_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.