_Aur._ If you had loved, you nothing yours could call; Giving the least of mine, you gave him all. True love's a miser; so tenacious grown, He weighs to the least grain of what's his own; More delicate than honour's nicest sense, Neither to give nor take the least offence. With, or without you, I can have no rest: What shall I do? you're lodged within my breast: Your image never will be thence displaced; But there it lies, stabbed, mangled, and defaced. _Ind._ Yet to restore the quiet of your heart, There's one way left. _Aur._ Oh, name it. _Ind._ 'Tis to part. Since perfect bliss with me you cannot prove, I scorn to bless by halves the man I love. _Aur._ Now you distract me more: Shall then the day, Which views my triumph, see our loves decay? Must I new bars to my own joy create? Refuse myself what I had forced from fate? What though I am not loved? Reason's nice taste does our delights destroy: Brutes are more blessed, who grossly feed on joy. _Ind._ Such endless jealousies your love pursue, I can no more be fully blessed than you. I therefore go, to free us both from pain: I prized your person, but your crown disdain. Nay, even my own-- I give it you; for, since I cannot call Your heart my subject, I'll not reign at all. [_Exit._ _Aur._ Go: Though thou leav'st me tortured on the rack, 'Twixt shame and pride, I cannot call thee back.-- She's guiltless, and I should submit; but oh! When she exacts it, can I stoop so low? Yes; for she's guiltless; but she's haughty too. Great souls long struggle ere they own a crime: She's gone; and leaves me no repenting time. I'll call her now; sure, if she loves, she'll stay; Linger at least, or not go far away. [_Looks to the door, and returns._ For ever lost! and I repent too late. My foolish pride would set my whole estate, Till, at one throw, I lost all back to fate. _To him the Emperor, drawing in_ INDAMORA: _Attendants._ _Emp._ It must not be, that he, by whom we live, Should no advantage of his gift receive. Should he be wholly wretched? he alone, In this blessed day, a day so much his own? [_To_ IND. I have not quitted yet a victor's right: I'll make you happy in your own despite. I love you still; and, if I struggle hard To give, it shows the worth of the reward. _Ind._ Suppose he has o'ercome; must I find place Among his conquered foes, and sue for grace? Be pardoned, and confess I loved not well? What though none live my innocence to tell, I know it: Truth may own a generous pride: I clear myself, and care for none beside.