by John Dryden
Re-enter Arimant, with Melesinda; then exit. Morat runs to Melesinda, and embraces her.
Mor. Should I not chide you, that you chose to stay
In gloomy shades, and lost a glorious day?
Lost the first fruits of joy you should possess
In my return, and made my triumph less?
Mel. Should I not chide, that you could stay and see
Those joys, preferring public pomp to me?
Through my dark cell your shouts of triumph rung:
I heard with pleasure, but I thought them long.
Mor. The public will in triumphs rudely share,
And kings the rudeness of their joys must bear:
But I made haste to set my captive free,
And thought that work was only worthy me.
The fame of ancient matrons you pursue,
And stand a blameless pattern to the new.
I have not words to praise such acts as these:
But take my heart, and mould it as you please.
Mel. A trial of your kindness I must make,
Though not for mine so much as virtue’s sake.
The queen of Cassimere —
Mor. No more, my love;
That only suit I beg you not to move.
That she’s in bonds for Aureng-Zebe I know,
And should, by my consent, continue so;
The good old man, I fear, will pity shew.
My father dotes, and let him still dote on;
He buys his mistress dearly, with his throne.
Mel. See her; and then be cruel if you can.
Mor. ’Tis not with me as with a private man.
Such may be swayed by honour, or by love;
But monarchs only by their interest move.
Mel. Heaven does a tribute for your power demand:
He leaves the opprest and poor upon your hand;
And those, who stewards of his pity prove,
He blesses, in return, with public love:
In his distress some miracle is shewn;
If exiled, heaven restores him to his throne:
He needs no guard, while any subject’s near,
Nor, like his tyrant neighbours, lives in fear:
No plots the alarm to his retirement give:
’Tis all mankind’s concern that he should live.
Mor. You promised friendship in your low estate,
And should forget it in your better fate.
Such maxims are more plausible than true;
But somewhat must be given to love and you.
I’ll view this captive queen; to let her see,
Prayers and complaints are lost on such as me.
Mel. I’ll bear the news: Heaven knows how much I’m pleased,
That, by my care, the afflicted may be eased.
As she is going off, enter Indamora.
Ind. I’ll spare your pains, and venture out alone,
Since you, fair princess, my protection own.
But you, brave prince, a harder task must find; [To Morat kneeling, who takes her up.
In saving me, you would but half be kind.
An humble suppliant at your feet I lie;
You have condemned my better part to die.
Without my Aureng-Zebe I cannot live;
Revoke his doom, or else my sentence give.
Mel. If Melesinda in your love have part, —
Which, to suspect, would break my tender heart, —
If love, like mine, may for a lover plead,
By the chaste pleasures of our nuptial bed,
By all the interest my past sufferings make,
And all I yet would suffer for your sake;
By you yourself, the last and dearest tie —
Mor. You move in vain; for Aureng-Zebe must die.
Ind. Could that decree from any brother come?
Nature herself is sentenced in your doom.
Piety is no more, she sees her place
Usurped by monsters, and a savage race.
From her soft eastern climes you drive her forth,
To the cold mansions of the utmost north.
How can our prophet suffer you to reign,
When he looks down, and sees your brother slain?
Avenging furies will your life pursue:
Think there’s a heaven, Morat, though not for you.
Mel. Her words imprint a terror on my mind.
What if this death, which is for him designed,
Had been your doom, (far be that augury!)
And you, not Aureng-Zebe, condemned to die?
Weigh well the various turns of human fate,
And seek, by mercy, to secure your state.
Ind. Had heaven the crown for Aureng-Zebe designed,
Pity for you had pierced his generous mind.
Pity does with a noble nature suit:
A brother’s life had suffered no dispute.
All things have right in life; our prophet’s care
Commands the beings even of brutes to spare.
Though interest his restraint has justified,
Can life, and to a brother, be denied?
Mor. All reasons, for his safety urged, are weak:
And yet, methinks, ’tis heaven to hear you speak.
Mel. ’Tis part of your own being to invade —
Mor. Nay, if she fail to move, would you persuade? [Turning to Inda.
My brother does a glorious fate pursue;
I envy him, that he must fall for you.
He had been base, had he released his right:
For such an empire none but kings should fight.
If with a father he disputes this prize,
My wonder ceases when I see those eyes.
Mel. And can you, then, deny those eyes you praise?
Can beauty wonder, and not pity raise?
Mor. Your intercession now is needless grown;
Retire, and let me speak with her alone. [Melesinda retires, weeping, to the side of the Stage.
Queen, that you may not fruitless tears employ, [Taking Indamora’s hand.
I bring you news to fill your heart with joy:
Your lover, king of all the east shall reign;
For Aureng-Zebe to-morrow shall be slain.
Ind. The hopes you raised, you’ve blasted with a breath: [Starting back.
With triumphs you began, but end with death.
Did you not say my lover should be king?
Mor. I, in Morat, the best of lovers bring.
For one, forsaken both of earth and heaven,
Your kinder stars a nobler choice have given:
My father, while I please, a king appears;
His power is more declining than his years.
An emperor and lover, but in shew;
But you, in me, have youth and fortune too:
As heaven did to your eyes, and form divine,
Submit the fate of all the imperial line;
So was it ordered by its wise decree,
That you should find them all comprised in me.
Ind. If, sir, I seem not discomposed with rage,
Feed not your fancy with a false presage.
Farther to press your courtship is but vain;
A cold refusal carries more disdain.
Unsettled virtue stormy may appear;
Honour, like mine, serenely is severe;
To scorn your person, and reject your crown,
Disorder not my face into a frown.[Turns from him.
Mor. Your fortune you should reverently have used:
Such offers are not twice to be refused.
I go to Aureng-Zebe, and am in haste
For your commands; they’re like to be the last.
Ind. Tell him,
With my own death I would his life redeem;
But less than honour both our lives esteem.
Mor. Have you no more?
Ind. What shall I do or say?
He must not in this fury go away. �
�� [Aside.
Tell him, I did in vain his brother move;
And yet he falsely said, he was in love:
Falsely; for, had he truly loved, at least
He would have given one day to my request.
Mor. A little yielding may my love advance:
She darted from her eyes a sidelong glance,
Just as she spoke; and, like her words, it flew:
Seemed not to beg, what yet she bid me do.[Aside.
A brother, madam, cannot give a day;[To her.
A servant, and who hopes to merit, may.
Mel. If, sir — [Coming to him.
Mor. No more — set speeches, and a formal tale,
With none but statesmen and grave fools prevail.
Dry up your tears, and practice every grace,
That fits the pageant of your royal place.[Exit.
Mel. Madam, the strange reverse of fate you see:
I pitied you, now you may pity me.[Exit after him.
Ind. Poor princess! thy hard fate I could bemoan,
Had I not nearer sorrows of my own.
Beauty is seldom fortunate, when great:
A vast estate, but overcharged with debt.
Like those, whom want to baseness does betray,
I’m forced to flatter him, I cannot pay.
O would he be content to seize the throne!
I beg the life of Aureng-Zebe alone.
Whom heaven would bless, from pomp it will remove,
And make their wealth in privacy and love.[Exit.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Aureng-Zebe alone.
Distrust, and darkness, of a future state,
Make poor mankind so fearful of their fate.
Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear,
To be we know not what, we know not where.[Soft music.
This is the ceremony of my fate:
A parting treat; and I’m to die in state.
They lodge me, as I were the Persian King:
And with luxuriant pomp my death they bring.
To him, Nourmahal.
Nour. I thought, before you drew your latest breath,
To smooth your passage, and to soften death;
For I would have you, when you upward move,
Speak kindly of me, to our friends above:
Nor name me there the occasion of our fate;
Or what my interest does, impute to hate.
Aur. I ask not for what end your pomp’s designed;
Whether to insult, or to compose my mind:
I marked it not;
But, knowing death would soon the assault begin,
Stood firm collected in my strength within:
To guard that breach did all my forces guide,
And left unmanned the quiet sense’s side.
Nour. Because Morat from me his being took,
All I can say will much suspected look:
’Tis little to confess, your fate I grieve;
Yet more than you would easily believe.
Aur. Since my inevitable death you know,
You safely unavailing pity shew:
’Tis popular to mourn a dying foe.
Nour. You made my liberty your late request;
Is no return due from a grateful breast?
I grow impatient, ‘till I find some way,
Great offices, with greater, to repay.
Aur. When I consider life, ’tis all a cheat;
Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:
To-morrow’s falser than the former day;
Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest
With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! None would live past years again,
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;
And, from the dregs of life, think to receive,
What the first sprightly running could not give.
I’m tired with waiting for this chemic gold,
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.
Nour. ’Tis not for nothing that we life pursue;
It pays our hopes with something still that’s new:
Each day’s a mistress, unenjoyed before;
Like travellers, we’re pleased with seeing more.
Did you but know what joys your way attend,
You would not hurry to your journey’s end.
Aur. I need not haste the end of life to meet;
The precipice is just beneath my feet.
Nour. Think not my sense of virtue is so small:
I’ll rather leap down first, and break your fall.
My Aureng-Zebe, (may I not call you so?) [Taking him by the hand.
Behold me now no longer for your foe;
I am not, cannot be your enemy:
Look, is there any malice in my eye?
Pray, sit. — [Both sit.
That distance shews too much respect, or fear;
You’ll find no danger in approaching near.
Aur. Forgive the amazement of my doubtful state:
This kindness from the mother of Morat!
Or is’t some angel, pitying what I bore,
Who takes that shape, to make my wonder more?
Nour. Think me your better genius in disguise;
Or any thing that more may charm your eyes.
Your guardian angel never could excel
In care, nor could he love his charge so well.
Aur. Whence can proceed so wonderful a change?
Nour. Can kindness to desert, like yours, be strange?
Kindness by secret sympathy is tied;
For noble souls in nature are allied.
I saw with what a brow you braved your fate;
Yet with what mildness bore your father’s hate.
My virtue, like a string, wound up by art
To the same sound, when yours was touched, took part,
At distance shook, and trembled at my heart.
Aur. I’ll not complain, my father is unkind,
Since so much pity from a foe I find.
Just heaven reward this act!
Nour. ’Tis well the debt no payment does demand;
You turn me over to another hand.
But happy, happy she,
And with the blessed above to be compared,
Whom you yourself would, with yourself, reward:
The greatest, nay, the fairest of her kind,
Would envy her that bliss, which you designed.
Aur. Great princes thus, when favourites they raise,
To justify their grace, their creatures praise.
Nour. As love the noblest passion we account,
So to the highest object it should mount.
It shews you brave when mean desires you shun;
An eagle only can behold the sun:
And so must you, if yet presage divine
There be in dreams, — or was’t a vision mine?
Aur. Of me?
Nour. And who could else employ my thought?
I dreamed, your love was by love’s goddess sought;
Officious Cupids, hovering o’er your head,
Held myrtle wreaths; beneath your feet were spread
What sweets soe’er Sabean springs disclose,
Our Indian jasmine, or the Syrian rose;
The wanton ministers around you strove
For service, and inspired their mother’s love:
Close by your side, and languishing, she lies,
With blushing cheeks, short breath, and wishing eyes
Upon your breast supinely lay her head,
While on your face her famished sight she fed.
Then, with a sigh, into these words she broke,
(And gathered humid kisses as she spoke)
Dull, and ungrateful! Must I offer love?
Desired of gods, and envied even by Jove:
And dost thou ignorance or
fear pretend?
Mean soul! and darest not gloriously offend?
Then, pressing thus his hand —
Aur. I’ll hear no more.[Rising up.
’Twas impious to have understood before:
And I, till now, endeavoured to mistake
The incestuous meaning, which too plain you make.
Nour. And why this niceness to that pleasure shewn,
Where nature sums up all her joys in one;
Gives all she can, and, labouring still to give,
Makes it so great, we can but taste and live:
So fills the senses, that the soul seems fled,
And thought itself does, for the time, lie dead;
Till, like a string screwed up with eager haste,
It breaks, and is too exquisite to last?
Aur. Heavens! can you this, without just vengeance, hear?
When will you thunder, if it now be clear?
Yet her alone let not your thunder seize:
I, too, deserve to die, because I please.
Nour. Custom our native royalty does awe;
Promiscuous love is nature’s general law:
For whosoever the first lovers were,
Brother and sister made the second pair,
And doubled, by their love, their piety.
Aur. Hence, hence, and to some barbarous climate fly,
Which only brutes in human form does yield,
And man grows wild in nature’s common field.
Who eat their parents, piety pretend;
Yet there no sons their sacred bed ascend.
To vail great sins, a greater crime you chuse;
And, in your incest, your adultery lose.
Nour. In vain this haughty fury you have shewn.
How I adore a soul, so like my own!
You must be mine, that you may learn to live;
Know joys, which only she who loves can give.
Nor think that action you upbraid, so ill;
I am not changed, I love my husband still;
But love him as he was, when youthful grace,
And the first down began to shade his face:
That image does my virgin-flames renew,
And all your father shines more bright in you.
Aur. In me a horror of myself you raise;
Cursed by your love, and blasted by your praise.
You find new ways to prosecute my fate;
And your least-guilty passion was your hate.
Nour. I beg my death, if you can love deny. [Offering him a dagger.
Aur. I’ll grant you nothing; no, not even to die.
Nour. Know then, you are not half so kind as I. [Stamps with her foot.
Enter Mutes, some with swords drawn, one with a cup.
You’ve chosen, and may now repent too late.
Behold the effect of what you wished, — my hate. [Taking the cup to present him.