Emp. Your inward griefs you smother in your mind; But fame’s loud voice proclaims your lord unkind.

Mor. Let fame be busy, where she has to do;
Tell of fought fields, and every pompous show. 
Those tales are fit to fill the people’s ears;
Monarchs, unquestioned, move in higher spheres.

Mel. Believe not rumour, but yourself; and see
The kindness ’twixt my plighted lord and me. [Kissing MORAT. 
This is our state; thus happily we live;
These are the quarrels which we take and give. 
I had no other way to force a kiss. [Aside to MORAT. 
Forgive my last farewell to you and bliss. [Exit.

Emp. Your haughty carriage shows too much of scorn, And love, like hers, deserves not that return.

Mor. You’ll please to leave me judge of what I do,
And not examine by the outward show. 
Your usage of my mother might be good: 
I judged it not.

Emp. Nor was it fit you should.

Mor. Then, in as equal balance weigh my deeds.

Emp. My right, and my authority, exceeds.  Suppose (what I’ll not grant) injustice done; Is judging me the duty of a son?

Mor. Not of a son, but of an emperor: 
You cancelled duty when you gave me power. 
If your own actions on your will you ground,
Mine shall hereafter know no other bound. 
What meant you when you called me to a throne? 
Was it to please me with a name alone?

Emp. ’Twas that I thought your gratitude would know
What to my partial kindness you did owe;
That what your birth did to your claim deny,
Your merit of obedience might supply.

Mor. To your own thoughts such hope you might propose;
But I took empire not on terms like those. 
Of business you complained; now take your ease;
Enjoy whate’er decrepid age can please;
Eat, sleep, and tell long tales of what you were
In flower of youth,—­if any one will hear.

Emp. Power, like new wine, does your weak brain surprise,
And its mad fumes, in hot discourses, rise: 
But time these giddy vapours will remove;
Meanwhile, I’ll taste the sober joys of love.

Mor. You cannot love nor pleasures take, or give;
But life begin, when ’tis too late to live. 
On a tired courser you pursue delight,
Let slip your morning, and set out at night. 
If you have lived, take thankfully the past;
Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last. 
If you have not enjoyed what youth could give,
But life sunk through you, like a leaky sieve,
Accuse yourself, you lived not while you might;
But, in the captive queen resign your right. 
I’ve now resolved to fill your useless place;
I’ll take that post, to cover your disgrace,
And love her, for the honour of my race.

Emp. Thou dost but try how far I can forbear,
Nor art that monster, which thou wouldst appear;
But do not wantonly my passion move;
I pardon nothing that relates to love. 
My fury does, like jealous forts, pursue
With death, even strangers who but come to view.