neath my feet.

_Nour._ Think not my sense of virtue is so small:
I'll rather leap down first, and break your fall.
My Aureng-Zebe, (may I not call you so?) [_Taking him by the hand._
Behold me now no longer for your foe;
I am not, cannot be your enemy:
Look, is there any malice in my eye?
Pray, sit.-- [_Both sit._
That distance shews too much respect, or fear;
You'll find no danger in approaching near.

_Aur._ Forgive the amazement of my doubtful state:
This kindness from the mother of Morat!
Or is't some angel, pitying what I bore,
Who takes that shape, to make my wonder more?

_Nour._ Think me your better genius in disguise;
Or any thing that more may charm your eyes.
Your guardian angel never could excel
In care, nor could he love his charge so well.

_Aur._ Whence can proceed so wonderful a change?

_Nour._ Can kindness to desert, like yours, be strange?
Kindness by secret sympathy is tied;
For noble souls in nature are allied.
I saw with what a brow you braved your fate;
Yet with what mildness bore your father's hate.
My virtue, like a string, wound up by art
To the same sound, when yours was touched, took part,
At distance shook, and trembled at my heart.

_Aur._ I'll not complain, my father is unkind,
Since so much pity from a foe I find.
Just heaven reward this act!

_Nour._ 'Tis well the debt no payment does demand;
You turn me over to another hand.
But happy, happy she,
And with the blessed above to be compared,
Whom you yourself would, with yourself, reward:
The greatest, nay, the fairest of her kind,
Would envy her that bliss, which you designed.

_Aur._ Great princes thus, when favourites they raise,
To justify their grace, their creatures praise.

_Nour._ As love the noblest passion we account,
So to the highest object it should mount.
It shews you brave when mean desires you shun;
An eagle only can behold the sun:
And so must you, if yet presage divine
There be in dreams,--or was't a vision mine?

_Aur._ Of me?

_Nour._ And who could else employ my thought?
I dreamed, your love was by love's goddess sought;
Officious Cupids, hovering o'er your head,
Held myrtle wreaths; beneath your feet were spread
What sweets soe'er Sabean springs disclose,
Our Indian jasmine, or the Syrian rose;
The wanton ministers around you strove
For service, and inspired their mother's love:
Close by your side, and languishing, she lies,
With blushing ch