Mel. Him from his mother's love your eyes divide,
And now her arms the cruel strife decide.
Ind. What strange misfortunes my vext life attend!
Death will be kind, and all my sorrows end.
If Nourmahal prevail, I know my fate.
Mel. I pity, as my own, your hard estate:
But what can my weak charity afford?
I have no longer interest in my lord:
Nor in his mother, he: she owns her hate
Aloud, and would herself usurp the state.
Ind. I'm stupified with sorrow, past relief
Of tears; parched up, and withered with my grief.
Mel. Dry mourning will decays more deadly bring,
As a north wind burns a too forward spring.
Give sorrow vent, and let the sluices go.
Ind. My tears are all congealed, and will not flow.
Mel. Have comfort; yield not to the blows of fate.
Ind. Comfort, like cordials after death, comes late.
Name not so vain a word; my hopes are fled:
Think your Morat were kind, and think him dead.
Mel. I can no more—
Can no more arguments, for comfort, find:
Your boding words have quite o'erwhelmed my mind. [Clattering of weapons within.
Ind. The noise increases, as the billows roar,
When rolling from afar they threat the shore.
She comes; and feeble nature now, I find,
Shrinks back in danger, and forsakes my mind.
I wish to die, yet dare not death endure;
Detest the medicine, yet desire the cure.
I would have death; but mild, and at command:
I dare not trust him in another's hand.
In Nourmahal's, he would not mine appear;
But armed with terror, and disguised with fear.