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In leaving me to Polydore's ill usage.
He comes; and for once, oh, love, stand neuter,
Whilst a hard part's performed! for I must
attempt to

Wound his soft nature, though my heart aches
for it.


Cast. Monimia, Monimia!—She's gone;
And seemed to part with anger in her eyes.
I am a fool, and she has found my weakness;
She uses me already like a slave,

Fast bound in chains, to be chastised at will.
'Twas not well done to trifle with my brother;
I might have trusted him with all the secret,
Opened my silly heart, and shewn it bare.-
But then he loves her too; but not like me :
I am a doating honest slave, designed
For bondage, marriage bonds, which I have sworn
To wear. It is the only thing I e'er
Hid from his knowledge, and he'll sure forgive
The first transgression of a wretched friend,
Betrayed to love, and all its little follies. [Exit.

Enter POLYDORE and Page at the door. Pol. Here place yourself, and watch my ther thoroughly.

If he should chance to meet Monimia, make
Just observation on each word and action;
Pass not one circumstance without remark:
Sir, 'tis your office; do it, and bring me word.

Mon. Your brother, knowing on what terms
I'm here,

The unhappy object of your father's charity,
Licentiously discoursed to me of love,
And durst affront me with his brutal passion.
Cast. "Tis I have been to blame, and only I;
False to my brother, and unjust to thee.
For, oh! he loves thee too, and this day owned it,
Taxed me with mine, and claimed a right above


Mon. And was your love so very tame, to shrink?

Or, rather than lose him, abandon me?

Cast. I, knowing him precipitate and rash,
To calm his heat, and to conceal my happiness,
Seemed to comply with his unruly will;
Talked as he talked, and granted all he asked;
Lest he in rage might have our loves betrayed,
And I for ever had Monimia lost.

Mon. Could you then? did you? can you own
it too?

'Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself!
And I can never think you meant me fair.

Cust. Is this Monimia? surely no; till now
I ever thought her dove-like, soft, and kind.
bro-Who trusts his heart with woman is surely lost.
You were made fair on purpose to undo us,
While greedily we snatch the alluring bait,
And ne'er distrust the poison, that it hides.
Mon. When love ill-placed would find a means
to break-

[Exit Pol.

Cast. Monimia, my angel! 'twas not kind
To leave me like a turtle here alone,
To droop and mourn the absence of my mate.
When thou art from me, every place is desert,
And I, methinks, am savage and forlorn;
Thy presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul.
Mon. Oh, the bewitching tongues of faithless

'Tis thus the false hyæna makes her moan,
To draw the pitying traveller to her den.
Your sex are so, such false dissemblers all,
With sighs and plaints ye entice poor women's

And all, that pity you, are made your prey.
Cast. What means my love? Oh, how have I

This language, from the sovereign of my joys?
Stop, stop those tears, Monimia, for they fall,
Like baneful dew from a distempered sky;
I feel them chill me to my very heart.

Mon. Oh, you are false, Castalio, most for-

Attempt no farther to delude my faith;

My heart is fixed, and you shall shake it no more.
Cast. Who told you so? What ill-bred villain

Profane the sacred business of my love?

Cast. It never wants pretences or excuse.
Mon. Man therefore was a lord-like creature


Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too;
A lofty aspect given him for command,
Easily softened, when he would betray.
Like conquering tyrants, you our breasts invade,
While you are pleased to forage for a while;
But soon you find new conquests out, and leave
The ravaged province ruinate and waste.
If so, Castalio, you have served my heart,
I find that desolation is settled there,
And I shall ne'er recover peace again.
Cast. Who can hear this and bear an equal
Since you will drive me from
I must go;
But, oh, Monimia! When thou hast banished

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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

Monimia raged, Castalio grew disturbed;
Each thought the other wronged; yet both so

They scorned submission: though love all the

The rebel played, and scarce could be contained.
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 sighed and blushed, Castalio swore;
As you, my lord, I well remember, did
To my young sister, in the orange grove,
When I was first preferred to be your page.

Pol. Happy Castalio! Now, by my great soul,
My ambitious soul, that languishes for 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 refused?
Has he supplanted me by some foul play?
Traduced my honour? Death! he durst not do it.
It must be so we parted, and he met her,
Half to compliance brought by me; surprised
Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite.
So poachers basely pick up tired game,
While the fair hunter is cheated of his prey.

Page, My lord!

Pol. Go to your chamber, and prepare your
lute :

Find out some song to please me, that describes
Women's hypocrisies, their subtle wiles,
Betraying smiles, feigned tears, inconstancies;
Their painted outsides, and corrupted minds;
The sum of all their follies, and their falsehoods.

Enter Servant.

His eyes distorted grew; his visage pale;
His speech forsook him; life itself seemed fled,
And all his friends are waiting now about him.
Enter ACASTO, leaning on two.

Acast. Support me; give me air; I'll yet reco


'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 searched, as you commanded, all the house;
He and Monimia are not to be found.

Acust. Not to be found! then where are all
my friends? 'Tis well;

I hope they'll pardon an unhappy fault
My unmannerly infirmity has made!
Death could not come in a more welcome hour;
For I'm prepared to meet him, and, methinks,
Would live and die with all my friends about me.


Cast. Angels preserve my dearest father's life,
Bless it with long uninterrupted days!
Oh, may he live till time itself decay,
Till good men wish him dead, or I offend him!
Acast. Thank you, Castalio; give me both your

And bear me up; I'd walk. So, now, methinks,


appear as great as Hercules himself,

Supported by the pillars he had raised.

Cast. My lord, your chaplain.

Acast. Let the good man enter.

Enter Chaplain.

Chap. Heaven guard your lordship, and restore
your health.

Acast. I have provided for thee, if I die.
No fawning! 'tis a scandal to thy office.
My sons, as thus united ever live;

And for the estate you'll find, when I am dead,
I have divided it betwixt you both,
Equally parted, as you shared my love;

Serv. Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er Only to sweet Monimia I have bequeathed


Pol. The matter!

Serv. Oh! your father, my good master,
As with his guests he sat, in mirth raised high,
And chased the goblet round the joyful board,
A sudden trembling seized on all his limbs;

Ten thousand crowns; a little portion for her,
To wed her honourably as she's born."

Be not less friends because you are brothers;


The man that's singular; his mind's unsound,
His spleen o'erweighs his brains; but, above all,

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Calls saucy loud suspicion public zcal,
And mutiny, the dictates of his spirit:
Be very careful how you make new friends.
Men read not morals now: 'twas a custom:
But all are to their father's vices born;
And in their mother's ignorance are bred.
Let marriage be the last mad thing you do,
For all the sins and follies of the past.
If you have children, never give them knowledge;
Twill spoil their fortune; fools are all the fashion;
If you have religion, keep it to yourselves;
Atheists will else make use of toleration,
And laugh you out of it. Never shew religion,
Except you mean to pass for knaves of conscience,
And cheat believing fools, that think ye honest.

Ser. My father!
Acast. My heart's darling!
Ser. Let iny knees

Fix to the earth, Ne'er let my eyes have rest,
But wake and weep, till Heaven restore my father.
Acast. Rise to my arms, and thy kind prayers
are answered.

For thou art a wondrous extract of all goodness, Born for my joy, and no pains felt when near thee.



Cha. My lord, may it prove not an unlucky


Many, I see, are waiting round about you, And I am come to ask a blessing too!

Acast. Mayest thou be happy!

Cha. Where?

Acast. In all thy wishes.

Cha. Confirm me so, and make this fair one mine;

I am unpractised in the trade of courtship,
And know not how to deal out love 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..

Acast. What says Serina? Canst thou love a

One born to honour, and to honour bred? One that has learned to treat even foes with kindness;

To wrong no man's good fame, nor praise himself?

Ser. Oh! name not love, for that's allied to joy,

And joy must be a stranger to my heart, When you are in danger. May Chamont's good fortune

Render him lovely to some happier maid!

Whilst I, at friendly distance, see him blest,
Praise the kind gods, and wonder at his virtues.
Acust. Chamont, pursue her, conquer and pos-
sess her,

And, as my son, the third of all my fortune
Shall be thy lot.

But keep thy eyes from wandering, man of frailty.
Beware the dangerous beauty of the wanton;
Shun their enticements; ruin, like a vulture,
Waits on their conquests: falsehood too's their

They put false beauty off to all the world,
Use false endearments to the fools that love them,
And, when they marry, to their silly husbands
They bring false virtue, broken fame and for-

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My friends, 'tis late; Now my disorder seems all past and over, And I, methinks, begin to feel new health, Cast. Would you but rest, it might restore you quite.

Acast. Yes, I'll to bed; old men must humour weakness:

Let me have music, then, to lull and chase
This melancholy thought of death away.
Good-night, my friends; Heaven guard ye all!

To-morrow early we'll salute the day,
Find out new pleasures, and redeem lost time.

[Exeunt all but Chumont and Chaplain. Cha. Ilist, hist, Sir Gravity, a word with you. Chap, With me, sir!

Cha. If you're at leisure, sir, we'll waste an hour.

'Tis yet too soon to sleep, and 'twill be charity To lend your conversation to a stranger. Chap. Sir, you are a soldier?

Cha. Yes.

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Nor I gravely whimsical; he has good nature, And I have manners.

His sons too are civil to me, because

I do not pretend to be wiser than they are.

I meddle with no man's business but my own;

I rise in a morning early, study moderately,
Eat and drink chearfully, live soberly,
Take my innocent pleasure freely;

Cha. Why, what affrights thee? Chap. You do,

Who are not to be trusted with the secret.
Cha. Why? I am no fool.
Chap. So indeed you say.
Cha, Prithee be serious then.
Chap. You see I am so,

And hardly shall be mad enough to-night

So meet with respect, and am not the jest of the To trust you with my ruin, family.

Cha. I'm glad you are so happy.

A pleasant fellow this, and may be useful. [Aside. Knew you my father, the old Chamont?

Chap. I did, and was most sorry, when we lost him.

Cha. Why? didst thou love him?

Chap. Every body loved him; besides he was my master's friend.

Cha. I could embrace thee for that very 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,

Cha. Then prithee tell me,

Think'st thou the lord Castalio loves my sister? Nay, never start. Come, come, I know thy office

Opens thee all the secrets of the family;
Then, if thou'rt honest, use this freedoin kindly.
Chap. Love your sister!

Cha. Ay, love her.

Chap. Sir, I never asked him, And wonder you should ask it me.

Cha. Nay, but thou art an hypocrite; is there

not one

Of all thy tribe that's honest? In your schools
The pride of your superiors makes ye slaves;
Ye all live loathsome, sneaking, servile lives;
Not free enough to practice generous truth,
Though ye pretend to teach it to the world.
Chap. I would deserve a better thought from


Cha. If thou wouldst have me not contemn thy office

And character, think all thy brethren knaves, Thy trade a cheat, and thou its worst professor, Inform me; for I tell thee, priest, I'll know.

Chap. Either he loves her, or he much has wronged her.

Cha. How! wronged her? Have a care, for this may lay

A scene of mischief to undo us all.
But tell me, wronged her, saidst thou?
Chap. Ay, sir, wronged her.

Cha. This is a secret worth a monarch's fortune:

What shall I give thee for it? Thou dear physician
Of sickly souls, unfold this riddle to me,
And comfort mine-

Chap. I would hide nothing from you willingly. Cha. Nay, then again thou art honest. Would'st thou tell me?

Chap. Yes, if I durst.

Cha. Art thou then

So far concerned in it? What has been thy office?
Curse on that formal steady villain's face!
Just so do all bawds look: nay, bawds, they say,
Can pray upon occasions, talk of heaven,
Turn up their goggling eye-balls, rail at vice,
Dissemble, lie, and preach like any priest.
Art thou a bawd?

Chap. Sir, I am not often used thus.
Cha. Be just then.

Chap. So I shall be to the trust,
That is laid upon me.

Cha. By the reverenced soul

Of that great honest man, that gave me being, Tell me but what thou knowest concerns my honour,

And if I e'er reveal it to thy wrong,

May this good sword ne'er do me right in battle! May I ne'er know that blessed peace of mind, That dwells in good and pious men like thee! Chap. I see your temper's moved, and I will trust you.

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Cast. Young Chamont and the chaplain? sure 'tis they!

No matter what's contrived, or who consulted,
Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look
Seems no good boding omen to her bliss;
Else prithee tell me why that look cast down?
Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart was breaking?
Mon. Castalio, I am thinking what we have

The heavenly powers were sure displeased to-day;
For at the ceremony as we stood,

And as your hand was kindly joined with mine,
As the good priest pronounced the sacred words,
Passion grew big, and I could not forbear,
Tears drowned my eyes, and trembling seized my

What should that mean?

Cast. Oh, thou art tender all! Gentle and kind as sympathising nature! When a sad story has been told, I have seen Thy little breasts, with soft compassion swelled, Move up and down, and heave like dying birds. But now let fear be banished, think no more Of danger; for there's safety in my arms; Let them receive thee. Heaven grows jealous


Sure she's too good for any mortal creature!
I could grow wild, and praise thee even to mad-


But wherefore do I dally with my bliss?
The night's far spent, and day draws on apace;
To bed, my love, and wake till I come thither.
Pol. Sohot, my brother! [Polydore at the door.
Mon. Twill be impossible;

You know your father's chamber is next to mine,
And the least noise will certainly alarm him.

Cast. Impossible! impossible! alas: Is it impossible to live one hour without thee? Let me behold those eyes; they'll tell me truth. Hast thou no longing? art thou still the same Cold, icy virgin? No; thou art altered quite : Haste, haste to bed, and let loose all thy wishes. Mon. 'Tis but one night, my lord; I pray be ruled.

Cast. Try if thou hast power to stop a flowing tide,

Or in a tempest make the seas be calm;

And, when that is done, I'll conquer my desires.
No more, my blessing. What shall be the sign?
When shall I come? for to my joys I'll steal,
As if I ne'er had paid my freedom for them.
Mon. Just three soft strokes upon the cham-
ber door;

And at that signal you shall gain admittance:

'Tis surely heard, and all will be betrayed.
Cast. Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys
Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss
Of souls, that by intelligence converse!
Immortal pleasures shall our senses drown,
Thought shall be lost, and every power dissolved.
Away, my love; first take this kiss. Now haste.
I long for that to come, yet grudge each minute
[Exit. Mon.
My brother wandering too so late this way!
Pol. Castalio!

Cast. My Polydore, how dost thou ?
How does our father? Is he well recovered?
Pol. I left him happily reposed to rest;
He's still as gay as if his life were young.
But how does fair Monimia?

Cast. Doubtless, well:

A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleased,
Is always joyful, and her mind in health.

Pol. Is she the same Monimia still she was? May we not hope she's made of mortal mould? Cast. She's not woman else:

Though I am grown weary of this tedious hoping; We have in a barren desert strayed too long.

Pol. Yet may relief be unexpected found, And love's sweet manna cover all the field. Met ye to-day?

Cast. No; she has still avoided me: Her brother, too, is jealous of her grown, And has been hinting something to my father. I wish I had never meddled with the matter: And would enjoin thee, Polydore———— Pol. To what?

Cast. To leave this peevish beauty to herself. Pol. What, quit my love? As soon I would

quit my post

In fight, and, like a coward, run away.
No, by my stars, I'll chase her, till she yields
To me, or meets her rescue in another.

Cast. Nay, she has beauty, that might shake

the leagues

Of mighty kings, and set the world at odds; But I have wondrous reasons on my side, That would persuade thee, were they known. Pol. Then speak them:

What are they? Came ye to her window here, To learn them now? Castalio, have a care; Use honest dealing with a friend and brother. Believe me, I am not with my love so blinded, But can discern your purpose to abuse me. Quit your pretences to her,

Cast. Grant I do;

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