest in my Lord:  
Nor in his Mother, He: she owns her hate  
Aloud, and would herself Usurp the State.  Ind. 
I'm stupefied with sorrow, past relief  
Of tears: parched up, and withered with my grief.  Mel. 
Dry mourning will decays more deadly bring,  
As a North Wind burns a too forward Spring.  
Give sorrow vent, and let the sluices go.  Ind. 
My tears are all congealed, and will not flow.  Mel. 
Have comfort; yield not to the blows of Fate.  Ind. 
Comfort, like Cordials after death, comes late.  
Name not so vain a word; my hopes are fled:  
Think your Morat were kind, and think him dead.  Mel. 
I can no more—  
Can no more arguments, for comfort, find:  
Your boding words have quite overwhelmed my mind.  Clattering of weapons within. Ind. 
The noise increases, as the Billows roar,  
When rolling from afar they threat the Shore.  
She comes; and feeble Nature now I find  
Shrinks back in danger, and forsakes my mind.  
I wish to die, yet dare not death endure;  
Detest the Medicine, yet desire the Cure.  
I would have death; but mild, and at command:  
I dare not trust him in another's hand.  
In Nourmahals, he would not mine appear;  
But armed with terror, and disguised with fear.  Mel. 
Beyond this place you can have no retreat:  
Stay here, and I the danger will repeat.  
I fear not death, because my life I hate:  
And envious death will shun th'unfortunate.  Ind. 
You must not venture.  Mel. 
— Let me: I may do  
Myself a kindness, in obliging you.  
In your loved name, I'll seek my angry Lord;  
And beg your safety from his conquering Sword:  
So his protection all your fears will ease,  
And I shall see him once, and not displease. Exit.  Ind. 
Oh wretched Queen! what power thy life can save?  
A stranger, and unfriended, and a slave!  Enter Nourmahal, Zayda, and Abas, with Soldiers. 
Alas, she's here!  Indamora withdraws to the inner part of the Scene. Nour. 
Heartless they fought, and quitted soon their ground,  
While ours with easy victory were crowned.  
To you, Abas, my Life and Empire too,  
And, what's yet dearer, my Revenge, I owe.  Abas. 
The vain Morat, by his own rashness wrought,  
Too soon discovered his ambitious thought;  
Believed me his, because I spoke him fair,  
And pitched his head into the ready snare:  
Hence 'twas I did his Troops at first admit;  
But such, whose numbers could no fears beget;  
By them th'Emperor's Party first I slew,  
Then turned my Arms the Victors to subdue.  Nour. 
Now let the headstrong Boy my will control:  
Virtue's no slave of Man; no Sex confines the Soul:  
ay, for myself, th'Imperial Seat will gain,  
And he shall wait my leisure for his Reign.  
But Aureng-Zebe is no where to be found.  
And now perhaps in Death's cold arms he lies:  
I fought, and conquered, yet have lost the prize.  Zayd. 
The chance of War determined well the strife,  
That racked you, 'twixt the Lover and the Wife.  
He's dead, whose love had sullied all your Reign,  
And made you Empress of the World in vain.  Nour. 
No; I my power and pleasure would divide:  
The Drudge had quenched my flames, and then had died.  
I rage, to think without that Bliss I live;  
That I could wish what Fortune would not give:  
But, what Love cannot, Vengeance must supply;  
She, who bereaved me of his heart, shall die.  Zayd. 
I'll search: far distant hence she cannot be. Goes in.  Nour. 
This wondrous Masterpiece I fain would see;  
This fatal Helen, who can Wars inspire,  
Make Kings her Slaves, and set the World on fire.  
My Husband locked his Jewel from my view;  
Or durst not set the false one by the true.  Re-enter Zayda, leading Indamora. Zay. 
Your frighted Captive, ere she dies, receive;  
Her Soul's just going else, without your leave.  Nour. 
A fairer Creature did my eyes ne'er see!  
Sure she was formed by Heaven in spite to me!  
Some Angel copied, while I slept, each grace,  
And moulded every feature from my face.  
Such Majesty does from her forehead rise,  
Her cheeks such blushes cast, such rays her eyes,  
Nor I, nor Envy, can a blemish find;  
The Palace is, without, too well designed:  
Conduct me in, for I will view thy mind. To her.  
Speak, if thou hast a Soul, that I may see,  
If Heaven can make throughout another Me.  Ind. 
My tears and miseries must plead my cause; Kneeling.  
My words, the terror of your presence awes:  
Mortals, in sight of Angels, mute become;  
The Nobler Nature strikes th'inferior dumb.  Nour. 
The Palm is, by the Foes confession, mine;  
But I disdain what basely you resign.  
Heaven did, by me, the outward model build:  
It's inward work, the Soul, with rubbish filled.  
Yet, Oh! th'imperfect Piece moves more delight;  
'Tis gilded o'er with Youth, to catch the sight.  
The Gods have poorly robbed my Virgin bloom,  
And what I am, by what I was, overcome.  
Traitress, restore my Beauty and my Charms,  
Nor steal my Conquests with my proper Arms.  Ind. 
What have I done, thus to inflame your hate?  
I am not guilty, but unfortunate.  Nour. 
Not guilty, when thy looks my power betray,  
Seduce Mankind, my Subject, from my Sway,  
Take all my Hearts, and all my Eyes away?  
My Husband first; but that I could forgive:  
He only moved, and talked, but did not live.  
My Aureng-Zebe, for I dare own the name,  
The glorious sin, and the more glorious flame;  
Him, from my beauty, have thy eyes misled,  
And starved the joys of my expected Bed.  Ind. 
His love, so sought, he's happy that he's dead.  
O had I courage but to meet my Fate;  
That short dark passage to a future state;  
That melancholy Riddle of a breath.  Nour. 
That something, or that nothing, after death:  
Take this, and teach thyself. Giving a D  Ind. 
Alas!  Nour. 
— Why dost thou shake?  
Dishonour not the vengeance I designed:  
A Queen, and own a base Plebeian mind!  
Let it drink deep in thy most vital part:  
Strike home, and do me reason in thy heart.  Ind. 
I dare not.  Nour. 
— Do't, while I stand by and see,  
At my full gust, without the drudgery.  
I love a Foe, who dares my stroke prevent,  
Who gives me the full Scene of my content,  
Shows me the flying Soul's convulsive strife,  
And all the anguish of departing life:  
Disdain my mercy, and my rage defy;  
Curse me with thy last breath; and make me see  
A Spirit worthy to have rivaled me.  Ind. 
Oh, I desire to die; but dare not yet:  
Give me some respite, I'll discharge the debt.  
Without my Aureng-Zebe I would not live.  Nour. 
Thine, Traitress! thine! that word has winged thy fate,  
And put me past the tedious forms of hate.  
I'll kill thee with such eagerness and haste,  
As Fiends, let loose, would lay all Nature waste.  Indamora runs back: as Nourmahal is running to her. Clashing of Swords is heard within. Sold. 
Yield, you're o'er pow'red: resistance is in vain. Within.  Mor. 
Then death's my choice: submission I disdain. Within.  Nour. 
Retire, you Slaves: Ah whether does he run At the door.  
On pointed Swords? Disarm, but save my Son.  Enter Morat staggering, and upheld by Soldiers. Mor. 
She lives! and I shall see her once again!  
I have not thrown away my life in vain.  Catches hold of Indamora 's Gown, and falls by her: she sits. 
I can no more; yet, even in death, I find  
My fainting body biased by my mind:  
I fall toward you; still my contending Soul  
Points to your breast, and trembles to its Pole.  To them Melesinda, hastily, casting herself on the other side of Morat. Mel. 
Ah woe, woe, woe! the worst of woes I find!  
Live still: Oh live; live even to be unkind.  
With half-shut eyes he seeks the doubtful day;  
But, Ah! he bends his sight another way.  
He faints! and in that sigh his Soul is gone;  
Yet Heaven's unmoved, yet Heaven looks careless on.  Nour. 
Where are those Powers which Monarchs should defend?  
Or do they vain Authority pretend,  
O'er humane Fates, and their weak Empire show,  
Which cannot guard their Images below?  
If, as their Image, he was not Divine,  
They ought to have respected him as mine.  
I'll waken them with my revenge; and she  
Their Indamora shall my Victim be,  
And Helpless Heaven shall mourn in vain, like me.  As she is going to stab Indamora, Morat raises himself, and holds her hand. Mor. 
Ah, what are we,  
Who dare maintain with Heaven this wretched strife,  
Puffed with the pride of heavens' own gift, frail life?  
That blast which my ambitious Spirit swelled,  
See by how weak a Tenure it was held!  
I only stay to save the Innocent:  
Oh envy not my Soul its last content.  Ind. 
No, let me die; I'm doubly summoned now;  
First, by my Aureng-Zebe; and, since, by you.  
My Soul grows hardy, and can death endure:  
Your Convoy makes the dangerous way secure.  Mel. 
Let me, at least, a Funeral Marriage crave;  
Nor grudge my cold embraces in the Grave.  
I have too just a Title in the strife:  
By me, unhappy me, he lost his life:  
I called him hither; 'twas my fatal breath;  
And I the Screech-Owl that proclaimed his death.  Shout within. Abas. 
What new Alarms are these? I'll haste and see. Exit.  Nour. 
Look up, and live: an Empire shall be thine.  Mor. 
That I contemned, even when I thought it mine.  
Oh, I must yield to my hard Destinies, To Indamora.  
And must for ever cease to see your eyes.  Mel. 
Ah turn your sight to me, my dearest Lord!  
Can you not one, one parting look afford?  
Even so unkind in death? but 'tis in vain;  
I lose my breath, and to the Winds complain:  
Yet 'tis as much in vain your cruel scorn;  
Still I can love, without this last return.  
Nor Fate, nor You, can my vowed faith control;  
Dying, I'll follow your disdainful Soul:  
A Ghost, I'll haunt your Ghost; and, where you go,  
With mournful murmurs fill the Plains below.  Mor. 
Be happy, Melesinda, cease to grieve,  
And, for a more deserving Husband, live:  
Can you forgive me?  Mel. 
— Can I! Oh my heart!  
Have I heard one kind word before I part?  
I can, I can forgive: is that a task  
To love, like mine? Are you so good to ask?  
One kiss— Oh 'tis too great a blessing this; [Kisses him]  
I would not live to violate the bliss.  Re-enter Abas. Abas. 
Some envious Devil has ruined us yet more▪  
The Fort's revolted to the Emperor;  
The Gates are opened, the Portcullis drawn;  
And deluges of Armies, from the Town,  
Come pow'ring in: I heard the mighty flaw,  
When first it broke; the crowding Ensigns saw,  
Which choked the passage; and, (what lest I feared,)  
The waving Arms of Aureng-Zebe appeared,  
Displayed with your Morat's:  
In either's Flag the golden Serpents bear,  
Erected Crests alike, like Volumes rear,  
And mingle friendly hissings in the Air.  
Their Troops are joined, and our destruction nigh.  Nour. 
'Tis vain to fight, and I disdain to fly.  
I'll mock the Triumphs which our Foes intent;  
And, spite of Fortune, make a glorious end.  
In poisonous draughts my liberty I'll find:  
And from the nauseous World set free my mind. Exit.  At the other end of the Stage, Enter Aureng-Zebe, Dianet, and Attendants. Aureng-Zebe turns back, and speaks, entering. Aur. 
The lives of all, who cease from combat, spare;  
My Brother's be your most peculiar care:  
Our impious use no longer shall obtain;  
Brothers no more, by Brothers, shall be slain.  Seeing Indamora and Morat. 
Ha! do I dream? is this my hoped success?  
I grow a Statue, stiff, and motionless.  
Look, Dianet; for I dare not trust these eyes;  
They dance in mists, and dazzle with surprise.  Dia. 
Sir, 'tis Morat; dying he seems, or dead:  
And Indamora's hand—  Aur. 
— Supports his head. Sighing.  
Thou shalt not break yet heart, nor shall she know  
My inward torments, by my outward show;  
To let her see my weakness were too base;  
Dissembled Quiet sit upon my face:  
My sorrow to my eyes no passage find,  
But let it inward sink, and drown my mind.  
Falshood shall want its Triumph: I begin  
To stagger; but I'll prop myself within.  
The specious Tower no ruin shall disclose,  
Till down, at once, the mighty Fabric goes.  Mor. 
In sign that I die yours, reward my love, To Ind.  
And seal my Passport to the Blessed above. Kissing her hand.  Ind. 
Oh stay; or take me with you when you go:  
There's nothing now worth living for below.  Mor. 
I leave you not; for my expanded mind  
Grows up to Heaven, while it to you is joined:  
Not quitting, but enlarged! A blazing Fire,  
Fed from the Brand. Die.  Mel. 
Ah me! he's gone! I die! Swoons.  Ind. 
— Oh dismal day!  
Fate, thou hast ravished my last hope away.  
O Heaven! my Aureng-Zebe— She turns, and sees Aureng-Zebe standing by her, and starts.  
What strange surprise!  
Or does my willing mind delude my eyes,  
And shows the Figure always present there?  
Or liv'st thou? am I blessed, and see thee here?  Aur. 
My Brother's body see conveyed with care, Turning from her, to his Attendants.  
Where we may Royal Sepulture prepare.  
With speed to Melesinda bring relief;  
Recall her spirits, and moderate her grief.— Half turning to Ind.  
I go, to take for ever from your view  
Both the loved Object, and the hated too.  Going away after the Bodies, which are carried off. Ind. 
Hear me; yet think not that I beg your stay: Laying hold of him.  
I will be heard, and after take your way.  
Go; but your late repentance shall be vain: He struggles still; She lets him go.  
I'll never, never see your face again. Turning away.  Aur. 
Madam, I know what ever you can say:  
You might be pleased not to command my stay.  
All things are yet disordered in the Fort;  
I must crave leave your audience may be short,  Ind. 
You need not fear I shall detain you long;  
Yet you may tell me your pretended wrong.  Aur. 
Is that the business? then my stay is vain.  Ind. 
How are you injured?  Aur. 
— When did I complain?  Ind. 
Leave off your forced respect—  
And show your rage in its most furious form:  
I'm armed with innocence to brave the Storm.  
You heard, perhaps, your Brother's last desire;  
And after saw him in my arms expire:  
Saw me, with tears, so great a loss bemoan:  
Heard me complaining my last hopes were gone.  Aur. 
Oh stay, and take me with you when you go.  
There's nothing now worth living for below.  
Unhappy Sex! whose Beauty is your snare;  
Exposed to trials; made too frail to bear.  
I grow a fool, and show my rage again:  
'Tis Nature's fault; and why should I complain?  Ind. 
Will you yet hear me?  Aur. 
— Yes, till you relate  
What powerful Motives did your change create.  
You thought me dead, and prudently did weigh  
Tears were but vain, and brought but Youth's decay.  
Then, in Morat, your hopes a Crown designed;  
And all the Woman worked within your mind.  
I rave again, and to my rage return,  
To be again subjected to your scorn.  Ind. 
I wait till this long storm be overblown.  Aur. 
I'm conscious of my folly: I have done.  
I cannot rail; but silently I'll grieve.  
How did I trust! and how did you deceive!  
Oh, Arimant, would I had died for thee!  
I dearly buy thy generosity.  Ind. 
Alas, is he then dead?  Aur. 
— Unknown to me,  
He took my Arms; and while I forced my way,  
Through Troops of Foes, which did our passage stay,  
My Buckler o'er my aged Father cast,  
Still fighting, still defending as I passed,  
The noble Arimant usurped my name;  
Fought, and took from me, while he gave me, fame.  
To Aureng-Zebe, he made his Soldier's cry,  
And seeing not, where he heard danger nigh,  
Shot, like a Star, through the benighted Sky.  
A short, but mighty aid: at length he fell.  
My own adventures 'twere lost time to tell;  
Or how my Army, entering in the night,  
Surprised our Foes: the dark disordered fight:  
How my appearance, and my Father shown,  
Made peace; and all the rightful Monarch own.  
I've summed it briefly, since it did relate  
Th'unwelcome safety of the man you hate.  Ind. 
As briefly will I clear my innocence:  
Your altered Brother died in my defence.  
Those tears you saw, that tenderness I showed,  
Were just effects of grief and gratitude.  
He died my Convert.  Aur. 
— But your Lover too:  
I heard his words, and did your actions view;  
You seemed to mourn another Lover dead:  
My sighs you gave him, and my tears you shed.  
But worst of all,  
Your gratitude for his defence was shown:  
It proved you valued life when I was gone.  Ind. 
Not that I valued life; but feared to die:  
Think that my weakness, not inconstancy.  Aur. 
Fear showed you doubted of your own intent:  
And she who doubts becomes less innocent.  
Tell me not you could fear;  
Fear's a large promiser, who subject live  
To that base passion, know not what they give.  
No circumstance of grief you did deny;  
And what could she give more who durst not die?  Ind. 
My love, my faith.  Aur. 
— Both so adulterate grown,  
When mixed with fear, they never could be known.  
I wish no ill might her I love befall;  
But she ne'er loved who durst not venture all.  
Her life and fame should my concernment be;  
But she should only be afraid for me.  Ind. 
My heart was yours; but, Oh! you left it here,  
Abandoned to those Tyrants, Hope and Fear:  
If they forced from me one kind look or word,  
Could you not that, not that small part afford?  Aur. 
If you had loved, you nothing yours could call:  
Giving the least of mine, you gave him all.  
True love's a Miser; so tenacious grown,  
He weighs to the least grain of what's his own.  
More delicate than Honour's nicest sense:  
Neither to give nor take the least offence.  
With, or without you, I can have no rest:  
What shall I do? you're lodged within my breast:  
Your Image never will be thence displaced;  
But there it lies, stabbed, mangled, and defaced.  Ind. 
Yet, to restore the quiet of your heart,  
There's one way left.  Aur. 
— Oh name it.  Ind. 
— 'Tis to part.  
Since perfect bliss with me you cannot prove,  
I scorn to bliss by halves the man I love.  Aur. 
Now you distract me more: shall then the day,  
Which views my Triumph, see our love's decay?  
Must I new bars to my own joy create?  
Refuse, myself, what I had forced from Fate?  
What though I am not loved?  
Reason's nice taste does our delights destroy:  
Brutes are more blessed, who grossly feed on joy.  Ind. 
Such endless jealousies your love pursue,  
I can no more be fully blessed than you.  
I therefore go, to free us both from pain:  
I prized your Person, but your Crown disdain.  
Nay, even my own—  
I give it you; for since I cannot call  
Your heart my Subject, I'll not Reign at all. Exit.  Aur. 
Go: though thou leav'st me tortured on the Rack,  
'Twixt Shame and Pride, I cannot call thee back.  
She's guiltless, and I should submit; but Oh!  
When she exacts it, can I stoop so low?  
Yes; for she's guiltless;— but she's haughty too  
Great Souls long struggle ere they own a crime:  
She's gone; and leaves me no repenting time.  
I'll call her now; sure, if she loves, she'll stay;  
Linger at least, or not go far away,  Looks to the door, and returns. 
For ever lost, and I repent too late.  
My foolish pride, would set my whole Estate,  
Till, at one throw, I lost all back to Fate.  To him the Emperor, drawing in Indamora: Attendants. Emp. 
It must not be, that he, by whom we live,  
Should no advantage of his gift receive.  
Should he be wholly wretched? he alone,  
In this blessed day, a day so much his own? To Indamora.  
I have not quitted yet a Victor's right:  
I'll make you happy in your own despite.  
I love you still; and if I struggle hard  
To give, it shows the worth of the reward.  Ind. 
Suppose he has overcome; must I find place  
Among his conquered Foes, and sue for grace?  
Be pardoned, and confess I loved not well?  
What though none live my innocence to tell?  
I know it: Truth may own a generous pride:  
I clear myself, and care for none beside.  Aur. 
Oh, Indamora, you would break my heart!  
Could you resolve, on any terms, to part?  
I thought your love eternal: was it tied  
So loosely, that a quarrel could divide?  
I grant that my suspicions were unjust;  
But would you leave me for a small distrust?  
Forgive those foolish words— Kneeling to her.  
They were the froth my raging folly moved,  
When it boiled up: I knew not then I loved;  
Yet then loved most.  Ind. 
(to Aurelia) You would but half be blessed! Giving her hand, smiling.  Aur. 
— Oh do but try  
My eager love: I'll give myself the lie.  
The very hope is a full happiness;  
Yet scantly measures what I shall possess.  
Fancy itself, even in enjoyment, is  
But a dumb Judge, and cannot tell its bliss.  Emp 
Her eyes a secret yielding do confess,  
And promise to partake your happiness.  
May all the joys I did myself pursue,  
Be raised by her, and multiplied on you.  A Procession of Priests, Slaves following, and last Melesinda in white. Ind. 
Alas! what means this Pomp?  Aur. 
'Tis the Procession of a Funeral Vow,  
Which cruel Laws to Indian Wives allow,  
When fatally their Virtue they approve;  
Cheerful in flames, and Martyrs of their Love.  Ind. 
Oh my foreboding heart! th'event I fear;  
And see! sad Melesinda does appear.  Mel. 
You wrong my love; what grief do I betray?  
This is the Triumph of my Nuptial day.  
My better Nuptials; which, in spite of Fate,  
For ever join me to my dear Morat.  
Now I am pleased; my jealousies are o'er:  
He's mine; and I can lose him now no more.  Emp. 
Let no false show of Fame your reason blind.  Ind. 
You have no right to die; he was not kind.  Mel. 
Had he been kind, I could no love have shown:  
Each vulgar Virtue would as much have done.  
My love was such, it needed no return;  
But could, though he supplied no fuel, burn.  
Rich in itself, like Elemental fire,  
Whose pureness does no Aliment require.  
In vain you would bereave me of my Lord;  
For I will die: die is too base a word;  
I'll seek his breast, and kindling by his side,  
Adorned with flames, I'll mount a glorious Bride. Exit.  Enter Nourmahal distracted, with Zayda. Zay. 
She's lost, she's lost! but why do I complain  
For her, who generously did life disdain!  
Poisoned, she raves—  
Th'envenomed Body does the Soul attack;  
Th'envenomed Soul works its own poison back.  Nour. 
I burn, I more than burn; I am all fire▪  
See how my mouth and nostrils flame expire.  
I'll not come near myself—  
Now I'm a burning Lake, it rowls and flows;  
I'll rush, and pour it all upon my Foes.  
Pull, pull that reverend piece of Timber near:  
Throw't on— 'tis dry— 'twill burn—  
Ha, ha! how my old Husband crackles there!  
Keep him down, keep him down, turn him about:  
I know him; he'll but whiz, and straight go out.  
Fan me, you Winds: what, not one breath of Air?  
I burn 'em all, and yet have flames to spare.  
Quench me: pour on whole Rivers. 'Tis in vain:  
Morat stands there to drive 'em back again:  
With those huge Bellows in his hands, he blows  
New fire into my head: my Brainpan glows.  
See, see! there's Aureng-Zebe too takes his part;  
But he blows all his fire into my heart.  Aur. 
Alas, what fury's this?  Nour. 
— That's he, that's he! Staring upon him, and catching at him.  
I know the dear man's voice:  
And this my Rival, this the cursed she.  
They kiss; into each others arms they run:  
Close, close, close! must I see, and must have none?  
Thou art not hers: give me that eager kiss.  
Ingrateful! have I lost Morat for this?  
Will you?— before my face?— poor helpless I  
See all▪ and have my Hell before I die! Sinks down.  Emp. 
With thy last breath thou hast thy crimes confessed:  
Farewell; and take, what thou ne'er gav'st me, rest.  
But you, my Son, receive it better here: Giving him Indamora 's hand.  
The just rewards of Love and Honour wear.  
Receive the Mistress you so long have served;  
Receive the Crown your Loialty preserved.  
Take you the Reins, while I from cares remove,  
And sleep within the Chariot which I drove.   

Epilogue.  
A Pretty task! and so I told the Fool,  
Who needs would undertake to please by Rule:  
He thought that, if his Characters were good,  
The Scenes entire, and freed from noise and blood;  
The Action great, yet circumscribed by Time,  
The Words not forced, but sliding into Rhyme,  
The Passions raised and calmed by just Degrees,  
As Tides are swelled, and then retire to Seas;  
He thought, in hitting these, his business done,  
Though he, perhaps, has failed in every one:  
But, after all, a Poet must confess,  
His Art's like Physic, but a happy guess.  
Your Pleasure on your Fancy must depend:  
The Lady's pleased, just as she likes her Friend.  
No Song! no Dance! no Show! he fears you'll say,  
You love all naked Beauties, but a Play.  
He much mistakes your methods to delight;  
And, like the French, abhors our Target-fight:  
But those damned Dogs can never be i'th' right.  
True English hate your Monsieur's paltry Arts;  
For you are all Silk-weavers, in your hearts.  
Bold Britons, at a brave Bear-garden Fray,  
Are roused: and, clatt'ring Sticks, cry, Play, play, play.  
Mean time, your filthy Foreigner will stare,  
And mutter to himself, Ha gens Barbare!  
And, Gad, 'tis well he mutters; well for him;  
Our Butchers else would tear him limb from limb.  
'Tis true, the time may come, your Sons may be  
Infected with this French civility;  
But this in After-ages will be done:  
Our Poet writes a hundred years too soon.  
This Age comes on too slow, or he too fast:  
And early Springs are subject to a blast!  
Who would excel, when few can make a Test  
Betwixt indifferent Writing and the best?  
For Favours cheap and common, who would strive,  
Which, like abandoned Prostitutes, you give?  
Yet scattered here and there I some behold,  
Who can discern the Tinsel from the Gold:  
To these he writes; and, if by them allowed,  
'Tis their Prerogative to rule the Crowd.  
For he more fears (like a presuming Man)  
Their Votes who cannot judge, than theirs who can.  
FINIS.