Now, by my father's soul, the witch was honest. Mon. I will, I must, so hardly my misfortune loads me, That both have offer'd me their love 's most true. Cham. And 'tis as true too they have both undone thee. Cas. What means my love? Oh, how have This language from the sovereign of my joys? Mon. Oh, you are false, Castalio, most forsworn! Mon. Though they both with earnest vows Attempt no further to delude my faith; Have press'd my heart, if e'er in thought I yielded My heart is fix'd, and you shall shak't no more. To any but Castalio Cham. But Castalio! Mon. Still will you cross the line of my Yes, I confess that he has won my soul Thy virtue white, without a blot, untainted? to me Than all the comforts ever yet bless'd man. But let not marriage bait thee to thy ruin. Trust not a man; we are by nature false, Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant ; When a man talks oflove, with caution trust him; But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive thee. I charge thee, let no more Castalio sooth thee; Avoid it, as thou wouldst preserve the peace Of a poor brother, to whose soul thou'rt precious. Mon. I will. Cham. Appear as cold, when next you meet, as great ones, When merit begs; then shalt thou see how soon His heart will cool, and all his pains grow [Exit. easy. Mon. Yes, I will try him, torture him severely; For, O Castalio, thou too much hast wrong'd me, la leaving me to Polydore's ill usage. He comes! and now, for once, O love, stand Cas. Who told you so? What hell-bred villain durst Profane the sacred business of my love? Th' unhappy object of your father's charity, Cas. 'Tis I have been to blame, and only I; Mon. And was your love so very tame to shrink? Or, rather than lose him, abandon me? Cas. I, knowing him precipitate and rash, Seem'd to comply with his unruly will; Lest he in rage might have our loves betray'd, And I for ever had Monimia lost. Mon. Could you then, did you, can you own it too? Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself! Cas. Is this Monimia? Surely no! till now I ever thought her dove-like, soft, and kind. Who trusts his heart with woman's surely lost: You were made fair on purpose to undo us, While greedily we snatch th' alluring bait, And ne'er distrust the poison that it hides. Mon. When love ill-plac'd, would find a means to break Cas. It never wants pretences or excuse. Mon. Man therefore was a lordlike creature made, Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too: Cas. Who can hear this and bear an equal mind? Since you will drive me from you, I must go: But, O Monimia! when thou hast banish'd me, No creeping slave, though tractable and dull As artful woman for her ends would choose, Shall ever dote as I have done. Mon. Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace. These little quarrels love must needs forgive. Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue, I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows, And listen to the language of thy heart. Cas. Where am I? Surely Paradise is round me! Sweets planted by the hand of heaven grow here, And every sense is full of thy perfection. SCENE I-A Garden. Enter POLYDORE and Page. Pol. Were they so kind? Express it to me all In words; 'twill make me think I saw it too. Page. At first I thought they had been mortal foes: Monimia rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd: Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so haughty, They scorn'd submission, though love all the while The rebel play'd, and scarce could be contain'd. Pol. But what succeeded? Page. Oh, 'twas wondrous pretty! For of a sudden all the storm was past: A gentle calm of love succeeded it: Monimia sigh'd and blush'd; Castalio swore; As you, my lord, I well remember, did To my young sister, in the orange grove, When I was first preferr'd to be your page. Pol. Boy, go to your chamber, and prepare your lute. [Exit Page. Happy Castalio! now, by my great soul, My ambitious soul, that languishes to glory, I'll have her yet; by my best hopes, I will; She shall be mine, in spite of all her arts. But for Castalio why was I refus'd? Has he supplanted me by some foul play? Traduc'd my honour? Death! he durst not do't. It must be so we parted, and he met her, Half to compliance brought by me; surpris'd Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite. So poachers pick up tired game, While the fair hunter's cheated of his prey. Boy! Enter a Servant. Serv. Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er told! Pol. The matter? Sero. Oh! your father, my good master, As with his guests he sat in mirth rais'd high, And chas'd the goblet round the joyful board, A sudden trembling seiz'd on all his limbs; His eyes distorted grew, his visage pale, His speech forsook him, life itself seem'd fled, And all his friends are waiting now about him. Enter ACASTO and Attendants. Acas. Support me, give me air, I'll yet recover. 'Twas but a slip decaying nature made; For she grows weary near her journey's end. Where are my sons? Come near, my Polydore! Your brother-where's Castalio? Serv. My lord, I've search'd, as you commanded, all the house! 'Tis well Cham. My lord, may't prove not an unlucky omen! Many I see are waiting round about you, Acas. In all thy wishes. Cham. Confirm me so, and make this fair one mine : I am unpractis'd in the trade of courtship, And know not how to deal love out with art: Onsets in love seem best like those in war, Fierce, resolute, and done with all the force; So I would open my whole heart at once, And pour out the abundance of my soul. Acas. What says Serina? Canst thou love a soldier? One born to honour, and to honour bred? One that has learn'd to treat e'en foes with kindness, To wrong no good man's fame, nor praise himself? Ser. Oh! name not love, for that's ally'd to joy; And joy must be a stranger to my heart, When you're in danger. May Chamont's good fortune Render him lovely to some happier maid! And, as my son, a third of all my fortune Are you yet satisfy'd that I'm your friend? Cham. My lord, I would not lose the satisfaction, For any blessing I could wish for: My friends, 'tis late: I hope they pardon an unhappy fault about me. you quite. Acas. Yes, I'll to bed; old men must hu-When mirth and kind rejoicing fill'd each room, mour weakness. Spent pleasantly. My lord's not haughty nor imperious, Nor I gravely whimsical: he has good nature. I do not pretend to be wiser than they are; Cham. I'm glad you are so happy. Cham. Why, didst thou love him? notion: If thou didst love my father, I could think Thou wouldst not be an enemy to me. Chap. I can be no man's foe. Cham. Then, pr'ythee, tell me; As I was walking in the grove I met them. Cham. What, met them in the grove together? Chap. I, by their own appointment, met them there, Receiv'd their marriage vows, and join'd their hands. Cham. How! married? Cham. Then my soul's at peace: But why would you so long delay to give it? Chap. Not knowing what reception it may find With old Acasto; may be, I was too cautious To trust the secret from me. Cham. What's the cause I cannot guess, though 'tis my sister's honour, Re-enter CASTALIO, with MONIMIA. Cas. Young Chamont and the chaplain! sure 'tis they! No matter what's contriv'd, or who consulted, Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look Seems no good boding omen to our bliss; Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down, Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart was breaking? Mon. Castalio, I am thinking what we've done: The heavenly powers were sure displeas'd to-day; For, at the ceremony as we stood, And as your hand was kindly join'd with mine, As the good priest pronounc'd the sacred words, Passion grew big, and I could not forbear, Tears drown'd my eyes, and trembling seiz'd my soul. What should that mean? Cas. Oh, thou art tender all! Think'st thou the lord Castalio loves my sister? Gentle and kind as sympathising nature! Chap. Love your sister? Cham. Ay, love her. Chap. Either he loves her, or he much has wrong'd her. Cham. How wrong'd her? have a care; for this may lay A scene of mischief to undo us all. Cham. This is a secret worth a monarch's fortune: What shall I give thee for't? thou dear physician Chap. I would hide nothing from you willingly. Of that great honest man that gave me being, Tell me but what thou know'st concerns my honour, And, if I e'er reveal it to thy wrong, Cham. Wilt thou? Re-enter POLYDORE, unobserved. You know your father's chamber's next to mine, And at that signal you shall gain admittance: But speak not the least word; for, if you should, 'Tis surely heard, and all will be betray'da Cas. Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss Of souls, that by intelligence converse. Pol. Castalio! Cas. My Polydore, how dost thou? How does our father? is he well recover'd? Pol. I left him happily repos'd to rest: He's still as gay as if his life was young. But how does fair Monimia? Cas. Doubtless well: A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleas'd, Though I'm grown weary of this tedious hoping: Cas. No; she has still avoided me: Cas. To leave this peevish beauty to herself. In fight, and like a coward run away. Cas. But I have wondrous reasons on my side, Command, whate'er's your pleasure I'll observe; Go to my brother, he's in his chamber now, But do not leave him till he's in his bed; To me; would often set me on his knee, What are they? Came ye to her window here You say you've reasons: why are they conceal'd? Cas. It is a matter of such consequence, But pr'ythee cease to think I would abuse thee, Pol. When you, Castalio, cease Cas. Pr'ythee avoid a thing thou may'strepent. He soars above me, mount what height I can, "Just three soft strokes against the chamber door; [Gives the Sign. Flo. [At the Window] Who's there? Flo. My lord Castalio? Pol. The same. How does my love, my dear Monimia? She wonders much at your unkind delay; Re-enter CASTALIO and Page. Cas. Go, you're an idle prattler: I'll stay at home to-morrow; if your lord Thinks fit, he may command my bounds. Go leave me; I must to bed. If Page. I'll wait upon your lordship, you think fit, and sing you to repose. Good night: commend me to my brother. You never heard the last new song I learn it is. Cas. You must be whipp'd, youngster, if you She says she knows you: you are Polydore, What means this boy's impertinence to-night? [Aside. Page. Why, what must I sing, pray, my dear lord? Cas. Psalms, child, psalms. Page. O dear me! 'boys that go to school learn psalms; But pages, that are better bred, sing lampoons. Cas. Well, leave me; I'm weary. Page. Indeed, my lord, I can't abide to leave you. Cas. Curses blast thee! Flo. Well, 'tis a fine cool ev'ning! and I hope Cas. And farewell all that's just in woman! Cas. Why, wert thou instructed to attend me? Page. No, no, indeed, my lord, I was not. But I know what I know. Cas. What dost thou know?-'Sdeath! what can all this mean? Page. Oh! I know who loves somebody. Cas. What's that to me, boy? Page. Nay, I know who loves you too. Cas. That's a wonder! pry'thee tell it me. Page. Tis-'tis-I know who-but will You give me the horse, then? Cas. I will, my child. Page. It is my lady Monimia, look you; but don't you tell her I told you: she'll give me no more playthings then. I heard her say so, as she lay abed, man. Cas. Talk'd she of me when in her bed, Cordelio? Page. Yes; and I sung her the song you made too; and she did so sigh, and look with her eyes! Cas. Hark! what's that noise? Take this; be gone, and leave me. You knave, you little flatterer, get you gone. [Exit Page. Surely it was a noise, hist!-only fancy; For all is hush'd, as nature were retir'd. Tis now, that guided by my love, I go To take possession of Monímia's arms. Sure Polydore's by this time gone to bed. [Knocks. She hears me not; sure she already sleeps! Her wishes could not brook so long delay, And her poor heart has beat itself to rest. [Knocks. Once more Fio. [At the Window] Who's there, That comes thus rudely to disturb our rest? Cas. 'Tis I. Flo. Who are you? what's your name? The lord Castalio has no business here. Cas. Ha! have a care! what can this mean? And bring her tidings from the state of love. Ern. Either Enter ERNESTO. My sense has been deluded, or this way now. Cas. Who's there? Your poor Ernesto, cannot see you thus. Cas. Oh, leave me to my folly. And not the reason know of your disorders. And sought an early share in your affection. Cas. Because my thoughts Are full of woman; thou, poor wretch, art past them. Ern. I hate the sex. Cas. Then I'm thy friend, Ernesto! [Rises. I'd leave the world for him that hates a woman! Woman, the fountain of all human. frailty! What mighty ills have not been done by woman? Who was't betray'd the capitol? A woman! Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman! Who was the cause of a long ten years war, And laid at last old Troy in ashes? Woman! Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman! Woman, to mau first as a blessing given; When innocence and love were in their prime, Happy awhile in Paradise they lay; But quickly woman long'd to go astray: Some foolish new adventure needs must prove, And the first devil she saw, she chang'd her love: To his temptations lewdly she inclin'd Her soul, and for an apple damn'd mankind. [Exeunt. ACT IV.. SCENE I-A Chamber. Cas. Wish'd morning's come! And now upon the plains, |