Ser. Oh! name not love, for that 's allied 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!
Whilst I, at friendly distance, see him bless'd,
Praise the kind gods, and wonder at his virtues.
Acas. Chamont, pursue her, conquer, and pos-
sess her,

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

Chamont, you told me of some doubts that press'd

My friends, 'tis late:

Now my disorder seems all past and over,
And I, methinks, begin to feel new health. [quite.
Cas. Would you but rest, it might restore you
Acas. Yes, I'll to bed; old men must humour
weakness.

Good night, my friends! Heaven guard you all!
Good night!

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

[Exeunt all but CHAMONT and CHAPLAIN. Cham. 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're a soldier?

Cham. Yes.

Chap. I love a soldier;

And had been one myself, but that my parents Would make me what you see me.

Cham. Have you had long dependence on this family!

Chap. I have not thought it so, because my

time 's

[Aside.

Knew you my father, the old Chamont? Chap. I did: and was most sorry when we lost him.

Cham. Why, didst thou love him? Chap. Every body loved him; besides, he was my patron's friend.

Cham. 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. Cham. Then pr'ythee, tell me;

Think'st thou the lord Castalio loves my sister? Chap. Love your sister?

Cham. Ay, love her.

Cham. How wrong'd her? have a care; for this may lay

A scene of mischief to undo us all.
But tell me, wrong'd her, saidst thou?

Chap. Ay, Sir, wrong'd her.

Cham. This is a secret worth a monarch's for

tune :

[cian What shall I give thee for't? thou dear physiOf sickly wounds, unfold this riddle to me, And comfort mine

Chap. I would hide nothing from you willingly. Cham. By the reverenc'd soul

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,
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 mov'd and I will
trust you.

Cham. Wilt thou?

Chap. I will; but if it ever 'scape you

Cham. It never shall.

Chap. Then, this good day, when all the house was busy,

When mirth and kind rejoicing fill'd each room, As I was walking in the grove I met them.

Cham. What, met them in the grove together? Chap. 1, by their own appointment, met them there, [hands. Receiv'd their marriage vows, and join'd their Cham. How! married? Chap. Yes, Sir.

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,
I do not like this marriage,
[ture;
Huddled i' the dark, and done at too much ven-
The business looks with an unlucky face.
Keep still the secret: for it ne'er shall 'scape me,
Not e'en to them, the new-match'd pair. Farewell!
Believe the truth, and me for thy friend. [Ereunt.

Re-enter CAST ALIO, with MONIMIA.

Cas. Young Chamont and the chaplain! sure

'tis they!

Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look
No matter what 's contriv'd, or who consulted,
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;
[day;
The heavenly powers were sure displeas'd to
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,
Tears drown'd my eyes, and trembling seiz❜d my
Passion grew big, and I could not forbear:

soul.
What should that mean?

Cas. O, thou art tender all!
Gentle and kind as sympathising nature!

Re-enter POLYDORE, unobserved.
But wherefore do I dally with my bliss?

wrong'd her.

To bed, my love, and wake till I come thither

Mon. "Twill be impossible:

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

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'd.

Cas. Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys
Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss
Of souls, that by intelligence converse.
Away, my love! first take this kiss.
haste:

Now,

Cas. Doubtless, well:

A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleas'd,
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? Čas. She 's not woman else:

Though I'm grown weary of this tedious hoping; We've in a barren desert stray'd too long.

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

Cas. No; she has still avoided me;

I wish I'd never meddled with the matter
And would enjoin thee, Polydore

Pol. To what?

Cas. To leave this peevish beauty to herself. Pol. What, quit my love? as soon I'd 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.

Cas. But I have wondrous reasons on my side, That would persuade thee, were they known. Pol. Then speak 'em:

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

You say you've reasons: why are they conceal'd?
Cas. To-morrow I may tell you.

Pol. Why not now?

Cas. It is a matter of such consequence,
As I must well consult ere I reveal.
But pr'ythee cease to think I would abuse thee,
Till more be known.

Pol. When you, Castalio, cease
To meet Monimia unknown to me,
And then deny it slavishly, I'll cease
To think Castalio faithless to his friend.
Did I not see you part this very moment?
Cas. It seems you've watch'd me, then?
Pol. I scorn the office.

Cas. Pr'ythee avoid a thing thou may'st repent.

Pretend to secrecy, cajole and flatter
Thy master's follies, and assist his pleasures?
Page. My lord, I could do any thing for you,
And ever be a very faithful boy.

Command, whate'er 's your pleasure I'll observe;
Be it to run, or watch, or to convey

A letter to a beauteous lady's bosom:
At least, I am not dull, and soon should learn.
Pol. 'Tis pity then thou shouldst not be em
ploy'd.

Go to my brother, he 's in his chamber now,
Undressing, and preparing for his rest;
Find out some means to keep him up awhile:
Tell him a pretty story, that may please
His ear; invent a tale, no matter what:
If he should ask of me, tell him I'm gone
To bed, and sent you there to know his pleasure,
Whether he'll hunt to-morrow.

But do not leave him till he 's in his bed;
Or, if he chance to walk again this way,
Follow, and do not quit him, but seem fond
To do him little offices of service.
Perhaps at last it may offend him; then
Retire, and wait till I come in. Away!
Succeed in this, and be employ'd again.

Page. Doubt not, my lord: he has been al ways kind

To me; would often set me on his knee,
Then give me sweetmeats, call me pretty boy
And ask me what the maids talk'd of at nights
Pol. Run quickly then, and prosp'rous be thy

wishes.

[Erit Pack

Here I'm alone, and fit for mischief.
I heard the sign she order'd him to give.
"Just three soft strokes against the chamber door
But speak not the least word, for, if you should,
It's surely heard, and we are both betray'd"
Bless'd Heaven, assist me but in this dear hour,
And, my kind stars, be but propitious now,
Dispose of me hereafter as you please.
Monimia! Monimia!

[Gives the sign

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 play-things then. I heard her say so, as she lay abed, man. [delio?

Cas. Talk'd she of me when in her bed, Cor-
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 Monimia'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.
Once more-

Flo. [At the window.] Who's there,
VOL. I....3 I
37

[Knocks.

That comes thus rudely to disturb our rest?
Cas. 'Tis I.

Flo. Who are you? what's your name?
Cas. Suppose the Lord Castalio.
Flo. I know you not.

The Lord Castalio has no business here.

Cas. Ha! have a care! what can this mean? Whoe'er thou art, I charge thee, to Monimia fly. Tell her I'm here, and wait upon my doom. Flo. Whoe'er you are, you may repent this outrage:

My lady must not be disturb'd. Good night! Cas. She must! tell her, she shall; go, I'm in haste,

And bring her tidings from the state of love.
Flo. Sure the man's mad!

Cas. Or this will make me so,
Obey me, or, by all the wrongs I suffer,
I'll scale the window and come in by force,
Let the sad consequence be what it will!
This creature's trifling folly makes me mad!

Flo. My lady's answer is, you may depart.
She says she knows you: you are Polydore,
Sent by Castalio, as you were to-day,
T'affront and do her violence again.
Cas. I'll not believe't.
Flo. You may, Sir.

Cas. Curses blast thee!

And sought an early share in your affection.
Do not discard me now, but let me serve you.
Cas. Thou canst not serve me.
Ern. Why?

Cas. Because my thoughts

[them.

Are full of woman; thou, poor wretch, art past Ern. I hate the sex.

Cas. Then I'm thy friend, Ernesto! [Rises. I'd leave the world for him that hates a woman! W Voman, the fountain of all human frailty! What mighty ills have not been done by woman 2 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 man 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:
Soine 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.

'Tis every where it rages like a madness.
And I most wonder how my reason holds.
No more, Monimia, of your sex's arts:
They're useless all-I'm not that pliant tool;
I know my charter better-I am man,
Obstinate man, and will not be enslav'd!

Mon. You shall not fear't; indeed, my na-
ture's easy:

I'll ever live your most obedient wife!
Nor ever any privilege pretend

Beyond your will; for that shall be my law;-
Indeed, I will not.

Cas. Nay, you shall not, Madam;

By yon bright heaven, you shall not: all the day
I'll play the tyrant, and at night forsake thee;
Nay, if I've any too, thou shalt be made
Subservient to my looser pleasures;
For thou hast wrong'd Castalio.

Mon. Oh, kill me here, or tell me my offence! I'll never quit you else; but on these knees, Thus follow you all day, till they're worn bare, And hang upon you like a drowning creature. Castalio!

Cas. Away! Last night! last night!-
Mon. It was our wedding night.

Cas. No more!-Forget it!

Mon. Why do you then repent?
Cas. I do.

Mon. O Heaven!

[Florella!

And will you leave me thus ?-Help! help! [CASTALIO drags her to the door, breaks from her, and exit.

Help me to hold this yet lov'd, cruel man!
Castalio-Oh! how often as he sworn,
Nature should change-the sun and stars grow
dark,

Ere he would falsify his vows to me!

Mon. O Castalio!

Cham. Ha!

Name me that name again! my soul's on fire Till I know all !-There 's meaning in that name I know he is thy husband; therefore, trust me With the following truth.

Mon. Indeed, Chamont,

There's nothing in it but the fault of nature:
I'm often thus seiz'd suddenly with grief,
I know not why.

Cham. You use me ill, Monimia;
And I might think, with justice, most severely
Of this unfaithful dealing with your brother.
Mon. Truly I'm not to blame. Suppose Fm

fond,

[other? And grieve for what as much may please anShould I upbraid the dearest friend on earth For the first fault? You would not do so, would you?

Cham. Not if I'd cause to think it was a friend. 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 further;

For every probing pains me to the heart.

Cham. 'Tis sign there's danger in 't, and must be prob'd.

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

What! only answer me with tears ?-Castalio Nay, now they stream:

[me,

Cruel, unkind, Castalio!-Is't not so?

Mon. I cannot speak ;-grief flows so fast upon It chokes, and will not let me tell the cause. Oh!

Cham. My Monimia! to my soul thou'rt dear As honour to my name!

Why wilt thou not repose within my breast
The anguish that torments thee?

Mon. Oh! I dare not.

[confide We must

[your fury

Cham. I have no friend but thee. 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. Could you be secret? Cham. Secret as the grave. Mon. But when I've told you, will you keep Within its bounds? 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 dear friend-from one that has my soul

A slave, and therefore treats it like a tyrant. Cham. I will be calm.-But has Castalio wrong'd thee?

[bling

Has he already wasted all his love?
What has he done?-quickly! for I'm all trem-
With expectation of a horrid tale!

Mon. Oh! could you think it?
Cham. What?

Mon. I fear, he'll kill me!
Cham. Ha!

Mon. Indeed, I do: he 's strangely cruel to me; Which, if it last, I'm sure must break my heart. Cham. What has he done?

Mon. Most barbarously us'd me.
Just as we met, and I, with open arms,
Ran to embrace the lord of all my wishes,
Oh then-

Cham. Go on!

Mon. He threw me from his breast, Like a detested sin.

Cham. 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.

Cham. How did he

Dash thee disdainfully away, with scorn?
Mon. He did.

Cham. What! throw thee from him?
Mon. Yes, indeed he did!

Cham. 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! [he is!
Mon. Nay, now, Chamont, art thou unkind as
Didst thou not promise me thou wouldst be calm?
Keep my disgrace conceal'd?

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?

Cham. Yes, a villain!

Acas. 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.

Cham. Curse on thy scandalous age,
Which hinders me to rush upon thy throat,
And tear the root up of that cursed bramble!
Acas. 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 to upbraid thee, boy!
But I could put thee in remembrance-

Cham. Do.

Acas. I scorn it.

Acas. Mock me not, youth! I can revenge a wrong. [mine, Cham. I know it well-but for this thought of Pity a madman's frenzy, and forget it. [kind. Acas. I will; but henceforth pr'ythee be more Whence came the cause? [Raises him.

Cham. Indeed, I've been to blame;
For you've been my father-
You've been her father too.

[Takes MONIMIA's hand.

Acas. Forbear the prologue,

And let me know the substance of thy tale.
Cham. 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,

Cropp'd this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness,
Then cast it like a loathsome weed away.

Acas. You talk to me in parables, Chamont: You may have known that I'm no wordy man. Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves, Or fools, that use them when they want good But honesty [sense. Needs no disguise or ornament. Be plain. Cham. Your son

Acas. I've two; and both, I hope, have honour. Cham. I hope so too; but

Acas. Speak.

Cham. I must inform you, Once more, Castalio!

Acas. Still Castalio!
Cham. Yes;

Your son Castalio has wrong'd Monimia! Acas. Ha! wrong'd her?

Cham. Marry'd her. Acas. I'm sorry for't.

Cham. Why sorry?

By yon bless'd heaven, there's not a lord
But might be proud to take her to his heart.
Acas. I'll not deny't.

Cham. You dare not; by the gods,
You dare not. All your family combin'd
In one damn'd falsehood, to outdo Castalio,
Dare not deny't.

Acas. How has Castalio wrong'd her?
Cham. Ask that of him. I say, my sister's
Monimia, my sister, born as high [wrong'd.
And noble as Castalio.-Do her justice,
Or, by the gods, I'll lay a scene of blood
Shall make this dwelling horrible to nature.
I'll do't. Hark you, my lord, your son Castalio,
Take him to your closet, and there teach him
Acas. You shall have justice. [manners.
Cham. Nay, I will have justice!
Who'll sleep in safety that has done me wrong?
My lord, I'll not disturb you to repeat
The cause of this; I beg you (to preserve
Your house's honour) ask it of Castalio.
Acas. Farewell, proud boy.-

Monimia:

[Exit.

Mon. My lord.

Acas. You are my daughter.

[me.

Mon. I am, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe to own Acas. When you'll complain to me, I'll prove

a father.

(Frit