Emp. Virtue, disdain, despair, I oft have tried,
And, foiled, have with new arms my foe defied. 
This made me with so little joy to hear
The victory, when I the victor fear.

Arim. Something you swiftly must resolve to do,
Lest Aureng-Zebe your secret love should know. 
Morat without does for your ruin wait;
And would you lose the buckler of your state? 
A jealous empress lies within your arms,
Too haughty to endure neglected charms.

Your son is duteous, but, as man, he’s frail,
And just revenge o’er virtue may prevail.

Emp. Go then to Indamora; say, from me,
Two lives depend upon her secrecy. 
Bid her conceal my passion from my son: 
Though Aureng-Zebe return a conqueror,
Both he and she are still within my power. 
Say, I’m a father, but a lover too;
Much to my son, more to myself I owe. 
When she receives him, to her words give law,
And even the kindness of her glances awe. 
See, he appears! [After a short whisper, ARIMANT departs.

  Enter AURENG-ZEBE, DIANET, and Attendants.—­AURENG-ZEBE kneels
  to his Father, and kisses his hand.

Aur. My vows have been successful as my sword;
My prayers are heard, you have your health restored. 
Once more ’tis given me to behold your face;
The best of kings and fathers to embrace. 
Pardon my tears; ’tis joy which bids them flow,
A joy which never was sincere till now. 
That, which my conquest gave, I could not prize;
Or ’twas imperfect till I saw your eyes.

Emp. Turn the discourse:  I have a reason why
I would not have you speak so tenderly. 
Knew you what shame your kind expressions bring,
You would, in pity, spare a wretched king.

Aur. A king! you rob me, sir, of half my due; You have a dearer name,—­a father too.

Emp. I had that name.

Aur. What have I said or done,
That I no longer must be called your son? 
’Tis in that name, heaven knows, I glory more,
Than that of prince, or that of conqueror.

Emp. Then you upbraid me; I am pleased to see You’re not so perfect, but can fail, like me.  I have no God to deal with.

Aur. Now I find,
Some sly court-devil has seduced your mind;
Filled it with black suspicions not your own,
And all my actions through false optics shown. 
I ne’er did crowns ambitiously regard;
Honour I sought, the generous mind’s reward. 
Long may you live! while you the sceptre sway,
I shall be still most happy to obey.

Emp. Oh, Aureng-Zebe! thy virtues shine too bright,
They flash too fierce:  I, like the bird of night,
Shut my dull eyes, and sicken at the sight. 
Thou hast deserved more love than I can show;
But ’tis thy fate to give, and mine to owe. 
Thou seest me much distempered in my mind;
Pulled back, and then pushed forward to be kind. 
Virtue, and—­fain I would my silence break,
But have not yet the confidence to speak. 
Leave me, and to thy needful rest repair.