Emp. Madam, retire; she must not find you here.
                                      [Exit INDAMORA with ARIMANT.

Enter NOURMAHAL hastily.

Nour. What have I done, that Nourmahal must prove
The scorn and triumph of a rival’s love? 
My eyes are still the same; each glance, each grace,
Keep their first lustre, and maintain their place;
Not second yet to any other face.

Emp. What rage transports you?  Are you well awake?  Such dreams distracted minds in fevers make.

Nour. Those fevers you have given, those dreams have bred,
By broken faith, and an abandoned bed. 
Such visions hourly pass before my sight,
Which from my eyes their balmy slumbers fright,
In the severest silence of the night;
Visions, which in this citadel are seen,—­
Bright glorious visions of a rival queen.

Emp. Have patience,—­my first flames can ne’er decay;
These are but dreams, and soon will pass away;
Thou know’st, my heart, my empire, all is thine. 
In thy own heaven of love serenely shine;
Fair as the face of nature did appear,
When flowers first peep’d, and trees did blossoms bear,
And winter had not yet deformed the inverted year;
Calm as the breath which fans our eastern groves,
And bright as when thy eyes first lighted up our loves. 
Let our eternal peace be sealed by this,
With the first ardour of a nuptial kiss. [Offers to kiss her.

Nour. Me would you have,—­me your faint kisses prove,
The dregs and droppings of enervate love? 
Must I your cold long-labouring age sustain,
And be to empty joys provoked in vain? 
Receive you, sighing after other charms,
And take an absent husband in my arms?

Emp. Even these reproaches I can bear from you;
You doubted of my love, believe it true: 
Nothing but love this patience could produce,
And I allow your rage that kind excuse.

Nour. Call it not patience; ’tis your guilt stands mute;
You have a cause too foul to bear dispute. 
You wrong me first, and urge my rage to rise: 
Then I must pass for mad; you, meek and wise. 
Good man! plead merit by your soft replies. 
Vain privilege poor women have of tongue;
Men can stand silent, and resolve on wrong.

Emp. What can I more? my friendship you refuse.  And even my mildness, as my crime, accuse.

Nour. Your sullen silence cheats not me, false man;
I know you think the bloodiest things you can. 
Could you accuse me, you would raise your voice,
Watch for my crimes, and in my guilt rejoice: 
But my known virtue is from scandal free,
And leaves no shadow for your calumny.