_Nour._ In vain this haughty fury you have shewn. How I adore a soul, so like my own! You must be mine, that you may learn to live; Know joys, which only she who loves can give. Nor think that action you upbraid, so ill; I am not changed, I love my husband still[3]; But love him as he was, when youthful grace, And the first down began to shade his face: That image does my virgin-flames renew, And all your father shines more bright in you. _Aur._ In me a horror of myself you raise; Cursed by your love, and blasted by your praise. You find new ways to prosecute my fate; And your least-guilty passion was your hate. _Nour._ I beg my death, if you can love deny. [_Offering him a dagger._ _Aur._ I'll grant you nothing; no, not even to die. _Nour._ Know then, you are not half so kind as I. [_Stamps with her foot._ _Enter Mutes, some with swords drawn, one with a cup._ You've chosen, and may now repent too late. Behold the effect of what you wished,--my hate. [_Taking the cup to present him._ This cup a cure for both our ills has brought; You need not fear a philtre in the draught. _Aur._ All must be poison which can come from thee; [_Receiving it from her._ But this the least. To immortal liberty This first I pour, like dying Socrates; [_Spilling a little of it._ Grim though he be, death pleases, when he frees. _As he is going to drink, Enter_ MORAT _attended._ _Mor._ Make not such haste, you must my leisure stay; Your fate's deferred, you shall not die to-day. [_Taking the cup from him._ _Nour._ What foolish pity has possessed your mind, To alter what your prudence once designed? _Mor._ What if I please to lengthen out his date A day, and take a pride to cozen fate? _Nour._ 'Twill not be safe to let him live an hour. _Mor._ I'll do't, to show my arbitrary power. _Nour._ Fortune may take him from your hands again, And you repent the occasion lost in vain. _Mor._ I smile at what your female fear foresees; I'm in fate's place, and dictate her decrees.-- Let Arimant be called. [_Exit one of his Attendants._ _Aur._ Give me the poison, and I'll end your strife; I hate to keep a poor precarious life. Would I my safety on base terms receive, Know, sir, I could have lived without your leave. But those I could accuse, I can forgive; By my disdainful silence, let them live. _Nour._ What am I, that you dare to bind my hand? [_To_ MORAT. So low, I've not a murder at command! Can you not one poor life to her afford, Her, who gave up whole nations to your sword? And from the abundance of whose soul and heat, The o'erflowing served to make your mind so great?