Arim. Sir, you forget the danger’s imminent:  This minute is not for excuses lent.

Emp. Disturb me not;—­
How can my latest hour be better spent? 
To reconcile myself to him is more,
Than to regain all I possessed before. 
Empire and life are now not worth a prayer;
His love, alone, deserves my dying care.

Aur. Fighting for you, my death will glorious be.

Ind. Seek to preserve yourself, and live for me.

Arim. Lose then no farther time. 
Heaven has inspired me with a sudden thought,
Whence your unhoped for safety may be wrought,
Though with the hazard of my blood ’tis bought. 
But since my life can ne’er be fortunate,
’Tis so much sorrow well redeemed from fate. 
You, madam, must retire,
(Your beauty is its own security,)
And leave the conduct of the rest to me. 
Glory will crown my life, if I succeed;
If not, she may afford to love me dead. [Aside.

Aur. My father’s kind, and, madam, you forgive;
Were heaven so pleased, I now could wish to live. 
And I shall live. 
With glory and with love, at once, I burn: 
I feel the inspiring heat, and absent god return. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

  INDAMORA alone.

Ind. The night seems doubled with the fear she brings,
And o’er the citadel new-spreads her wings. 
The morning, as mistaken, turns about,
And all her early fires again go out. 
Shouts, cries, and groans, first pierce my ears, and then
A flash of lightning draws the guilty scene,
And shows me arms, and wounds, and dying men. 
Ah, should my Aureng-Zebe be fighting there,
And envious winds, distinguished to my ear,
His dying groans and his last accents bear!

  To her, MORAT, attended.

Mor. The bloody business of the night is done,
And, in the citadel, an empire won. 
Our swords so wholly did the fates employ,
That they, at length, grew weary to destroy,
Refused the work we brought, and, out of breath,
Made sorrow and despair attend for death. 
But what of all my conquest can I boast? 
My haughty pride, before your eyes, is lost: 
And victory but gains me to present
That homage, which our eastern world has sent.

Ind. Your victory, alas, begets my fears: 
Can you not then triumph without my tears? 
Resolve me; (for you know my destiny
Is Aureng-Zebes) say, do I live or die?

Mor. Urged by my love, by hope of empire fired,
’Tis true, I have performed what both required: 
What fate decreed; for when great souls are given,
They bear the marks of sovereignty from heaven. 
My elder brothers my fore-runners came;
Rough-draughts of nature, ill designed, and lame: 
Blown off, like blossoms never made to bear;
Till I came, finished, her last-laboured care.