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In leaving me to Polydore's ill usage.
Wound his soft nature, though my heart aches
Cast. Monimia, Monimia!—She's gone;
Fast bound in chains, to be chastised at will.
Enter POLYDORE and Page at the door. Pol. Here place yourself, and watch my ther thoroughly.
If he should chance to meet Monimia, make
Mon. Your brother, knowing on what terms
The unhappy object of your father's charity,
Mon. And was your love so very tame, to shrink?
Or, rather than lose him, abandon me?
Cast. I, knowing him precipitate and rash,
Mon. Could you then? did you? can you own
'Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself!
Cust. Is this Monimia? surely no; till now
Enter MONIMIA and CASTALIO.
'Tis thus the false hyæna makes her moan,
And all, that pity you, are made your prey.
This language, from the sovereign of my joys?
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. It never wants pretences or excuse.
Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too;
Pol. WERE they so kind? Express it to me all
Monimia raged, Castalio grew disturbed;
They scorned submission: though love all the
The rebel played, and scarce could be contained.
Page. Oh, 'twas wondrous pretty!
Pol. Happy Castalio! Now, by my great soul,
Page, My lord!
Pol. Go to your chamber, and prepare your
Find out some song to please me, that describes
His eyes distorted grew; his visage pale;
Acast. Support me; give me air; I'll yet reco
'Twas but a slip decaying nature made;
Serv. My lord,
I've searched, as you commanded, all the house;
Acust. Not to be found! then where are all
I hope they'll pardon an unhappy fault
Enter CASTALIO and MONIMIA.
Cast. Angels preserve my dearest father's life,
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.
Chap. Heaven guard your lordship, and restore
Acast. I have provided for thee, if I die.
And for the estate you'll find, when I am dead,
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,
Ten thousand crowns; a little portion for her,
Be not less friends because you are brothers;
The man that's singular; his mind's unsound,
Calls saucy loud suspicion public zcal,
Ser. My father!
Fix to the earth, Ne'er let my eyes have rest,
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!
Acast. In all thy wishes.
Cha. Confirm me so, and make this fair one mine;
I am unpractised in the trade of courtship,
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,
And, as my son, the third of all my fortune
But keep thy eyes from wandering, man of frailty.
They put false beauty off to all the world,
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
To-morrow early we'll salute the day,
[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?
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,
Cha. Why, what affrights thee? Chap. You do,
Who are not to be trusted with the secret.
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;
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
Of all thy tribe that's honest? In your schools
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.
Cha. This is a secret worth a monarch's fortune:
What shall I give thee for it? Thou dear physician
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?
Chap. Sir, I am not often used thus.
Chap. So I shall be to the trust,
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.
Keep still the secret; for it ne'er shall escape | But speak not the least word; for if you should,
Cast. Young Chamont and the chaplain? sure 'tis they!
No matter what's contrived, or who consulted,
The heavenly powers were sure displeased to-day;
And as your hand was kindly joined with mine,
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!
But wherefore do I dally with my bliss?
You know your father's chamber is next to mine,
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.
And at that signal you shall gain admittance:
'Tis surely heard, and all will be betrayed.
Cast. My Polydore, how dost thou ?
Cast. Doubtless, well:
A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleased,
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.
Cast. Nay, she has beauty, that might shake
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;