Ind. I dare not.

Nour. Do’t, while I stand by and see,
At my full gust, without the drudgery. 
I love a foe, who dares my stroke prevent,
Who gives me the full scene of my content;
Shows me the flying soul’s convulsive strife,
And all the anguish of departing life. 
Disdain my mercy, and my rage defy;
Curse me with thy last breath, and make me see
A spirit, worthy to have rivalled me.

Ind. Oh, I desire to die, but dare not yet!  Give me some respite, I’ll discharge the debt.  Without my Aureng-Zebe I would not live.

Nour. Thine, traitress! thine! that word has winged thy fate,
And put me past the tedious forms of hate: 
I’ll kill thee with such eagerness and haste,
As fiends, let loose, would lay all nature waste.
                       [INDAMORA runs back:  As NOURMAHAL is running
                        to her, clashing of swords is heard within.

Sold. Yield, you’re o’erpowered:  Resistance is in vain. [Within.

Mor. Then death’s my choice:  Submission I disdain. [Within.

Nour. Retire, ye slaves!  Ah, whither does he run [At the door. On pointed swords?  Disarm, but save my son.

Enter MORAT staggering, and upheld by Soldiers.

Mor. She lives! and I shall see her once again! 
I have not thrown away my life in vain.
                     [Catches hold of INDAMORA’S gown, and falls by
                      her:  She sits.
I can no more; yet even in death I find
My fainting body biassed by my mind: 
I fall toward you; still my contending soul
Points to your breast, and trembles to its pole.

To them MELESINDA, hastily casting herself on the other side of
MORAT.

Mel. Ah woe, woe, woe! the worst of woes I find! 
Live still; Oh live; live e’en to be unkind!—­
With half-shut eyes he seeks the doubtful day;
But, ah! he bends his sight another way. 
He faints! and in that sigh his soul is gone;
Yet heaven’s unmoved, yet heaven looks careless on.

Nour. Where are those powers which monarchs should defend? 
Or do they vain authority pretend
O’er human fates, and their weak empire show,
Which cannot guard their images below? 
If, as their image, he was not divine,
They ought to have respected him as mine. 
I’ll waken them with my revenge; and she,
Their Indamora, shall my victim be,
And helpless heaven shall mourn in vain, like me.
                            [As she is going to stab INDAMORA, MORAT
                             raises himself, and holds her hand.

Mor. Ah, what are we,
Who dare maintain with heaven this wretched strife,
Puft with the pride of heaven’s own gift, frail life? 
That blast which my ambitious spirit swelled,
See by how weak a tenure it was held! 
I only stay to save the innocent;
Oh envy not my soul its last content!