Mor. The public will in triumphs rudely share,
And kings the rudeness of their joys must bear: 
But I made haste to set my captive free,
And thought that work was only worthy me. 
The fame of ancient matrons you pursue,
And stand a blameless pattern to the new. 
I have not words to praise such acts as these: 
But take my heart, and mould it as you please.

Mel. A trial of your kindness I must make, Though not for mine so much as virtue’s sake.  The queen of Cassimere—­

Mor. No more, my love;
That only suit I beg you not to move. 
That she’s in bonds for Aureng-Zebe I know,
And should, by my consent, continue so;
The good old man, I fear, will pity shew. 
My father dotes, and let him still dote on;
He buys his mistress dearly, with his throne.

Mel. See her; and then be cruel if you can.

Mor. ’Tis not with me as with a private man.  Such may be swayed by honour, or by love; But monarchs only by their interest move.

Mel. Heaven does a tribute for your power demand: 
He leaves the opprest and poor upon your hand;
And those, who stewards of his pity prove,
He blesses, in return, with public love: 
In his distress some miracle is shewn;
If exiled, heaven restores him to his throne: 
He needs no guard, while any subject’s near,
Nor, like his tyrant neighbours, lives in fear: 
No plots the alarm to his retirement give: 
’Tis all mankind’s concern that he should live.

Mor. You promised friendship in your low estate,
And should forget it in your better fate. 
Such maxims are more plausible than true;
But somewhat must be given to love and you. 
I’ll view this captive queen; to let her see,
Prayers and complaints are lost on such as me.

Mel. I’ll bear the news:  Heaven knows how much I’m pleased, That, by my care, the afflicted may be eased.

As she is going off, enter INDAMORA.

Ind. I’ll spare your pains, and venture out alone,
Since you, fair princess, my protection own. 
But you, brave prince, a harder task must find;
                             [To MORAT kneeling, who takes her up.
In saving me, you would but half be kind. 
An humble suppliant at your feet I lie;
You have condemned my better part to die. 
Without my Aureng-Zebe I cannot live;
Revoke his doom, or else my sentence give.

Mel. If Melesinda in your love have part,—­
Which, to suspect, would break my tender heart,—­
If love, like mine, may for a lover plead,
By the chaste pleasures of our nuptial bed,
By all the interest my past sufferings make,
And all I yet would suffer for your sake;
By you yourself, the last and dearest tie—­

Mor. You move in vain; for Aureng-Zebe must die.