Nour. Alas! and what have I not said or done?
I fought it to the last,—and love has won.
A bloody conquest, which destruction brought,
And ruined all the country where he fought.
Whether this passion from above was sent,
The fate of him heaven favours to prevent;
Or as the curse of fortune in excess,
That, stretching, would beyond its reach possess;
And, with a taste which plenty does deprave,
Loaths lawful good, and lawless ill does crave—
Zayd. But yet, consider—
Nour. No, 'tis loss of time:
Think how to further, not divert my crime.
My artful engines instantly I'll move,
And chuse the soft and gentlest hour of love.
The under-provost of the fort is mine.—
But see, Morat! I'll whisper my design.
Enter Morat with Arimant, as talking: Attendants.
Arim. And for that cause was not in public seen,
But stays in prison with the captive queen.
Mor. Let my attendants wait; I'll be alone:
Where least of state, there most of love is shewn.
Nour. My son, your business is not hard to guess; [To Morat.
Long absence makes you eager to possess:
I will not importune you by my stay;
She merits all the love which you can pay.[Exit with Zayda.
Re-enter Arimant, with Melesinda; then exit. Morat runs to Melesinda, and embraces her.
Mor. Should I not chide you, that you chose to stay
In gloomy shades, and lost a glorious day?
Lost the first fruits of joy you should possess
In my return, and made my triumph less?
Mel. Should I not chide, that you could stay and see
Those joys, preferring public pomp to me?
Through my dark cell your shouts of triumph rung:
I heard with pleasure, but I thought them long.