_Mor._ In sign that I die yours, reward my love, [_To_ IND. And seal my passport to the blessed above. [_Kissing her hand._ _Ind._ Oh stay; or take me with you when you go; There's nothing now worth living for below. _Mor._ I leave you not; for my expanded mind Grows up to heaven, while it to you is joined: Not quitting, but enlarged! A blazing fire, Fed from the brand. [_Dies._ _Mel._ Ah me! he's gone! I die! [_Swoons._ _Ind._ Oh, dismal day! Fate, thou hast ravished my last hope away! [_She turns, and sees_ AURENG-ZEBE _standing by her, and starts._ O heaven! my Aureng-Zebe--What strange surprise! Or does my willing mind delude my eyes, And shows the figure always present there? Or liv'st thou? am I blessed, and see thee here? _Aur._ My brother's body see conveyed with care, [_Turning from her, to her Attendants._ Where we may royal sepulture prepare. With speed to Melesinda bring relief: Recal her spirits, and moderate her grief-- [_Half turning to_ IND. I go, to take for ever from your view, Both the loved object, and the hated too. [_Going away after the bodies, which are carried off._ _Ind._ Hear me! yet think not that I beg your stay; [_Laying hold of him._ I will be heard, and, after, take your way. Go; but your late repentance shall be vain: [_He struggles still: she lets him go._ I'll never, never see your face again. [_Turning away._ _Aur._ Madam, I know whatever you can say: You might be pleased not to command my stay. All things are yet disordered in the fort; I must crave leave your audience may be short. _Ind._ You need not fear I shall detain you long: Yet you may tell me your pretended wrong. _Aur._ Is that the business? then my stay is vain. _Ind._ How are you injured? _Aur._ When did I complain? _Ind._ Leave off your forced respect, And show your rage in its most furious form: I'm armed with innocence to brave the storm. You heard, perhaps, your brother's last desire, And, after, saw him in my arms expire; Saw me, with tears, so great a loss, bemoan; Heard me complaining my last hopes were gone. _Aur._ "Oh stay, or take me with you when you go, There's nothing now worth living for below." Unhappy sex! whose beauty is your snare: Exposed to trials; made too frail to bear. I grow a fool, and show my rage again: 'Tis nature's fault; and why should I complain? _Ind._ Will you yet hear me?