_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. _Re-enter_ ARIMANT, _with_ MELESINDA; _then exit._ MORAT _runs to_ MELESINDA, _and embraces her._ _Mor._ Should I not chide you, that you chose to stay In gloomy shades, and lost a glorious day? Lost the first fruits of joy you should possess In my return, and made my triumph less?