ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ

I shall never.

CHAMONT.

Then you'll remember too, he was a Man That liv'd up to the Standard of his Honour, And priz'd that Jewel more than Mines of Wealth: He'd not have done a fhameful thing but once, Though kept in Darkness from the World, and hidden, He could not have forgiven it to himself; This was the only Portion that he left us ; And I more glory in it, than if possest

Of all that ever Fortune threw on Fools.

Twas a large Truft, and must be manag'd nicely ;
Now if by any chance, Monimia,

You have foil'd this Gem, and taken from its value,
How will y'account with me?

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ.

I challenge Envy,

Malice and all the Practices of Hell,
To cenfure all the Actions of my past
Unhappy Life, and taint me if they can!
CHAMONT.

I'll tell thee then; three Nights ago, as I
Lay mufing in my Bed, all Darkness round ma
A fudden Damp ftruck to my Heart, cold Sweat
Dew'd all my Face, and Trembling feiz'd my Limbs:
My Bed fhook under me, the Curtains started,
And to my tortur'd Fancy there appear'd
The Form of Thee, thus beauteous as thou art.
Thy Garments flowing loofe, and in each Hand
A wanton Lover, who by turns carefs'd thee
With all the Freedom of unbounded Pleasure :
I fnatch'd my Sword, and in the very Moment
Darted it at the Fantome, ftrait it left me;
Then rofe and call'd for Lights, when, O dire Omen!
I found my Weapon had the Arras pierc'd,
Juft where that famous Tale was interwoven,

How

How the unhappy Theban flew his Father.

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ.

And for this Caufe my Virtue is fufpected! Because in Dreams your Fancy has been ridden, I must be tortur'd waking!

CHAMONT.
Have a care;

Labour not to be justified too fast:

Hear all, and then let Juftice hold the Scale.
What follow'd was the Riddle that confounds me:
Through a clofe Lane, as I purfu'd my Journey,
And meditated on the laft Night's Vifion,

I spy'd a wrinkled Hagg, with Age grown double,
Picking dry Sticks, and mumbling to herself;
Her Eyes with fcalding Rheum were gall'd and red;
Cold Palfy shook her Head, her Hands feem'd wither'd,
And on her crooked Shoulders had fhe wrapt
The tatter'd Remnant of an old ftrip'd Hanging,
Which ferv'd to keep her Carkass from the Cold;
So there was nothing of a piece about her;
Her lower Weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd
With diff'rent colour'd Rags, black, red, white, yellow,
And feem'd to speak variety of Wretchedness;
I ask'd her of my way, which the inform'd me;
Then crav'd 'my Charity, and bade me haften
To fave a Sifter: At that word I started,

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ,

The common Cheat of Beggars every Day! They flock about our Doors, pretend to Gifts Of Prophefy, and telling Fools their Fortunes. CHAMONT.

Oh! but she told me fuch a Tale, Monimia, As in it bore great Circumftance of Truth; Caftalie and Polydore, my Sifter.

MONIMI A.
Hah!

CHA

案

CHAMONT.

What, alter'd! does your Courage fail you! Now by my Father's Soul the Witch was honeft; Anfwer me, if thou haft not loft to them

Thy Honour at a fordid Game.

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ.

I will,

I muft, fo hardly my Misfortune loads me.
That both have offer'd me their Loves, moft true.-
CHAMONT.

And 'tis as true too, they have both undone thee.
MONIMIA.

Though they both with earnest Vows

Have preft my Heart, if e'er in thought I yielded
To any but Caftalio

CASTALIO.

But Caftalio!

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ.

Still will you cross the Line of my Discourse!
Yes, I confess that he has won my Soul
By generous Love, and honourable Vows:
Which he this Day appointed to compleat,
And make himself by holy Marriage mine.

CHAMONT.

Art thou then spotlefs? haft thou still preserv'd Thy Virtue white without a Blot untainted?

MONIM 1 A.

When I'm unchaft, may Heav'n reject my Pray's!
Or more, to make me wretched, may you know it!
CHAMONT.

Oh then, Monimia, art thou dearer to me
Than all the Comforts ever yet bleft Man.
But let not Marriage bait thee to thy Ruin.
Trust not a Man; we are by Nature false,
Diffembling, fubtle, cruel and inconstant:
When a Man talks of Love, with Caution trust him;
But if he fwears, he'll certainly deceive thee :

I charge

I charge thee let no more Caftalio footh thee:
Avoid it as thou wouldst preserve the Peace
Of a poor Brother, to whofe Soul th'art precious.

I will!

MONIMIA.

CHAMONT.

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 easy. [Exit.

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ

Yes, I will try him; torture him feverely;
For, oh Caftalio! thou too much haft wrong'd me,
In leaving me to Polydore's ill Usage.

He comes; and now for once, oh Love ftand neuter,
Whilst a hard Part's perform'd! for I must tempt,
Wound his foftNature, though my own Heartakes for't. [Ex.
Enter CASTALIO.

CASTALIO.

Monimia, Monimia !

She's gone;

And feem'd to part with Anger in her Eyes;
I am a Fool; and fhe has found my Weakness;
She uses me already like a Slave

Faft bound in Chains, to be chaftis'd at will:
'Twas not well done to trifle with my Brother:
I might have trufted him with all the Secret,
Open'd my filly Heart, and fhewn it bare.
But then he loves her too; but not like me.
I am a doting honeft Slave, defign'd

For Bondage, Marriage-bonds, which I have fworn
To wear: It is the only thing I e'er

Hid from his Knowledge; and he'll fure forgive
The firft Tranfgreffion of a wretched Friend
Betray'd to Love, and all its little Follies..

Enter

Enter POLYDORE, and Page at the Door.

POLYDORE.

Here place yourself, and watch my Brother throughly: If he should chance to meet Monimia, make Just Observation of each Word and Action; Pass not one Circumftance without Remark:

Sir, 'tis your Office, do't and bring me word. [Ex. Pol. Enter MONIMIA.

CASTALIO.

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 defert,
And I, methinks, am favage and forlorn;
Thy Presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet Mind, and tune my Soul.
ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ.

Oh the bewitching Tongues of faithless Men!
"Tis thus the falfe Hyana makes her Moan,
To draw the pitying Traveller to her Den;
Your Sex are fo, fuch falfe Diffemblers all,
With Sighs and Plaints y'entice poor
Women's Hearts,
And all that pity you, are made your Prey.
CASTALIO.

What means my Love? Oh, how have I deferv'd
This Language from the Sovereign of my Joys!
Stop, ftop thofe Tears, Monimia, for they fall
Like baneful Dew from a distemper'd Sky;
I feel ’em chill me to the very Heart.

ΜΟΝΙΜΙΑ.

Oh, you are falfe, Caftalio, moft forfworn, Attempt no farther to delude my Faith.

My Heart is fixt, and you shall shake't no more.

CASTALIO.

Who told you fo? what Hell-bred Villain durst

Prophane