_Aur._ Oh, Indamora, you would break my heart! Could you resolve, on any terms, to part? I thought your love eternal: Was it tied So loosely, that a quarrel could divide? I grant that my suspicions were unjust; But would you leave me, for a small distrust? Forgive those foolish words-- [_Kneeling to her._ They were the froth my raging folly moved, When it boiled up: I knew not then I loved; Yet then loved most. _Ind._ [_To_ AUR.] You would but half be blest! [_Giving her hand, smiling._ _Aur._ Oh do but try My eager love: I'll give myself the lie. The very hope is a full happiness, Yet scantly measures what I shall possess. Fancy itself, even in enjoyment, is But a dumb judge, and cannot tell its bliss. _Emp._ Her eyes a secret yielding do confess, And promise to partake your happiness. May all the joys I did myself pursue, Be raised by her, and multiplied on you! _A Procession of Priests, Slaves following, and, last,_ MELESINDA _in white._ _Ind._ Alas! what means this pomp? _Aur._ 'Tis the procession of a funeral vow, Which cruel laws to Indian wives allow, When fatally their virtue they approve; Cheerful in flames, and martyrs of their love. _Ind._ Oh, my foreboding heart! the event I fear: And see! sad Melesinda does appear. _Mel._ You wrong my love; what grief do I betray? This is the triumph of my nuptial day, My better nuptials; which, in spite of fate, For ever join me to my dear Morat. Now I am pleased; my jealousies are o'er: He's mine; and I can lose him now no more. _Emp._ Let no false show of fame, your reason blind. _Ind._ You have no right to die; he was not kind. _Mel._ Had he been kind, I could no love have shown: Each vulgar virtue would as much have done. My love was such, it needed no return; But could, though he supplied no fuel, burn. Rich in itself, like elemental fire, Whose pureness does no aliment require. In vain you would bereave me of my lord; For I will die:--Die is too base a word, I'll seek his breast, and, kindling by his side, Adorned with flames, I'll mount a glorious bride. [_Exit._ _Enter_ NOURMAHAL, _distracted, with_ ZAYDA. _Zay._ She's lost, she's lost! but why do I complain, For her, who generously did life disdain! Poisoned, she raves-- The envenomed body does the soul attack; The envenomed soul works its own poison back.