Emp. Him would I, more than all the rebels, shun.

Arim. Whom with your power and fortune, sir, you trust. 
Now to suspect is vain, as ’tis unjust. 
He comes not with a train to move your fear,
But trusts himself to be a prisoner here. 
You knew him brave, you know him faithful now: 
He aims at fame, but fame from serving you. 
’Tis said, ambition in his breast does rage: 
Who would not be the hero of an age? 
All grant him prudent:  Prudence interest weighs,
And interest bids him seek your love and praise. 
I know you grateful; when he marched from hence,
You bade him hope an ample recompence: 
He conquered in that hope; and, from your hands,
His love, the precious pledge he left, demands.

Emp. No more; you search too deep my wounded mind,
And show me what I fear, and would not find. 
My son has all the debts of duty paid: 
Our prophet sends him to my present aid. 
Such virtue to distrust were base and low: 
I’m not ungrateful—­or I was not so! 
Inquire no farther, stop his coming on: 
I will not, cannot, dare not, see my son.

Arim. ’Tis now too late his entrance to prevent,
Nor must I to your ruin give consent;
At once your people’s heart, and son’s, you lose,
And give him all, when you just things refuse.

Emp. Thou lov’st me, sure; thy faith has oft been tried, In ten pitched fields not shrinking from my side, Yet giv’st me no advice to bring me ease.

Arim. Can you be cured, and tell not your disease?  I asked you, sir.

Emp. Thou shouldst have asked again: 
There hangs a secret shame on guilty men. 
Thou shouldst have pulled the secret from my breast,
Torn out the bearded steel, to give me rest;
At least, thou should’st have guessed—­
Yet thou art honest, thou couldst ne’er have guessed. 
Hast thou been never base? did love ne’er bend
Thy frailer virtue, to betray thy friend? 
Flatter me, make thy court, and say, It did;
Kings in a crowd would have their vices hid. 
We would be kept in count’nance, saved from shame,
And owned by others who commit the same. 
Nay, now I have confessed. 
Thou seest me naked, and without disguise: 
I look on Aureng-Zebe with rival’s eyes. 
He has abroad my enemies o’ercome,
And I have sought to ruin him at home.

Arim. This free confession shows you long did strive; And virtue, though opprest, is still alive.  But what success did your injustice find?

Emp. What it deserved, and not what I designed. 
Unmoved she stood, and deaf to all my prayers,
As seas and winds to sinking mariners. 
But seas grow calm, and winds are reconciled: 
Her tyrant beauty never grows more mild;
Prayers, promises, and threats, were all in vain.

Arim. Then cure yourself, by generous disdain.