Zayd. I’ll search:  far distant hence she cannot be. [Goes in.

Nour. This wondrous master-piece I fain would see;
This fatal Helen, who can wars inspire,
Make kings her slaves, and set the world on fire. 
My husband locked his jewel from my view;
Or durst not set the false one by the true.

  Re-enter ZAYDA, leading INDAMORA.

Zayd. Your frighted captive, ere she dies, receive; Her soul’s just going else, without your leave.

Nour. A fairer creature did my eyes ne’er see! 
Sure she was formed by heaven, in spite to me! 
Some angel copied, while I slept, each grace,
And moulded every feature from my face. 
Such majesty does from her forehead rise,
Her cheeks such blushes cast, such rays her eyes,
Nor I, nor envy, can a blemish find.—­
The palace is, without, too well designed: 
Conduct me in, for I will view thy mind. [To her.
Speak, if thou hast a soul, that I may see,
If heaven can make, throughout, another me.

Ind. My tears and miseries must plead my cause; [Kneeling.
My words, the terror of your presence awes: 
Mortals, in sight of angels, mute become;
The nobler nature strikes the inferior dumb.

Nour. The palm is, by the foe’s confession, mine;
But I disdain what basely you resign. 
Heaven did, by me, the outward model build;
Its inward work, the soul, with rubbish filled. 
Yet, oh! the imperfect piece moves more delight;
’Tis gilded o’er with youth, to catch the sight. 
The gods have poorly robbed my virgin bloom,
And what I am, by what I was, o’ercome. 
Traitress! restore my beauty and my charms,
Nor steal my conquest with my proper arms.

Ind. What have I done thus to inflame your hate?  I am not guilty, but unfortunate.

Nour. Not guilty, when thy looks my power betray,
Seduce mankind, my subject, from my sway,
Take all my hearts and all my eyes away? 
My husband first; but that I could forgive;
He only moved, and talked, but did not live. 
My Aureng-Zebe!—­for I dare own the name,
The glorious sin, and the more glorious flame,—­
Him from my beauty have thy eyes misled,
And starved the joys of my expected bed.

Ind. His love so sought, he’s happy that he’s dead. 
O had I courage but to meet my fate,
That short dark passage to a future state,
That melancholy riddle of a breath!

Nour. That something, or that nothing, after death:  Take this, and teach thyself. [Giving a Dagger.

Ind. Alas!

Nour. Why dost thou shake? 
Dishonour not the vengeance I designed: 
A queen, and own a base Plebeian mind! 
Let it drink deep in thy most vital part;
Strike home, and do me reason in thy heart.