Aur. Behold these dying eyes, see their submissive awe;
These tears, which fear of death could never draw: 
Heard you that sigh? from my heaved heart it past,
And said,—­“If you forgive not, ’tis my last.” 
Love mounts, and rolls about my stormy mind,
Like fire, that’s borne by a tempestuous wind. 
Oh, I could stifle you, with eager haste! 
Devour your kisses with my hungry taste! 
Rush on you! eat you! wander o’er each part,
Raving with pleasure, snatch you to my heart! 
Then hold you off, and gaze! then, with new rage,
Invade you, till my conscious limbs presage
Torrents of joy, which all their banks o’erflow! 
So lost, so blest, as I but then could know!

Ind. Be no more jealous! [Giving him her hand.

Aur. Give me cause no more: 
The danger’s greater after, than before;
If I relapse, to cure my jealousy,
Let me (for that’s the easiest parting) die.

Ind. My life!

Aur. My soul!

Ind. My all that heaven can give!  Death’s life with you; without you, death to live.

  To them, ARIMANT, hastily.

Arim. Oh, we are lost, beyond all human aid! 
The citadel is to Morat betrayed. 
The traitor, and the treason, known too late;
The false Abas delivered up the gate: 
Even while I speak, we’re compassed round with fate. 
The valiant cannot fight, or coward fly;
But both in undistinguished crowds must die.

Aur. Then my prophetic fears are come to pass: 
Morat was always bloody; now, he’s base: 
And has so far in usurpation gone,
He will by parricide secure the throne.

  To them, the Emperor.

Emp. Am I forsaken, and betrayed, by all? 
Not one brave man dare, with a monarch, fall? 
Then, welcome death, to cover my disgrace! 
I would not live to reign o’er such a race. 
My Aureng-Zebe! [Seeing AURENG-ZEBE. 
But thou no more art mine; my cruelty
Has quite destroyed the right I had in thee. 
I have been base,
Base even to him from whom I did receive
All that a son could to a parent give: 
Behold me punished in the self-same kind;
The ungrateful does a more ungrateful find.

Aur. Accuse yourself no more; you could not be
Ungrateful; could commit no crime to me. 
I only mourn my yet uncancelled score: 
You put me past the power of paying more. 
That, that’s my grief, that I can only grieve,
And bring but pity, where I would relieve;
For had I yet ten thousand lives to pay,
The mighty sum should go no other way.

Emp. Can you forgive me? ’tis not fit you should. 
Why will you be so excellently good? 
’Twill stick too black a brand upon my name: 
The sword is needless; I shall die with shame. 
What had my age to do with love’s delight,
Shut out from all enjoyments but the sight?