Ind. Mistake me not, good Arimant; I know
My beauty’s power, and what my charms can do. 
You your own talent have not learned so well;
But practise one, where you can ne’er excel. 
You can, at most,
To an indifferent lover’s praise pretend;
But you would spoil an admirable friend.

Arim. Never was amity so highly prized,
Nor ever any love so much despised. 
Even to myself ridiculous I grow,
And would be angry, if I knew but how.

Ind. Do not.  Your anger, like your love, is vain;
Whene’er I please, you must be pleased again. 
Knowing what power I have your will to bend,
I’ll use it; for I need just such a friend. 
You must perform, not what you think is fit;
But to whatever I propose submit.

Arim. Madam, you have a strange ascendant gained;
You use me like a courser, spurred and reined: 
If I fly out, my fierceness you command,
Then sooth, and gently stroke me with your hand. 
Impose; but use your power of taxing well;
When subjects cannot pay, they soon rebel.

Enter the Emperor, unseen by them.

Ind. My rebel’s punishment would easy prove; You know you’re in my power, by making love.

Arim. Would I, without dispute, your will obey, And could you, in return, my life betray?

Emp. What danger, Arimant, is this you fear? 
Or what love-secret, which I must not hear? 
These altered looks some inward motion show: 
His cheeks are pale, and yours with blushes glow. [To her.

Ind. ’Tis what, with justice, may my anger move; He has been bold, and talked to me of love.

Arim. I am betrayed, and shall be doomed to die. [Aside.

Emp. Did he, my slave, presume to look so high? 
That crawling insect, who from mud began,
Warmed by my beams, and kindled into man? 
Durst he, who does but for my pleasure live,
Intrench on love, my great prerogative? 
Print his base image on his sovereign’s coin? 
’Tis treason if he stamp his love with mine.

Arim. ’Tis true, I have been bold, but if it be A crime—­

Ind. He means, ’tis only so to me. 
You, sir, should praise, what I must disapprove. 
He insolently talked to me of love;
But, sir, ’twas yours, he made it in your name;
You, if you please, may all he said disclaim.

Emp. I must disclaim whate’er he can express;
His groveling sense will show my passion less: 
But stay,—­if what he said my message be,
What fear, what danger, could arrive from me? 
He said, he feared you would his life betray.

Ind. Should he presume again, perhaps I may. 
Though in your hands he hazard not his life,
Remember, sir, your fury of a wife;
Who, not content to be revenged on you,
The agents of your passion will pursue.