Si fractus illabatur orbis, Impavidum ferient ruinae[2];—

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[3]. The same zeal and faithfulness continue in your blood, which animated one of your noble ancestors to sacrifice his life in the quarrels of his sovereign[4]; 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 downfal, though I am secure from the danger. Methinks, there is something of a malignant joy in that excellent description of Lucretius;

Suave, mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas, Sed, quibus ipse malis careas, quia 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 centering on itself:

Omnis enim per se Divum natura necesse est Immortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur; —cura semota, metuque, Ipsa suis pollens opibus[5].

If this be not the life of a deity, because it cannot consist with Providence, it is, at least, a god-like 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 palantes 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 a play-house. It is 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[6]. 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 unsettledness 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 Mecaenas with him. It is 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. It was dedicated to you in my heart, before it was 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 judgment, 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 practical virtue, mixed with the frailties and imperfections of human 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[7]. 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 Arrias and Portias 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 among 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 a 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 Montaigne, 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 auctifera lustravit lampade terras.

Or, as the same author, in his "Tusculan Questions," speaks, with more modesty than usual, of himself: Nos in diem vivimus; quodcunque animos nostros probabilitate percussit, id dicimus. It is 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, saepenumero, Brute, vereor ne reprehendar, cum haec ad te scribam, qui tum in poesi, (I change it from philosophia) tum in optimo genere poeseos tantum processeris. Quod si facerem quasi te erudiens, jure reprehenderer. Sed ab eo plurimum absum: Nec, ut ea cognoscas quae tibi notissima sunt, ad te mitto; sed quia facillime in nomine tuo acquiesco, et quia te habeo aequissimum eorum studiorum, quae mihi communia tecum sunt, aestimatorem et judicem. Which you may please, my lord, to apply to yourself, from him, who is,

Your Lordship's Most obedient, Humble servant, DRYDEN.

Footnotes: 1. John Sheffield, earl of Mulgrave, afterwards created marquis of Normanby, and at length duke of Buckingham, made a great figure during the reigns of Charles II. of his unfortunate successor, of William the Third, and of Queen Anne. His bravery as a soldier, and abilities as a statesman, seem to have been unquestioned; but for his poetical reputation, he was probably much indebted to the assistance of those wits whom he relieved and patronized. As, however, it has been allowed a sufficient proof of wisdom in a monarch, that he could chuse able ministers, so it is no slight commendation to the taste of this rhyming peer, that in youth he selected Dryden to supply his own poetical deficiencies, and in age became the friend and the eulogist of Pope. We may observe, however, a melancholy difference betwixt the manner in which an independent man of letters is treated by the great, and that in which they think themselves entitled to use one to whom their countenance is of consequence. In addressing Pope, Sheffield contents himself with launching out into boundless panegyric, while his praise of Dryden, in his "Essay on Poetry," is qualified by a gentle sneer at the "Hind and Panther," our bard's most laboured production. His lordship is treating of satire:

The laureat here may justly claim our praise, Crowned by Mack Flecnoe with immortal bays; Yet once his Pegasus has borne dead weight, Rid by some lumpish minister of state.

Lord Mulgrave, to distinguish him by his earliest title, certainly received considerable assistance from Dryden in "The Essay on Satire," which occasioned Rochester's base revenge; and was distinguished by the name of the Rose-Alley Satire, from the place in which Dryden was way-laid and beaten by the hired bravoes of that worthless profligate. It is probable, that the patronage which Dryden received from Mulgrave, was not entirely of an empty and fruitless nature. It is at least certain, that their friendship continued uninterrupted till the death of our poet. The "Discourse upon Epic Poetry" is dedicated to Lord Mulgrave, then duke of Buckingham, and in high favour with Queen Anne, for whom he is supposed to have long cherished a youthful passion. After the grave of Dryden had remained twenty years without a memorial, this nobleman had the honour to raise the present monument at his own expence; being the latest, and certainly one of the most honourable acts of his life.

Mr Malone, from Macky's "Secret Services," gives the following character of Sheffield, duke of Buckingham:—"He is a nobleman of learning and good natural parts, but of no principles. Violent for the high church, yet seldom goes to it. Very proud, insolent, and covetous, and takes all advantages. In paying his debts unwilling, and is neither esteemed nor beloved; for notwithstanding his great interest at court, it is certain he has none in either house of parliament, or in the country. He is of a middle stature, of a brown complexion, with a sour lofty look." Swift sanctioned this severe character, by writing on the margin of his copy of Macky's book, "This character is the truest of any." To so bitter a censure, let us contrast the panegyric of Pope:

Muse, 'tis enough; at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends; Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail, This more than pays whole years of thankless pain— Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain. Sheffield approves; consenting Phoebus bends, And I and Malice from this hour are friends.

It may be worth the attention of the great to consider the value of that genius, which can hand them down to posterity in an interesting and amiable point of view, in spite of their own imbecilities, errors, and vices. While the personal character of Mulgrave has nothing to recommend it, and his poetical effusions are sunk into oblivion, we still venerate the friend of Pope, and the protector of Dryden.

Sheffield, duke of Buckingham, marquis of Normanby, and earl of Mulgrave, was born in 1649, and died in 1720. He was therefore twenty-seven years old when he received this dedication.

2. On perusing such ill applied flattery, I know not whether we ought to feel most for Charles II. or for Dryden.

3. The earl of Mulgrave, in the Dutch war of 1672, served as a volunteer on board the Victory, commanded by the earl of Ossory. He behaved with distinguished courage himself, and has borne witness to that of his unfortunate admiral, James Duke of York. His intrepid coolness appears from a passage in his Memoirs, containing the observations he made during the action, on the motion of cannon bullets in the recoil, and their effect when passing near the human body. His bravery was rewarded by his promotion to command the Katharine, the second best ship in the fleet. This vessel had been captured by the Dutch during the action, but was retaken by the English crew before she could be carried into harbour. Lord Mulgrave had a picture of the Katherine at his house in St James's Park.—See CARLETON'S Memoirs, p. 5.

4. In 1548-9, there were insurrections in several counties of England, having for their object the restoration of the Catholic religion, and the redress of grievances. The insurgents in Northamptonshire were 20,000 strong, headed by one Ket, a tanner, who possessed himself of Norwich. The earl of Northampton, marching rashly and hastily against him, at the head of a very inferior force, was defeated with loss. In the rout lord Sheffield, ancestor of the earl of Mulgrave, and the person alluded to in the text, fell with his horse into a ditch, and was slain by a butcher with a club. The rebels were afterwards defeated by the earl of Warwick.—DUGDALE'S Baron, vol. ii. p. 386. HOLLINSHED, p. 1035.]

5. The entire passage of Lucretius is somewhat different from this quotation:

Quae bene, et eximie quamvis disposta ferantur, Longe sunt tamen a vera ratione repulsa. Omnia enim per se Divum natura necesse est Immortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur, Semota a nostris rebus, sejunctaque longe. Nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis, Ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri, Nec bene promeritis capitur, nec tangitur ira. LIB. II.

Dryden ingeniously applies, to the calm of philosophical retirement, the Epicurean tranquillity of the Deities of Lucretius.

6. The subject of this intended poem, was probably the exploits of the Black Prince. See Life.

7. An incident in "Artemenes, ou Le Grand Cyrus," a huge romance, written by Madame Scuderi.



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 Shakespeare's sacred name: Awed 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 loth, '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 desart 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.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

The Old Emperor. AURENG-ZEBE, his Son. MORAT, his younger Son. ARIMANT, Governor of Agra. DIANET, } SOLYMAN, } MIR BABA, } Indian Lords, or Omrahs, of several ABAS, } Factions. ASAPH CHAN, } FAZEL CHAN, }

NOURMAHAL, the Empress. INDAMORA, a Captive Queen. MELESINDA, Wife to Morat. ZAYDA, favourite Slave to the Empress.

SCENE—Agra, in the year 1660.



AURENG-ZEBE.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter ARIMANT, ASAPH CHAN, and FAZEL CHAN.

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. Whate'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 dyed 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 the 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 prest 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 inquired: As at a signal, strait 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 laws are by the state's 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 AGA.

Solym. A new express all Agra does affright: Darah and Aureng-Zebe are joined in fight; The press of people thickens to the court, The 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 oppressors' 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 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 Sujah'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 the 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 To 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 recompence, 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 castled-elephants o'er-look the town.

Arim. If, as I fear, Morat these powers commands, Our empire on the brink of ruin stands: The 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.

Abas. 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'erspread; 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 To augment the number of the blessed above, He deemed them legacies of royal love: Nor armed, his brothers' 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 he armed, 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 loth 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. I, 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'erthrew.

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, 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 recompence: 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 should'st have guessed— Yet thou art honest, thou couldst ne'er 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 count'nance, 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 rival's 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 opprest, 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.—AURENG-ZEBE 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 them 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—fain 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 license 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! whate'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 mixt 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 befal? 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'erlooks 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 my self 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 general's 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. I've thought, and blessed be you who gave me time; [Putting up his Sword. 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. SCENE I.

Betwixt the Acts, a warlike Tune is played, shooting of Guns and shouts of Soldiers are heard, as in an Assault.

AURENG-ZEBE, ARIMANT, ASAPH CHAN, FAZEL CHAN, and SOLYMAN.

Aur. What man could do, was by Morat performed; The fortress thrice himself in person stormed. Your valour bravely did the 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'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 terrace 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 grant. 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 human 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 the 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 the 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 chuse, 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 talent 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; Whene'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 whatever 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 stroke 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, Intrench 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 whate'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 woman-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 to 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.

Arim. 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 peep'd, and trees did blossoms bear, And winter had not yet deformed the 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 human 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 them humble, gives them 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 then 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 there 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 past 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 curst. 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 whate'er wrong You suffer, you have cancelled 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 no breach your nuptial vows divide!

Emp. Since love obliges not, I from this hour Assume the right of man's despotic 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, Let me your royal clemency intreat. [Kneeling. Secrets of marriage still are sacred held; Their 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 them 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 the 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 them here: To favour them, 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 Bengal their captive monarch brought; When elephant 'gainst elephant did rear His trunk, and castles jostled 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; To invoke a captive's name bodes ill in war.

Aur. Sir, give me leave to say, whatever 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 recovered 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; Meanwhile, 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 should to the father's claim submit.

Aur. Sons may have rights which they can never quit. Yourself first made that title which I claim: First bade 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 burthen prove: You're grown unkind, and I have lost your love. My grief lets 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 the 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 o'ercome, 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 the 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 aught 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 market-place 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. The 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, both counsels are the best. Like emp'ric remedies, they last are tried, And by the event condemned, or justified. Presence of mind, and courage in distress, Are more than armies, to procure success. [Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.

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 confidant 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 indited, as I meant it, kind.

Arim. I ask not heaven my freedom to restore, [Reading. But only for your sake—I'll read no more: And yet I must— Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad— [Reading. Another line, like this, would make me mad— Heaven! she goes on—yet more—and yet more kind! [As reading. Each sentence is a dagger to my mind. See me this night— [Reading. Thank fortune, who did such a friend provide, For faithful Arimant shall be your guide. Not only to be made an instrument, But pre-engaged without my own consent!

Ind. Unknown to 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, Wrapt 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 staid; '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 he 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 Tamerlane'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 foretels 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 surprising news to bring: In two hours time, since last I saw the king, The 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 the 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 the 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; Watry it shines, and will be soon o'ercast. [IND. and MEL. retire.

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, Borne 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 the 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 sabre, 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 them as they fly.

Mor. Methinks, all pleasure is in greatness found. Kings, like heaven's 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 stiff-necked 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 aught above them, prince or God. Were I a God, the drunken globe should roll, The little emmetts with the human 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 faithful father now may quit the state, And find 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 gaol of life, While rebel-sons, and an imperious wife, Still dragged me backward into noise and strife.

Mor. Be that remembrance lost; and be it my pride To be your pledge of peace on either side.

To them, AURENG-ZEBE.

Aur. With all the 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 birth-right of my mind.

Emp. Children, the blind effect of love and chance, Formed by their sportive parents' ignorance, Bear from their birth the impressions of a slave; Whom heaven for play-games first, and then for service gave: One then may be displaced, and one may reign, And want of merit render birth-right vain.

Mor. Comes he to 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 the imperial town: Chuse 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.

Mor. I'll do it.—Draw out my army on the plain! War is to me a pastime, peace a pain.

Emp. Think better first.— [To MOR. You see yourself enclosed beyond escape, [To AUR. And, therefore, Proteus-like, you change your shape; Of promise prodigal, while power you want, And preaching in the self-denying cant.

Mor. Plot better; for these arts too obvious are, Of gaming time, the master-piece 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 this sword this monarchy secures, 'Tis managed by an abler arm than yours.

Emp. Morat's design a doubtful meaning bears: [Aside. 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 controul.— Yet be advised your ruin to prevent: [To AUR. aside. 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 chuse; 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 wilds 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 prophecy, 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.

Zayd. 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 god-like 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,

Zayd. Though all the ideas you can form be true, He must not, cannot, be possessed by you. If contradicting interests could be mixt, Nature herself has cast a bar betwixt; And, ere you reach to this incestuous love, You must divine and human rights remove.

Nour. Count this among the wonders love has done: I had forgot he was my husband's son.

Zayd. 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 e'er 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 human 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.

Zayd. The incroaching 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, Loaths lawful good, and lawless ill does crave—

Zayd. But yet, consider—

Nour. No, 'tis loss of time: Think how to further, not divert my crime. My artful engines instantly I'll move, And chuse 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 shewn.

Nour. My son, your business is not hard to guess; [To MORAT. 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.