Ind. May all your wishes ever prosperous be! 
But I’m too much concerned the event to see. 
My eyes too tender are,
To view my lord become the public scorn.—­
I came to comfort, and I go to mourn. [Taking her leave.

Mel. Stay, I’ll not see my lord,
Before I give your sorrow some relief;
And pay the charity you lent my grief. 
Here he shall see me first, with you confined;
And, if your virtue fail to move his mind,
I’ll use my interest that he may be kind. 
Fear not, I never moved him yet in vain.

Ind. So fair a pleader any cause may gain.

Mel. I have no taste, methinks, of coming joy;
For black presages all my hopes destroy. 
“Die!” something whispers,—­“Melesinda, die! 
Fulfil, fulfil, thy mournful destiny!”—­
Mine is a gleam of bliss, too hot to last;
Watry it shines, and will be soon o’ercast. [IND. and MEL. retire.

Arim. Fortune seems weary grown of Aureng-Zebe,
While to her new-made favourite Morat,
Her lavish hand is wastefully profuse: 
With fame and flowing honours tided in,
Borne on a swelling current smooth beneath him. 
The king, and haughty empress, to our wonder,
If not atoned, yet seemingly at peace,
As fate for him that miracle reserved.

  Enter, in triumph, Emperor, MORAT, and Train.

Emp. I have confessed I love. 
As I interpret fairly your design,
So look not with severer eyes on mine. 
Your fate has called you to the imperial seat: 
In duty be, as you in arms are, great;
For Aureng-Zebe a hated name is grown,
And love less bears a rival than the throne.

Mor. To me, the cries of fighting fields are charms: 
Keen be my sabre, and of proof my arms,
I ask no other blessing of my stars: 
No prize but fame, nor mistress but the wars. 
I scarce am pleased I tamely mount the throne:—­
Would Aureng-Zebe had all their souls in one! 
With all my elder brothers I would fight,
And so from partial nature force my right.

Emp. Had we but lasting youth, and time to spare,
Some might be thrown away on fame and war;
But youth, the perishing good, runs on too fast,
And, unenjoyed, will spend itself to waste;
Few know the use of life before ’tis past. 
Had I once more thy vigour to command,
I would not let it die upon my hand: 
No hour of pleasure should pass empty by;
Youth should watch joys, and shoot them as they fly.

Mor. Methinks, all pleasure is in greatness found. 
Kings, like heaven’s eye, should spread their beams around,
Pleased to be seen, while glory’s race they run: 
Rest is not for the chariot of the sun. 
Subjects are stiff-necked animals; they soon
Feel slackened reins, and pitch their rider down.

Emp. To thee that drudgery of power I give: 
Cares be thy lot:  Reign thou, and let me live. 
The fort I’ll keep for my security;
Business and public state resign to thee.