_Mel._ If that be all which makes your discontent, Of such a crime I never can repent. _Mor._ Would you force love upon me, which I shun? And bring coarse fare, when appetite is gone? _Mel._ Why did I not in prison die, before My fatal freedom made me suffer more? I had been pleased to think I died for you, And doubly pleased, because you then were true: Then I had hope; but now, alas! have none. _Mor._ You say you love me; let that love be shown. 'Tis in your power to make my happiness. _Mel._ Speak quickly! To command me is to bless. _Mor._ To Indamora you my suit must move: You'll sure speak kindly of the man you love. _Mel._ Oh, rather let me perish by your hand, Than break my heart, by this unkind command! Think, 'tis the only one I could deny; And that 'tis harder to refuse, than die. Try, if you please, my rival's heart to win; I'll bear the pain, but not promote the sin. You own whate'er perfections man can boast, And, if she view you with my eyes, she's lost. _Mor._ Here I renounce all love, all nuptial ties: Henceforward live a stranger to my eyes: When I appear, see you avoid the place, And haunt me not with that unlucky face. _Mel._ Hard as it is, I this command obey, And haste, while I have life, to go away: In pity stay some hours, till I am dead, That blameless you may court my rival's bed. My hated face I'll not presume to show; Yet I may watch your steps where'er you go. Unseen, I'll gaze; and, with my latest breath, Bless, while I die, the author of my death. [_Weeping._ _Enter Emperor._ _Emp._ When your triumphant fortune high appears, What cause can draw these unbecoming tears? Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait, And give not thus the counter-time to fate. _Mel._ Fortune long frowned, and has but lately smiled: I doubt a foe so newly reconciled. You saw but sorrow in its waning form, A working sea remaining from a storm; When the now weary waves roll o'er the deep, And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep. _Emp._ Your inward griefs you smother in your mind; But fame's loud voice proclaims your lord unkind. _Mor._ Let fame be busy, where she has to do; Tell of fought fields, and every pompous show. Those tales are fit to fill the people's ears; Monarchs, unquestioned, move in higher spheres. _Mel._ Believe not rumour, but yourself; and see The kindness 'twixt my plighted lord and me. [_Kissing_ MORAT. This is our state; thus happily we live; These are the quarrels which we take and give. I had no other way to force a kiss. [_Aside to_ MORAT. Forgive my last farewell to you and bliss. [_Exit._ _Emp._ Your haughty carriage shows too much of scorn, And love, like hers, deserves not that return. _Mor._ You'll please to leave me judge of what I do, And not examine by the outward show. Your usage of my mother might be good: I judged it not. _Emp._ Nor was it fit you should. _Mor._ Then, in as equal balance weigh my deeds.