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Mon. Why do you then call this unfaithful dealing! I ne'er conceal'd my soul from you before:

Bear with me now,

and search my wounds no farther;

For every probing pains me to the heart.

Cha. 'Tis sign there's danger in't, and must be probed.

Where's your new husband? Still that thought disturbs you?

What! only answer me with tears? Castalio!

Nay, now they stream;

Cruel, unkind Castalio! Is't not so ?

Mon. I cannot speak? "grief flows so fast upon me, "It choaks, and will not let me tell the cause." Oh!

Cha. My Monimia, to my soul thou'rt dear As honour to my name. Dear as the light

"To eyes but just restor'd, and heal'd of blindness." Why wilt thou not repose within my breast

The anguish that torments thee ?

Mon. Oh! I dare not.


Cha. I have no friend but thee. We must confide

In one another. Two unhappy orphans,

Alas, we are, and when I see thee grieve,

Methinks, it is a part of me that suffers.

"Mon. Oh, shouldst thou know the cause of my lamenting,

"Thou wouldst despise the abject, lost Monimia, "I am satisfy'd, Chamont, that thou wouldst scorn


"No more would praise this hated beauty: but

"When in some cell distracted, as I shall be, "Thou seest me lie; these unregarded locks "Matted like furies tresses; my poor limbs "Chain'd to the ground, and, 'stead of the delights "Which happy lovers taste, my keeper's stripes, "A bed of straw, and a coarse wooden dish

"Of wretched sustenance; when thus thou seest me, Pr'ythee have charity and pity for me :

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"Let me enjoy this thought.

"Cha. Why wilt thou rack

"My soul so long, Monimia? Ease me quickly; "Or thou wilt run me into madness first."

Mon. Could you be secret?

Cha. Secret as the grave.


Mon. But when I've told you, will you keep your fury

Within its bonds? Will you not do some rash
And horrid mischief? For indeed, Chamont,
You would not think how hardly I've been us’d
From a near friend, from one that has my soul
A slave, and therefore treats it like a tyrant.

Cha. I will be calm, but has Castalio wrong'd thee? Has he already wasted all his love?

What has he done? Quickly, for I'm all trembling With expectation of a horrid tale.

Mon. Oh! could you think it!

Cha. What?

Mon. I fear he'll kill me.

Cha. Hah!

Mon. Indeed I do; he's strangely cruel to me;

Which if it last, I'm sure must break my heart. 260

Cha. What has he done?

Mon. Most barbarously us'd me.

Nothing so kind as he when in my arms!

"In thousand kisses, tender sighs and joys,

"Not to be thought again, the night was wasted;"

At dawn of day he rose, and left his conquest.
But when we met, and I with open arms,

Ran to embrace the lord of all my wishes,
Oh, then!

Cha. Go on!

Mon. He threw me from his breast,

Like a detested sin.

Cha. How!

Mon. As I hung too

Upon his knees, and begg'd to know the cause,
He dragg'd me like a slave upon the earth,
And had no pity on my cries.

Cha. How did he

Dash thee disdainfully away; with scorn?

Mon. He did! and more, I fear, will ne'er be friends, Though I still love him with unabated passion. 280 Cha. What, throw thee from him!

Mon. Yes, indeed he did.

Cha. So may this arm

Throw him to th’earth, like a dead dog despis'd.
Lameness and leprosy, blindness and lunacy,
Poverty, shame, pride, and the name of villain,
Light on me, if, Castalio, I forgive thee.

Mon. Nay, now, Chamont, art thou unkind as he is!

Didst thou not promise me thou wouldst be calm ? Keep my disgrace conceal'd? Why shouldst thou kill him?

By all my love, this arm should do him vengeance.
Alas! I love him still, and though I ne'er
Clasp him again within these longing arms,
Yet bless him, bless him, gods! where'er he goes.


Acast. Sure some ill fate is tow'rds me; in my house

I only meet with oddness and disorder;

"Each vassal has a wild distracted face,

"And looks as full of business as a blockhead

"In times of danger." Just this very moment 300 I met Castalio

Cha. Then you met a villain.

Acast. Hah!

Cha. Yes, a villain.

Acast. Have a care, young soldier,

How thou'rt too busy with Acasto's fame.

I have a sword, my arm's good old acquaintance,
Villain to thee.

Cha. Curse on thy scandalous age,

Which hinders me to rush upon thy throat,
And tear the root up of that cursed bramble!

Acast. Ungrateful ruffian! sure my good old friend Was ne'er thy father; nothing of him's in thee; What have I done in my unhappy age,

To be thus us'd? I scorn t'upbraid thee, boy.

But I could put thee in remembrance

Cha. Do.

Acast. I scorn it

Cha. No, I'll calmly hear the story,

For I would fain know all, to see which scale


Weighs most- -Hah! is not that good old Acasto?

What have I done? Can you forgive this folly?

Acast. Why dost thou ask it?

Cha. 'Twas the rude overflowing

Of too much passion. Pray, my lord, forgive me. [Kneels.

Acast. Mock me not, youth, I can revenge a wrong. Cha. I know it well; but for this thought of mine Pity a madman's frenzy, and forget it.

Acast. I will; but henceforth pr'ythee be more [Raises him.


Whence came the cause?

Cha. Indeed I've been to blame;

"But I'll learn better;" for you've been my father. You've been her father too- [Takes Mon. by the hand. Acast. Forbear the prologue

And let me know the substance of thy tale.

Cha. You took her up, a little tender flower, Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost Had nipp'd; and with a careful loving hand, Transplanted her into your own fair garden, Where the sun always shines. There long she flourish'd,

Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye, 'Till at the last a cruel spoiler came,


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