ught;
That long-contended prize for which you fought.

_Aur._ The name of stepmother, your practised art,
By which you have estranged my father's heart,
All you have done against me, or design,
Shows your aversion, but begets not mine.
Long may my father India's empire guide,
And may no breach your nuptial vows divide!

_Emp._ Since love obliges not, I from this hour
Assume the right of man's despotic power;
Man is by nature formed your sex's head,
And is himself the canon of his bed:
In bands of iron fettered you shall be,--
An easier yoke than what you put on me.

_Aur._ Though much I fear my interest is not great,
Let me your royal clemency intreat. [_Kneeling._
Secrets of marriage still are sacred held;
Their sweet and bitter by the wise concealed.
Errors of wives reflect on husbands still,
And, when divulged, proclaim you've chosen ill;
And the mysterious power of bed and throne
Should always be maintained, but rarely shown.

_Emp._ To so perverse a sex all grace is vain;
It gives them courage to offend again:
For with feigned tears they penitence pretend,
Again are pardoned, and again offend;
Fathom our pity when they seem to grieve,
Only to try how far we can forgive;
Till, launching out into a sea of strife,
They scorn all pardon, and appear all wife.
But be it as you please; for your loved sake,
This last and fruitless trial I will make:
In all requests your right of merit use;
And know, there is but one I can refuse.
[_He signs to the Guards, and they remove from
the Empress._

_Nour._ You've done enough, for you designed my chains;
The grace is vanished, but the affront remains.
Nor is't a grace, or for his merit done;
You durst no farther, for you feared my son.
This you have gained by the rough course you prove;
I'm past repentance, and you past my love. [_Exit._

_Emp._ A spirit so untamed the world ne'er bore.

_Aur._ And yet worse usage had incensed her more.
But since by no obligement she is tied,
You must betimes for your defence provide.
I cannot idle in your danger stand,
But beg once more I may your arms command:
Two battles your auspicious cause has won;
My sword can perfect what it has begun,
And from your walls dislodge that haughty son.

_Emp._ My son, your valour has this day been such,
None can enough admire, or praise too much:
But now, with reason, your success I doubt;
Her fact