No More Learning

--
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.

_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!

_Ind. _ No, let me die; I'm doubly summoned now;
First by my Aureng-Zebe, and since by you.
My soul grows hardy, and can death endure;
Your convoy makes the dangerous way secure.

_Mel. _ Let me at least a funeral marriage crave,
Nor grudge my cold embraces in the grave.
I have too just a title in the strife;
By me, unhappy me, he lost his life:
I called him hither, 'twas my fatal breath,
And I the screech-owl that proclaimed his death. [_Shout within. _

_Abas. _ What new alarms are these? I'll haste and see. [_Exit. _

_Nour. _ Look up and live; an empire shall be thine.

_Mor. _ That I condemned, even when I thought it mine. --
Oh, I must yield to my hard destinies, [_To_ IND.
And must for ever cease to see your eyes!

_Mel. _ Ah turn your sight to me, my dearest lord!
Can you not one, one parting look afford?
Even so unkind in death:--but 'tis in vain;
I lose my breath, and to the winds complain.
Yet 'tis as much in vain your cruel scorn;
Still I can love, without this last return.
Nor fate, nor you, can my vowed faith controul;
Dying, I follow your disdainful soul:
A ghost, I'll haunt your ghost; and, where you go,
With mournful murmurs fill the plains below.

_Mor. _ Be happy, Melesinda; cease to grieve,
And for a more deserving husband live:--
Can you forgive me?

_Mel. _ Can I! Oh, my heart!
Have I heard one kind word before I part?
I can, I can forgive: Is that a task
To love like mine? Are you so good to ask!
One kiss--Oh, 'tis too great a blessing this! [_Kisses him. _
I would not live to violate the bliss,

_Re-enter_ ABAS.

_Abas. _ Some envious devil has ruined us yet more:
The fort's revolted to the emperor;
The gates are opened, the portcullis drawn,
And deluges of armies from the town
Come pouring in: I heard the mighty flaw,
When first it broke; the crowding ensigns saw,
Which choked the passage; and, what least I feared,
The waving arms of Aureng-Zebe appeared,
Displayed with your Morat's:
In either's flag the golden serpents bear
Erected crests alike, like volumes rear,
And mingle friendly hissings in the air.
Their troops are joined, and our destruction nigh.

_Neur. _ 'Tis vain to fight, and I disdain to fly.
I'll mock the triumphs which our foes intend,
And spite of fortune, make a glorious end.
In poisonous draughts my liberty I'll find,
And from the nauseous world set free my mind. [_Exit. _

_At the other end of the Stage enter_ AURENG-ZEBE, DIANET, _and
Attendants. _ AURENG-ZEBE _turns back, and speaks entering. _

_Aur. _ The lives of all, who cease from combat, spare;
My brother's be your most peculiar care:
Our impious use no longer shall obtain;
Brothers no more by brothers shall be slain. --
[_Seeing_ INDAMORA _and_ MORAT.
Ha! do I dream? Is this my hoped success?
I grow a statue, stiff and motionless.
Look, Dianet; for I dare not trust these eyes;
They dance in mists, and dazzle with surprise.

_Dia. _ Sir, 'tis Morat; dying he seems, or dead;
And Indamora's hand--

_Aur. _ Supports his head. [_Sighing. _
Thou shalt not break yet, heart, nor shall she know
My inward torments by my outward show:
To let her see my weakness were too base;
Dissembled quiet sit upon my face:
My sorrow to my eyes no passage find,
But let it inward sink, and drown my mind.
Falsehood shall want its triumph: I begin
To stagger, but I'll prop myself within.
The specious tower no ruin shall disclose,
Till down at once the mighty fabric goes,

_Mor. _ In sign that I die yours, reward my love, [_To_ IND.
And seal my passport to the blessed above. [_Kissing her hand. _

_Ind. _ Oh stay; or take me with you when you go;
There's nothing now worth living for below.

_Mor. _ I leave you not; for my expanded mind
Grows up to heaven, while it to you is joined:
Not quitting, but enlarged! A blazing fire,
Fed from the brand. [_Dies. _

_Mel. _ Ah me! he's gone! I die! [_Swoons. _

_Ind. _ Oh, dismal day!
Fate, thou hast ravished my last hope away!
[_She turns, and sees_ AURENG-ZEBE _standing
by her, and starts. _
O heaven! my Aureng-Zebe--What strange surprise!
Or does my willing mind delude my eyes,
And shows the figure always present there?
Or liv'st thou? am I blessed, and see thee here?

_Aur. _ My brother's body see conveyed with care,
[_Turning from her, to her Attendants. _
Where we may royal sepulture prepare.
With speed to Melesinda bring relief:
Recal her spirits, and moderate her grief-- [_Half turning to_ IND.
I go, to take for ever from your view,
Both the loved object, and the hated too.
[_Going away after the bodies, which are
carried off. _

_Ind. _ Hear me! yet think not that I beg your stay;
[_Laying hold of him. _
I will be heard, and, after, take your way.
Go; but your late repentance shall be vain:
[_He struggles still: she lets him go. _
I'll never, never see your face again. [_Turning away. _

_Aur. _ Madam, I know whatever you can say:
You might be pleased not to command my stay.
All things are yet disordered in the fort;
I must crave leave your audience may be short.

_Ind. _ You need not fear I shall detain you long:
Yet you may tell me your pretended wrong.

_Aur. _ Is that the business? then my stay is vain.

_Ind. _ How are you injured?

_Aur. _ When did I complain?

_Ind. _ Leave off your forced respect,
And show your rage in its most furious form:
I'm armed with innocence to brave the storm.
You heard, perhaps, your brother's last desire,
And, after, saw him in my arms expire;
Saw me, with tears, so great a loss, bemoan;
Heard me complaining my last hopes were gone.

_Aur. _ "Oh stay, or take me with you when you go,
There's nothing now worth living for below. "
Unhappy sex! whose beauty is your snare:
Exposed to trials; made too frail to bear.
I grow a fool, and show my rage again:
'Tis nature's fault; and why should I complain?

_Ind. _ Will you yet hear me?

_Aur. _ Yes, till you relate
What powerful motives did your change create.
You thought me dead, and prudently did weigh
Tears were but vain, and brought but youth's decay.
Then, in Morat, your hopes a crown designed;
And all the woman worked within your mind. --
I rave again, and to my rage return,
To be again subjected to your scorn.

_Ind. _ I wait till this long storm be over-blown.

_Aur. _ I'm conscious of my folly: I have done. --
I cannot rail; but silently I'll grieve.
How did I trust! and how did you deceive!
Oh, Arimant, would I had died for thee!
I dearly buy thy generosity.

_Ind. _ Alas, is he then dead?

_Aur. _ Unknown to me,
He took my arms; and, while I forced my way
Through troops of foes, which did our passage stay,
My buckler o'er my aged father cast,
Still fighting, still defending as I past,
The noble Arimant usurped my name;
Fought, and took from me, while he gave me, fame.
To Aureng-Zebe, he made his soldiers cry,
And, seeing not, where he heard danger nigh,
Shot, like a star, through the benighted sky,
A short, but mighty aid: At length he fell.
My own adventures 'twere lost time to tell;
Or how my army, entering in the night,
Surprised our foes; The dark disordered fight:
How my appearance, and my father shown,
Made peace; and all the rightful monarch own.
I've summed it briefly, since it did relate
The unwelcome safety of the man you hate.

_Ind. _ As briefly will I clear my innocence:
Your altered brother died in my defence.
Those tears you saw, that tenderness I showed,
Were just effects of grief and gratitude.
He died my convert.

_Aur. _ But your lover too:
I heard his words, and did your actions view;
You seemed to mourn another lover dead:
My sighs you gave him, and my tears you shed.
But, worst of all,
Your gratitude for his defence was shown:
It proved you valued life, when I was gone.

_Ind. _ Not that I valued life, but feared to die:
Think that my weakness, not inconstancy.

_Aur. _ Fear showed you doubted of your own intent:
And she, who doubts, becomes less innocent.
Tell me not you could fear;
Fear's a large promiser; who subject live
To that base passion, know not what they give.
No circumstance of grief you did deny;
And what could she give more, who durst not die?

_Ind. _ My love, my faith.

_Aur. _ Both so adulterate grown,
When mixed with fear, they never could be known.
I wish no ill might her I love befal;
But she ne'er loved, who durst not venture all.
Her life and fame should my concernment be;
But she should only be afraid for me.

_Ind. _ My heart was yours; but, oh! you left it here,
Abandoned to those tyrants, hope and fear;
If they forced from me one kind look, or word,
Could you not that, not that small part afford?

_Aur. _ If you had loved, you nothing yours could call;
Giving the least of mine, you gave him all.
True love's a miser; so tenacious grown,
He weighs to the least grain of what's his own;
More delicate than honour's nicest sense,
Neither to give nor take the least offence.
With, or without you, I can have no rest:
What shall I do? you're lodged within my breast:
Your image never will be thence displaced;
But there it lies, stabbed, mangled, and defaced.

_Ind. _ Yet to restore the quiet of your heart,
There's one way left.

_Aur. _ Oh, name it.

_Ind. _ 'Tis to part.
Since perfect bliss with me you cannot prove,
I scorn to bless by halves the man I love.

_Aur. _ Now you distract me more: Shall then the day,
Which views my triumph, see our loves decay?
Must I new bars to my own joy create?
Refuse myself what I had forced from fate?
What though I am not loved?
Reason's nice taste does our delights destroy:
Brutes are more blessed, who grossly feed on joy.

_Ind. _ Such endless jealousies your love pursue,
I can no more be fully blessed than you.
I therefore go, to free us both from pain:
I prized your person, but your crown disdain.
Nay, even my own--
I give it you; for, since I cannot call
Your heart my subject, I'll not reign at all. [_Exit. _

_Aur. _ Go: Though thou leav'st me tortured on the rack,
'Twixt shame and pride, I cannot call thee back. --
She's guiltless, and I should submit; but oh!
When she exacts it, can I stoop so low?
Yes; for she's guiltless; but she's haughty too.
Great souls long struggle ere they own a crime:
She's gone; and leaves me no repenting time.
I'll call her now; sure, if she loves, she'll stay;
Linger at least, or not go far away.
[_Looks to the door, and returns. _
For ever lost! and I repent too late.
My foolish pride would set my whole estate,
Till, at one throw, I lost all back to fate.

_To him the Emperor, drawing in_ INDAMORA: _Attendants. _

_Emp. _ It must not be, that he, by whom we live,
Should no advantage of his gift receive.
Should he be wholly wretched? he alone,
In this blessed day, a day so much his own? [_To_ IND.
I have not quitted yet a victor's right:
I'll make you happy in your own despite.
I love you still; and, if I struggle hard
To give, it shows the worth of the reward.

_Ind. _ Suppose he has o'ercome; must I find place
Among his conquered foes, and sue for grace?
Be pardoned, and confess I loved not well?
What though none live my innocence to tell,
I know it: Truth may own a generous pride:
I clear myself, and care for none beside.

_Aur. _ Oh, Indamora, you would break my heart!
Could you resolve, on any terms, to part?
I thought your love eternal: Was it tied
So loosely, that a quarrel could divide?
I grant that my suspicions were unjust;
But would you leave me, for a small distrust?
Forgive those foolish words-- [_Kneeling to her. _
They were the froth my raging folly moved,
When it boiled up: I knew not then I loved;
Yet then loved most.

_Ind. _ [_To_ AUR. ]
You would but half be blest! [_Giving her hand, smiling. _

_Aur. _ Oh do but try
My eager love: I'll give myself the lie.
The very hope is a full happiness,
Yet scantly measures what I shall possess.
Fancy itself, even in enjoyment, is
But a dumb judge, and cannot tell its bliss.

_Emp. _ Her eyes a secret yielding do confess,
And promise to partake your happiness.
May all the joys I did myself pursue,
Be raised by her, and multiplied on you!

_A Procession of Priests, Slaves following, and, last,_ MELESINDA
_in white. _

_Ind. _ Alas! what means this pomp?

_Aur. _ 'Tis the procession of a funeral vow,
Which cruel laws to Indian wives allow,
When fatally their virtue they approve;
Cheerful in flames, and martyrs of their love.

_Ind. _ Oh, my foreboding heart! the event I fear:
And see! sad Melesinda does appear.

_Mel. _ You wrong my love; what grief do I betray?
This is the triumph of my nuptial day,
My better nuptials; which, in spite of fate,
For ever join me to my dear Morat.
Now I am pleased; my jealousies are o'er:
He's mine; and I can lose him now no more.

_Emp. _ Let no false show of fame, your reason blind.

_Ind. _ You have no right to die; he was not kind.

_Mel. _ Had he been kind, I could no love have shown:
Each vulgar virtue would as much have done.
My love was such, it needed no return;
But could, though he supplied no fuel, burn.
Rich in itself, like elemental fire,
Whose pureness does no aliment require.
In vain you would bereave me of my lord;
For I will die:--Die is too base a word,
I'll seek his breast, and, kindling by his side,
Adorned with flames, I'll mount a glorious bride. [_Exit. _

_Enter_ NOURMAHAL, _distracted, with_ ZAYDA.

_Zay. _ She's lost, she's lost! but why do I complain,
For her, who generously did life disdain!
Poisoned, she raves--
The envenomed body does the soul attack;
The envenomed soul works its own poison back.

_Nour. _ I burn, I more than burn; I am all fire.
See how my mouth and nostrils flame expire!
I'll not come near myself--
Now I'm a burning lake, it rolls and flows;
I'll rush, and pour it all upon my foes.
Pull, pull that reverend piece of timber near:
Throw't on--'tis dry--'twill burn--
Ha, ha! how my old husband crackles there!
Keep him down, keep him down; turn him about:
I know him,--he'll but whiz, and strait go out.
Fan me, you winds: What, not one breath of air?
I'll burn them all, and yet have flames to spare.
Quench me: Pour on whole rivers. 'Tis in vain:
Morat stands there to drive them back again:
With those huge billows in his hands, he blows
New fire into my head: My brain-pan glows.
See! see! there's Aureng-Zebe too takes his part;
But he blows all his fire into my heart[4].

_Aur. _ Alas, what fury's this?

_Nour. _ That's he, that's he!
[_Staring upon him, and catching at him. _
I know the dear man's voice:
And this my rival, this the cursed she.
They kiss; into each other's arms they run:
Close, close, close! must I see, and must have none?
Thou art not hers: Give me that eager kiss.
Ungrateful! have I lost Morat for this?
Will you? --before my face? --poor helpless I
See all, and have my hell before I die! [_Sinks down. _

_Emp. _ With thy last breath thou hast thy crimes confest:
Farewell; and take, what thou ne'er gav'st me, rest.
But you, my son, receive it better here:
[_Giving him_ INDAMORA'S _hand. _
The just rewards of love and honour wear.
Receive the mistress, you so long have served;
Receive the crown, your loyalty preserved.
Take you the reins, while I from cares remove,
And sleep within the chariot which I drove. [_Exeunt. _


Footnotes:
1. --_Magne regnator deum,
Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?
Ecquando sæva fulmen emittes manu,
Si nunc serenum est?
--Me velox cremet,
Transactus ignis. Sum nocens, merui mori,
Placui novercæ. _--Hippolitus apud Senecam.

See Langbaine, on this play.

2. In Dryden's time it was believed, that some Indian tribes devoured
the bodies of their parents; affirming, they could shew no greater
mark of respect, than to incorporate their remains with their own
substance.

3. Langbaine traces this speech also to Seneca's Hippolitus.

_--Thesei vultus amo;
Illos priores quos tulit quondam puer,
Cum prima puras barba signaret genas. _

4. I wish the duty of an editor had permitted me to omit this
extravagant and ludicrous rhapsody.




EPILOGUE


A pretty task! and so I told the fool,
Who needs would undertake to please by rule:
He thought, that if his characters were good,
The scenes entire, and freed from noise and blood;
The action great, yet circumscribed by time,
The words not forced, but sliding into rhyme,
The passions raised, and calm by just degrees,
As tides are swelled, and then retire to seas;
He thought, in hitting these, his business done,
Though he, perhaps, has failed in every one:
But, after all, a poet must confess,
His art's like physic, but a happy guess.
Your pleasure on your fancy must depend:
The lady's pleased, just as she likes her friend.
No song! no dance! no show! he fears you'll say:
You love all naked beauties, but a play.
He much mistakes your methods to delight;
And, like the French, abhors our target-fight:
But those damned dogs can ne'er be in the right.
True English hate your Monsieur's paltry arts,
For you are all silk-weavers in your hearts[1].
Bold Britons, at a brave Bear-Garden fray,
Are roused: And, clattering sticks, cry,--Play, play, play! [2]
Meantime, your filthy foreigner will stare,
And mutters to himself,--_Ha!