Chapter 16

_Enter_ ARIMANT, ASAPH CHAN, _and_ FAZEL CHAN.

_Arim._ Heaven seems the empire of the east to lay On the success of this important day: Their arms are to the last decision bent, And fortune labours with the vast event: She now has in her hand the greatest stake, Which for contending monarchs she can make. Whate'er can urge ambitious youth to fight, She pompously displays before their sight; Laws, empire, all permitted to the sword, And fate could ne'er an ampler scene afford.

_Asaph._ Four several armies to the field are led, Which, high in equal hopes, four princes head: Indus and Ganges, our wide empire's bounds, Swell their dyed currents with their natives' wounds: Each purple river winding, as he runs, His bloody arms about his slaughtered sons.

_Fazel._ I well remember you foretold the storm, When first the brothers did their factions form: When each, by cursed cabals of women, strove To draw the indulgent king to partial love.

_Arim._ What heaven decrees, no prudence can prevent. To cure their mad ambition, they were sent To rule a distant province each alone: What could a careful father more have done? He made provision against all, but fate, While, by his health, we held our peace of state. The weight of seventy winters prest him down, He bent beneath the burden of a crown: Sickness, at last, did his spent body seize, And life almost sunk under the disease: Mortal 'twas thought, at least by them desired, Who, impiously, into his years inquired: As at a signal, strait the sons prepare For open force, and rush to sudden war: Meeting, like winds broke loose upon the main, To prove, by arms, whose fate it was to reign.

_Asaph._ Rebels and parricides!

_Arim._ Brand not their actions with so foul a name: Pity at least what we are forced to blame. When death's cold hand has closed the father's eye, You know the younger sons are doomed to die. Less ills are chosen greater to avoid, And nature's laws are by the state's destroyed. What courage tamely could to death consent, And not, by striking first, the blow prevent? Who falls in fight, cannot himself accuse, And he dies greatly, who a crown pursues.

_To them_ SOLYMAN AGA.

_Solym._ A new express all Agra does affright: Darah and Aureng-Zebe are joined in fight; The press of people thickens to the court, The impatient crowd devouring the report.

_Arim._ T' each changing news they changed affections bring, And servilely from fate expect a king.

_Solym._ The ministers of state, who gave us law, In corners, with selected friends, withdraw: There, in deaf murmurs, solemnly are wise; Whispering, like winds, ere hurricanes arise. The most corrupt are most obsequious grown, And those they scorned, officiously they own.

_Asaph._ In change of government, The rabble rule their great oppressors' fate; Do sovereign justice, and revenge the state.

_Solym._ The little courtiers, who ne'er come to know The depth of factions, as in mazes go, Where interests meet and cross so oft, that they, With too much care, are wildered in their way.

_Arim._ What of the emperor?

_Solym._ Unmoved, and brave, he like himself appears, And, meriting no ill, no danger fears: Yet mourns his former vigour lost so far, To make him now spectator of a war: Repining that he must preserve his crown By any help or courage but his own: Wishes, each minute, he could unbeget Those rebel sons, who dare usurp his seat; To sway his empire with unequal skill, And mount a throne, which none but he can fill.

_Arim._ Oh! had he still that character maintained, Of valour, which, in blooming youth, he gained! He promised in his east a glorious race; Now, sunk from his meridian, sets apace. But as the sun, when he from noon declines, And, with abated heat, less fiercely shines, Seems to grow milder as he goes away, Pleasing himself with the remains of day; So he, who, in his youth, for glory strove, Would recompense his age with ease and love.

_Asaph._ The name of father hateful to him grows, Which, for one son, produces him three foes.

_Fazel._ Darah, the eldest, bears a generous mind, But to implacable revenge inclined: Too openly does love and hatred show; A bounteous master, but a deadly foe.

_Solym._ From Sujah's valour I should much expect, But he's a bigot of the Persian sect; And by a foreign interest seeks to reign, Hopeless by love the sceptre to obtain.

_Asaph._ Morat's too insolent, too much a brave; His courage to his envy is a slave. What he attempts, if his endeavours fail To effect, he is resolved no other shall.

_Arim._ But Aureng-Zebe, by no strong passion swayed, Except his love, more temperate is, and weighed: This Atlas must our sinking state uphold; In council cool, but in performance bold: He sums their virtues in himself alone, And adds the greatest, of a loyal son: His father's cause upon his sword he wears, And with his arms, we hope, his fortune bears.

_Solym._ Two vast rewards may well his courage move, A parent's blessing, and a mistress' love. If he succeed, his recompence, we hear, Must be the captive queen of Cassimere.

_To them_ ABAS.

_Abas._ Mischiefs on mischiefs, greater still, and more! The neighbouring plain with arms is covered o'er: The vale an iron-harvest seems to yield, Of thick-sprung lances in a waving field. The polished steel gleams terribly from far, And every moment nearer shows the war. The horses' neighing by the wind is blown, And castled-elephants o'er-look the town.

_Arim._ If, as I fear, Morat these powers commands, Our empire on the brink of ruin stands: The ambitious empress with her son is joined, And, in his brother's absence, has designed The unprovided town to take with ease, And then the person of the king to seize.

_Solym._ To all his former issue she has shown Long hate, and laboured to advance her own.

_Abas._ These troops are his. Surat he took; and thence, preventing fame, By quick and painful marches hither came. Since his approach, he to his mother sent, And two long hours in close debate were spent.

_Arim._ I'll to my charge, the citadel, repair, And show my duty by my timely care.

_To them the Emperor, with a letter in his hand: After him, an Ambassador, with a train following._

_Asaph._ But see, the emperor! a fiery red His brows and glowing temples does o'erspread; Morat has some displeasing message sent.

_Amb._ Do not, great sir, misconstrue his intent; Nor call rebellion what was prudent care, To guard himself by necessary war: While he believed you living, he obeyed; His governments but as your viceroy swayed: But, when he thought you gone To augment the number of the blessed above, He deemed them legacies of royal love: Nor armed, his brothers' portions to invade, But to defend the present you had made.

_Emp._ By frequent messages, and strict commands, He knew my pleasure to discharge his bands: Proof of my life my royal signet made; Yet still he armed, came on, and disobeyed.

_Amb._ He thought the mandate forged, your death concealed; And but delayed, till truth should be revealed.

_Emp._ News of my death from rumour he received; And what he wished, he easily believed: But long demurred, though from my hand he knew I lived, so loth he was to think it true. Since he pleads ignorance to that command, Now let him show his duty, and disband.

_Amb._ His honour, sir, will suffer in the cause; He yields his arms unjust, if he withdraws: And begs his loyalty may be declared, By owning those he leads to be your guard.

_Emp._ I, in myself, have all the guard I need! Bid the presumptuous boy draw off with speed: If his audacious troops one hour remain, My cannon from the fort shall scour the plain.

_Amb._ Since you deny him entrance, he demands His wife, whom cruelly you hold in bands: Her, if unjustly you from him detain, He justly will, by force of arms, regain.

_Emp._ O'er him and his a right from Heaven I have; Subject and son, he's doubly born my slave. But whatsoe'er his own demerits are, Tell him, I shall not make on women war. And yet I'll do her innocence the grace, To keep her here, as in the safer place. But thou, who dar'st this bold defiance bring, May'st feel the rage of an offended king. Hence, from my sight, without the least reply! One word, nay one look more, and thou shalt die. [_Exit Ambassador._

_Re-enter_ ARIMANT.

_Arim._ May heaven, great monarch, still augment your bliss With length of days, and every day like this! For, from the banks of Gemna news is brought, Your army has a bloody battle fought: Darah from loyal Aureng-Zebe is fled, And forty thousand of his men lie dead. To Sujah next your conquering army drew; Him they surprised, and easily o'erthrew.

_Emp._ 'Tis well.

_Arim._ But well! what more could at your wish be done, Than two such conquests gained by such a son? Your pardon, mighty sir; You seem not high enough your joys to rate; You stand indebted a vast sum to fate, And should large thanks for the great blessing pay.

_Emp._ My fortune owes me greater every day; And should my joy more high for this appear, It would have argued me, before, of fear. How is heaven kind, where I have nothing won, And fortune only pays me with my own?

_Arim._ Great Aureng-Zebe did duteous care express, And durst not push too far his good success; But, lest Morat the city should attack, Commanded his victorious army back; Which, left to march as swiftly as they may, Himself comes first, and will be here this day, Before a close-formed siege shut up his way.

_Emp._ Prevent his purpose! hence, with all thy speed! Stop him; his entrance to the town forbid.

_Arim._ How, sir? your loyal, your victorious son?

_Emp._ Him would I, more than all the rebels, shun.

_Arim._ Whom with your power and fortune, sir, you trust. Now to suspect is vain, as 'tis unjust. He comes not with a train to move your fear, But trusts himself to be a prisoner here. You knew him brave, you know him faithful now: He aims at fame, but fame from serving you. 'Tis said, ambition in his breast does rage: Who would not be the hero of an age? All grant him prudent: Prudence interest weighs, And interest bids him seek your love and praise. I know you grateful; when he marched from hence, You bade him hope an ample recompence: He conquered in that hope; and, from your hands, His love, the precious pledge he left, demands.

_Emp._ No more; you search too deep my wounded mind, And show me what I fear, and would not find. My son has all the debts of duty paid: Our prophet sends him to my present aid. Such virtue to distrust were base and low: I'm not ungrateful--or I was not so! Inquire no farther, stop his coming on: I will not, cannot, dare not, see my son.

_Arim._ 'Tis now too late his entrance to prevent, Nor must I to your ruin give consent; At once your people's heart, and son's, you lose, And give him all, when you just things refuse.

_Emp._ Thou lov'st me, sure; thy faith has oft been tried, In ten pitched fields not shrinking from my side, Yet giv'st me no advice to bring me ease.

_Arim._ Can you be cured, and tell not your disease? I asked you, sir.

_Emp._ Thou shouldst have asked again: There hangs a secret shame on guilty men. Thou shouldst have pulled the secret from my breast, Torn out the bearded steel, to give me rest; At least, thou should'st have guessed-- Yet thou art honest, thou couldst ne'er have guessed. Hast thou been never base? did love ne'er bend Thy frailer virtue, to betray thy friend? Flatter me, make thy court, and say, It did; Kings in a crowd would have their vices hid. We would be kept in count'nance, saved from shame, And owned by others who commit the same. Nay, now I have confessed. Thou seest me naked, and without disguise: I look on Aureng-Zebe with rival's eyes. He has abroad my enemies o'ercome, And I have sought to ruin him at home.

_Arim._ This free confession shows you long did strive; And virtue, though opprest, is still alive. But what success did your injustice find?

_Emp._ What it deserved, and not what I designed. Unmoved she stood, and deaf to all my prayers, As seas and winds to sinking mariners. But seas grow calm, and winds are reconciled: Her tyrant beauty never grows more mild; Prayers, promises, and threats, were all in vain.

_Arim._ Then cure yourself, by generous disdain.

_Emp._ Virtue, disdain, despair, I oft have tried, And, foiled, have with new arms my foe defied. This made me with so little joy to hear The victory, when I the victor fear.

_Arim._ Something you swiftly must resolve to do, Lest Aureng-Zebe your secret love should know. Morat without does for your ruin wait; And would you lose the buckler of your state? A jealous empress lies within your arms, Too haughty to endure neglected charms.

Your son is duteous, but, as man, he's frail, And just revenge o'er virtue may prevail.

_Emp._ Go then to Indamora; say, from me, Two lives depend upon her secrecy. Bid her conceal my passion from my son: Though Aureng-Zebe return a conqueror, Both he and she are still within my power. Say, I'm a father, but a lover too; Much to my son, more to myself I owe. When she receives him, to her words give law, And even the kindness of her glances awe. See, he appears! [_After a short whisper,_ ARIMANT _departs._

_Enter_ AURENG-ZEBE, DIANET, _and_ Attendants.--AURENG-ZEBE _kneels to his Father, and kisses his hand._

_Aur._ My vows have been successful as my sword; My prayers are heard, you have your health restored. Once more 'tis given me to behold your face; The best of kings and fathers to embrace. Pardon my tears; 'tis joy which bids them flow, A joy which never was sincere till now. That, which my conquest gave, I could not prize; Or 'twas imperfect till I saw your eyes.

_Emp._ Turn the discourse: I have a reason why I would not have you speak so tenderly. Knew you what shame your kind expressions bring, You would, in pity, spare a wretched king.

_Aur._ A king! you rob me, sir, of half my due; You have a dearer name,--a father too.

_Emp._ I had that name.

_Aur._ What have I said or done, That I no longer must be called your son? 'Tis in that name, heaven knows, I glory more, Than that of prince, or that of conqueror.

_Emp._ Then you upbraid me; I am pleased to see You're not so perfect, but can fail, like me. I have no God to deal with.

_Aur._ Now I find, Some sly court-devil has seduced your mind; Filled it with black suspicions not your own, And all my actions through false optics shown. I ne'er did crowns ambitiously regard; Honour I sought, the generous mind's reward. Long may you live! while you the sceptre sway, I shall be still most happy to obey.

_Emp._ Oh, Aureng-Zebe! thy virtues shine too bright, They flash too fierce: I, like the bird of night, Shut my dull eyes, and sicken at the sight. Thou hast deserved more love than I can show; But 'tis thy fate to give, and mine to owe. Thou seest me much distempered in my mind; Pulled back, and then pushed forward to be kind. Virtue, and--fain I would my silence break, But have not yet the confidence to speak. Leave me, and to thy needful rest repair.

_Aur._ Rest is not suiting with a lover's care. I have not yet my Indamora seen. [_Is going._

_Emp._ Somewhat I had forgot; come back again: So weary of a father's company?

_Aur._ Sir, you were pleased yourself to license me.

_Emp._ You made me no relation of the fight; Besides, a rebel's army is in sight. Advise me first: Yet go-- He goes to Indamora; I should take [_Aside._ A kind of envious joy to keep him back. Yet to detain him makes my love appear;-- I hate his presence, and his absence fear. [_Exit._

_Aur._ To some new clime, or to thy native sky, Oh friendless and forsaken Virtue, fly! Thy Indian air is deadly to thee grown: Deceit and cankered malice rule thy throne. Why did my arms in battle prosperous prove, To gain the barren praise of filial love? The best of kings by women is misled, Charmed by the witchcraft of a second bed. Against myself I victories have won, And by my fatal absence am undone.

_To him_ INDAMORA, _with_ ARIMANT.

But here she comes! In the calm harbour of whose gentle breast, My tempest-beaten soul may safely rest. Oh, my heart's joy! whate'er my sorrows be, They cease and vanish in beholding thee! Care shuns thy walks; as at the cheerful light, The groaning ghosts and birds obscene take flight. By this one view, all my past pains are paid; And all I have to come more easy made.

_Ind._ Such sullen planets at my birth did shine, They threaten every fortune mixt with mine. Fly the pursuit of my disastrous love, And from unhappy neighbourhood remove.

_Aur._ Bid the laborious hind, Whose hardened hands did long in tillage toil, Neglect the promised harvest of the soil. Should I, who cultivated love with blood, Refuse possession of approaching good?

_Ind._ Love is an airy good, opinion makes; Which he, who only thinks he has, partakes: Seen by a strong imagination's beam, That tricks and dresses up the gaudy dream: Presented so, with rapture 'tis enjoyed; Raised by high fancy, and by low destroyed.

_Aur._ If love be vision, mine has all the fire, Which, in first dreams, young prophets does inspire: I dream, in you, our promised paradise: An age's tumult of continued bliss. But you have still your happiness in doubt; Or else 'tis past, and you have dreamt it out.

_Ind._ Perhaps not so.

_Aur._ Can Indamora prove So altered? Is it but, perhaps you love? Then farewell all! I thought in you to find A balm, to cure my much distempered mind. I came to grieve a father's heart estranged; But little thought to find a mistress changed. Nature herself is changed to punish me; Virtue turned vice, and faith inconstancy.

_Ind._ You heard me not inconstancy confess: 'Twas but a friend's advice to love me less. Who knows what adverse fortune may befal? Arm well your mind: hope little, and fear all. Hope, with a goodly prospect, feeds your eye; Shows, from a rising ground, possession nigh; Shortens the distance, or o'erlooks it quite; So easy 'tis to travel with the sight.

_Aur._ Then to despair you would my love betray, By taking hope, its last kind friend, away. You hold the glass, but turn the perspective, And farther off the lessened object drive. You bid me fear: In that your change I know; You would prepare me for the coming blow. But, to prevent you, take my last adieu; I'll sadly tell my self you are untrue, Rather than stay to hear it told by you. [_Going._

_Ind._ Stay, Aureng-Zebe, I must not let you go,-- And yet believe yourself your own worst foe; Think I am true, and seek no more to know, Let in my breast the fatal secret lie; 'Tis a sad riddle, which, if known, we die. [_Seeming to pause._

_Aur._ Fair hypocrite, you seek to cheat in vain; Your silence argues you ask time to feign. Once more, farewell! The snare in sight is laid, 'Tis my own fault if I am now betrayed. [_Going again._

_Ind._ Yet once more stay; you shall believe me true, Though in one fate I wrap myself and you. Your absence--

_Arim._ Hold! you know the hard command, I must obey: You only can withstand Your own mishap. I beg you, on my knee, Be not unhappy by your own decree.

_Aur._ Speak, madam; by (if that be yet an oath) Your love, I'm pleased we should be ruined both. Both is a sound of joy. In death's dark bowers our bridals we will keep; And his cold hand Shall draw the curtain, when we go to sleep.

_Ind._ Know then, that man, whom both of us did trust, Has been to you unkind, to me unjust. The guardian of my faith so false did prove, As to solicit me with lawless love: Prayed, promised, threatened, all that man could do; Base as he's great; and need I tell you who?

_Aur._ Yes; for I'll not believe my father meant: Speak quickly, and my impious thoughts prevent.

_Ind._ You've said; I wish I could some other name!

_Arim._ My duty must excuse me, sir, from blame. A guard there!

_Enter Guards._

_Aur._ Slave, for me?

_Arim._ My orders are To seize this princess, whom the laws of war Long since made prisoner.

_Aur._ Villain!

_Arim._ Sir, I know Your birth, nor durst another call me so.

_Aur._ I have redeemed her; and, as mine, she's free.

_Arim._ You may have right to give her liberty; But with your father, sir, that right dispute; For his commands to me were absolute, If she disclosed his love, to use the right Of war, and to secure her from your sight.

_Aur._ I'll rescue her, or die. [_Draws._ And you, my friends, though few, are yet too brave, To see your general's mistress made a slave. [_All draw._

_Ind._ Hold, my dear love! if so much power there lies, As once you owned, in Indamora's eyes, Lose not the honour you have early won, But stand the blameless pattern of a son. My love your claim inviolate secures; 'Tis writ in fate, I can be only yours. My sufferings for you make your heart my due; Be worthy me, as I am worthy you.

_Aur._ I've thought, and blessed be you who gave me time; [_Putting up his Sword._ My virtue was surprised into a crime. Strong virtue, like strong nature, struggles still; Exerts itself, and then throws off the ill. I to a son's and lover's praise aspire, And must fulfil the parts which both require. How dear the cure of jealousy has cost! With too much care and tenderness you're lost. So the fond youth from hell redeemed his prize, Till, looking back, she vanished from his eyes! [_Exeunt severally._