_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.