_Ind._ Oh, I desire to die, but dare not yet! Give me some respite, I'll discharge the debt. Without my Aureng-Zebe I would not live. _Nour._ Thine, traitress! thine! that word has winged thy fate, And put me past the tedious forms of hate: I'll kill thee with such eagerness and haste, As fiends, let loose, would lay all nature waste. [INDAMORA _runs back: As_ NOURMAHAL _is running to her, clashing of swords is heard within._ _Sold._ Yield, you're o'erpowered: Resistance is in vain. [_Within._ _Mor._ Then death's my choice: Submission I disdain. [_Within._ _Nour._ Retire, ye slaves! Ah, whither does he run [_At the door._ On pointed swords? Disarm, but save my son. _Enter_ MORAT _staggering, and upheld by Soldiers._ _Mor._ She lives! and I shall see her once again! I have not thrown away my life in vain. [_Catches hold of_ INDAMORA'S _gown, and falls by her: She sits._ I can no more; yet even in death I find My fainting body biassed by my mind: I fall toward you; still my contending soul Points to your breast, and trembles to its pole. _To them_ MELESINDA, _hastily casting herself on the other side of_ MORAT. _Mel._ Ah woe, woe, woe! the worst of woes I find! Live still; Oh live; live e'en to be unkind!-- With half-shut eyes he seeks the doubtful day; But, ah! he bends his sight another way. He faints! and in that sigh his soul is gone; Yet heaven's unmoved, yet heaven looks careless on. _Nour._ Where are those powers which monarchs should defend? Or do they vain authority pretend O'er human fates, and their weak empire show, Which cannot guard their images below? If, as their image, he was not divine, They ought to have respected him as mine. I'll waken them with my revenge; and she, Their Indamora, shall my victim be, And helpless heaven shall mourn in vain, like me. [_As she is going to stab_ INDAMORA, MORAT _raises himself, and holds her hand._ _Mor._ Ah, what are we, Who dare maintain with heaven this wretched strife, Puft with the pride of heaven's own gift, frail life? That blast which my ambitious spirit swelled, See by how weak a tenure it was held! I only stay to save the innocent; Oh envy not my soul its last content! _Ind._ No, let me die; I'm doubly summoned now; First by my Aureng-Zebe, and since by you. My soul grows hardy, and can death endure; Your convoy makes the dangerous way secure. _Mel._ Let me at least a funeral marriage crave, Nor grudge my cold embraces in the grave. I have too just a title in the strife; By me, unhappy me, he lost his life: I called him hither, 'twas my fatal breath, And I the screech-owl that proclaimed his death. [_Shout within._ _Abas._ What new alarms are these? I'll haste and see. [_Exit._ _Nour._ Look up and live; an empire shall be thine.