_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.