_Mel._ Should I not chide, that you could stay and see Those joys, preferring public pomp to me? Through my dark cell your shouts of triumph rung: I heard with pleasure, but I thought them long. _Mor._ The public will in triumphs rudely share, And kings the rudeness of their joys must bear: But I made haste to set my captive free, And thought that work was only worthy me. The fame of ancient matrons you pursue, And stand a blameless pattern to the new. I have not words to praise such acts as these: But take my heart, and mould it as you please. _Mel._ A trial of your kindness I must make, Though not for mine so much as virtue's sake. The queen of Cassimere-- _Mor._ No more, my love; That only suit I beg you not to move. That she's in bonds for Aureng-Zebe I know, And should, by my consent, continue so; The good old man, I fear, will pity shew. My father dotes, and let him still dote on; He buys his mistress dearly, with his throne. _Mel._ See her; and then be cruel if you can. _Mor._ 'Tis not with me as with a private man. Such may be swayed by honour, or by love; But monarchs only by their interest move. _Mel._ Heaven does a tribute for your power demand: He leaves the opprest and poor upon your hand; And those, who stewards of his pity prove, He blesses, in return, with public love: In his distress some miracle is shewn; If exiled, heaven restores him to his throne: He needs no guard, while any subject's near, Nor, like his tyrant neighbours, lives in fear: No plots the alarm to his retirement give: 'Tis all mankind's concern that he should live. _Mor._ You promised friendship in your low estate, And should forget it in your better fate. Such maxims are more plausible than true; But somewhat must be given to love and you. I'll view this captive queen; to let her see, Prayers and complaints are lost on such as me. _Mel._ I'll bear the news: Heaven knows how much I'm pleased, That, by my care, the afflicted may be eased. _As she is going off, enter_ INDAMORA. _Ind._ I'll spare your pains, and venture out alone, Since you, fair princess, my protection own. But you, brave prince, a harder task must find; [_To_ MORAT _kneeling, who takes her up._ In saving me, you would but half be kind. An humble suppliant at your feet I lie; You have condemned my better part to die. Without my Aureng-Zebe I cannot live; Revoke his doom, or else my sentence give. _Mel._ If Melesinda in your love have part,-- Which, to suspect, would break my tender heart,-- If love, like mine, may for a lover plead, By the chaste pleasures of our nuptial bed, By all the interest my past sufferings make, And all I yet would suffer for your sake; By you yourself, the last and dearest tie-- _Mor._ You move in vain; for Aureng-Zebe must die.