_Mor._ That I condemned, even when I thought it mine.-- Oh, I must yield to my hard destinies, [_To_ IND. And must for ever cease to see your eyes! _Mel._ Ah turn your sight to me, my dearest lord! Can you not one, one parting look afford? Even so unkind in death:--but 'tis in vain; I lose my breath, and to the winds complain. Yet 'tis as much in vain your cruel scorn; Still I can love, without this last return. Nor fate, nor you, can my vowed faith controul; Dying, I follow your disdainful soul: A ghost, I'll haunt your ghost; and, where you go, With mournful murmurs fill the plains below. _Mor._ Be happy, Melesinda; cease to grieve, And for a more deserving husband live:-- Can you forgive me? _Mel._ Can I! Oh, my heart! Have I heard one kind word before I part? I can, I can forgive: Is that a task To love like mine? Are you so good to ask! One kiss--Oh, 'tis too great a blessing this! [_Kisses him._ I would not live to violate the bliss, _Re-enter_ ABAS. _Abas._ Some envious devil has ruined us yet more: The fort's revolted to the emperor; The gates are opened, the portcullis drawn, And deluges of armies from the town Come pouring in: I heard the mighty flaw, When first it broke; the crowding ensigns saw, Which choked the passage; and, what least I feared, The waving arms of Aureng-Zebe appeared, Displayed with your Morat's: In either's flag the golden serpents bear Erected crests alike, like volumes rear, And mingle friendly hissings in the air. Their troops are joined, and our destruction nigh. _Neur._ 'Tis vain to fight, and I disdain to fly. I'll mock the triumphs which our foes intend, And spite of fortune, make a glorious end. In poisonous draughts my liberty I'll find, And from the nauseous world set free my mind. [_Exit._ _At the other end of the Stage enter_ AURENG-ZEBE, DIANET, _and Attendants._ AURENG-ZEBE _turns back, and speaks entering._ _Aur._ The lives of all, who cease from combat, spare; My brother's be your most peculiar care: Our impious use no longer shall obtain; Brothers no more by brothers shall be slain.-- [_Seeing_ INDAMORA _and_ MORAT. Ha! do I dream? Is this my hoped success? I grow a statue, stiff and motionless. Look, Dianet; for I dare not trust these eyes; They dance in mists, and dazzle with surprise. _Dia._ Sir, 'tis Morat; dying he seems, or dead; And Indamora's hand-- _Aur._ Supports his head. [_Sighing._ Thou shalt not break yet, heart, nor shall she know My inward torments by my outward show: To let her see my weakness were too base; Dissembled quiet sit upon my face: My sorrow to my eyes no passage find, But let it inward sink, and drown my mind. Falsehood shall want its triumph: I begin To stagger, but I'll prop myself within. The specious tower no ruin shall disclose, Till down at once the mighty fabric goes,