Mor. Why do you give your mind this needless care,
And for yourself, and me, new pains prepare? 
I ne’er approved this passion in excess: 
If you would show your love, distrust me less. 
I hate to be pursued from place to place;
Meet, at each turn, a stale domestic face. 
The approach of jealousy love cannot bear;
He’s wild, and soon on wing, if watchful eyes come near.

Mel. From your loved presence how can I depart?  My eyes pursue the object of my heart.

Mor. You talk as if it were our bridal night: 
Fondness is still the effect of new delight,
And marriage but the pleasure of a day: 
The metal’s base, the gilding worn away.

Mel. I fear I’m guilty of some great offence, And that has bred this cold indifference.

Mor. The greatest in the world to flesh and blood:  You fondly love much longer than you should.

Mel. If that be all which makes your discontent, Of such a crime I never can repent.

Mor. Would you force love upon me, which I shun?  And bring coarse fare, when appetite is gone?

Mel. Why did I not in prison die, before
My fatal freedom made me suffer more? 
I had been pleased to think I died for you,
And doubly pleased, because you then were true: 
Then I had hope; but now, alas! have none.

Mor. You say you love me; let that love be shown.  ’Tis in your power to make my happiness.

Mel. Speak quickly!  To command me is to bless.

Mor. To Indamora you my suit must move:  You’ll sure speak kindly of the man you love.

Mel. Oh, rather let me perish by your hand,
Than break my heart, by this unkind command! 
Think, ’tis the only one I could deny;
And that ’tis harder to refuse, than die. 
Try, if you please, my rival’s heart to win;
I’ll bear the pain, but not promote the sin. 
You own whate’er perfections man can boast,
And, if she view you with my eyes, she’s lost.

Mor. Here I renounce all love, all nuptial ties: 
Henceforward live a stranger to my eyes: 
When I appear, see you avoid the place,
And haunt me not with that unlucky face.

Mel. Hard as it is, I this command obey,
And haste, while I have life, to go away: 
In pity stay some hours, till I am dead,
That blameless you may court my rival’s bed. 
My hated face I’ll not presume to show;
Yet I may watch your steps where’er you go. 
Unseen, I’ll gaze; and, with my latest breath,
Bless, while I die, the author of my death. [Weeping.

  Enter Emperor.

Emp. When your triumphant fortune high appears,
What cause can draw these unbecoming tears? 
Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait,
And give not thus the counter-time to fate.

Mel. Fortune long frowned, and has but lately smiled: 
I doubt a foe so newly reconciled. 
You saw but sorrow in its waning form,
A working sea remaining from a storm;
When the now weary waves roll o’er the deep,
And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep.