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For he was never half so kind as you are.
What must I do?

Mon. Inform me how thou'st heard
Castalio and his brother use my name.

Page. With all the tenderness of love, You were the subject of their last discourse. At first I thought it would have fatal prov'd; But as the one grew hot, the other cool'd, And yielded to the frailty of his friend;

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Pol. Who can behold such beauty, and be silent? Desire first taught us words. Man, created,


At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd-At first alone long wander'd up and down
Mon. What, good Cordelio?
Page. Not to quarrel for you.
Mon. I would not have 'em, by my dearest

I would not be the argument of strife.
But surely my Castalio won't forsake me,
And make a mock'ry of my easy love!
Went they together?

Page. Yes, to seek you, madam.
Castalio promis'd Polydore to bring him,
Where he alone might meet you,
And fairly try the fortune of his wishes.
Mon. Am I then grown so cheap, just to
be made

A common stake, a prize for love in jest?
Was not Castalio very loath to yield it?
Or was it Polydore's unruly passion,
That heighten'd the debate?

Page. The fault was Polydore's.
Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd
The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire.
He said, no woman's smiles should buy his

Forlorn, and silent as his vassal beasts:
But when a heav'n-born maid, like you, appear'd,
Strange pleasures fill'd his eyes and fir'd his heart,
Unloos'd his tongue, and his first talk was love.
Mon. The first created pair indeed were


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me happy.

And therefore when my tender parents dy'd, And marriage is a mortifying thing. [Exit. Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them, Mon. Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio's false, Your father's pity and his bounty took me, Where is there faith and honour to be found? A poor and helpless orphan, to his care. Ye gods, that guard the innocent, and guide Pol. 'Twas Heav'n ordain'd it so, to make The weak, protect and take me to your care. O, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me! Why was I made with all my sex's fondness, Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies? I'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods, Be a true woman, rail, protest my wrongs; Resolve to hate him, and yet love him still.

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Calls me away: I must attend my father.
Mon. Will you then leave me thus?
Cas. But for a moment.


Mon. It has been otherwise: the time has been, When business might have stay'd, and I been


Hence with this peevish virtue, 'tis a cheat;
And those who taught it first were hypocrites.
Come, these soft, tender limbs were made for

Mon. Here on my knees, by heav'n's blest
pow'r I swear, [Kneels.
If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you,
But rather wander through the world a beggar,
And live on sordid scraps at proud men's doors;
For though to fortune lost, I'll still inherit
My mother's virtues, and my father's honour.

Pol. Intolerable vanity! your sex Was never in the right; y'are always false, Or silly; ev'n your dresses are not more Fantastic than your appetites; you think Of nothing twice; opinion you have none, To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then glad; Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you know not why!

Mon. Indeed, my lord,

I own my sex's, follies; I have 'em all; And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you. Therefore, believe me, could you raise me high As most fantastic woman's wish could reach, Cas. I could for ever hear thee; but this time And lay all nature's riches at my feet; Matters of such odd circumstances press me, I'd rather run a savage in the woods, That I must go. [Exit. Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled and deform'd,

Mon. Then go, and, if't be possible, for ever. Well, my lord Polydore, I guess your business, So I might still enjoy my honour safe, And read th' ill-natur'd purpose in your eyes. From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [Eri Pol. If to desire you more than misers wealth, Pol. Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man Or dying men an hour of added life; I'll yet possess my love, it shall be so. [Exeunt

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SCENE I-A Saloon.

Another sister! sure, it must be so;

Though I remember well I had but one:
But I feel something in my heart that prompts,

Enter ACASTO, CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and And tel's me, she has claim and interest there.


Acas. To-day has been a day of glorious sport:
When you, Castalio, and your brother left me,
Forth from the thickets rush'd another boar,
So large, he seem'd the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high,
They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back;
Foaming he came at me, where I was posted
Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase,
Whetting his huge large tusks, and gaping wide,
As if he already had me for his prey!
Till brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high,
With this bold executing arm I struck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

Cas. The actions of your life were always


Acas. No flattery, boy! an honest man can't
live by't;

It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't,
Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive.
Cas. Your lordship's wrongs have been
So great, that you with justice may complain;
But sufier us, whose younger minds ne'er felt
Fortune's deceits, to court her, as she's fair:
Were she a common mistress, kind to all,
Her worth would cease, and half the world
grow idle.

Methinks I would be busy.
Pol. So would I,

Not loiter out my life at home, and know
No further than one prospect gives me leave.
Acas. Busy your minds then, study arts and


Learn how to value merit, though in rags,
And scorn a proud, ill-manner'd knave in office.


Ser. My lord, my father!
Acas. Blessings on my child!

My little cherub, what hast thou to ask me?
Ser. I bring you, sir, most glad and

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Acas. Young soldier, you've not only studied


Courtship, I see, has been your practice too,
And may not prove unwelcome to my daughter.
Cham. Is she your daughter? then my heart
told true,

And I'm at least her brother by adoption;
For you have made yourself to me a father,
And by _that_patent I have leave to love her.

Ser. Monimia, thou hast told me men are false,
Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love:
Is Chamont so? no, sure, he's more than man;
Something that's near divine, and truth dwells
in him.

Acas. Thus happy, who would envy pom-
pous pow'r,

The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
Let there be joy through all the house this day!
In ev'ry room let plenty flow at large!
It is the birth-day of my royal master!
You have not visited the court, Chamont,
Since your return?


Cham. I have no bus'ness there;
have not slavish temperance enough
T' attend a favourite's heels, and watch his smiles,
Bear an ill office done me to my face,
And thank the lord that wrong'd me for his favour.
Acas. This you could do. [To his Sons.
Cas. I'd serve my prince.
Acas. Who'd serve him?
Cas. I would, my lord.
Pol. And I; both would.
Acas. Away!

He needs not any servants such as you.
Serve him! he merits more than man can do!
He is so good, praise cannot speak his worth;
So merciful, sure he ne'er slept in wrath!
So just, that, were he but a private man,
He could not do a wrong! How would you
serve him?

Cas. I'd serve him with my fortune here at

wel-And serve him with my person in his wars: Watch for him, fight for him, bleed for him. Pol. Die for him,


And all my honours, he's most dearly welcome;
Let me receive him like his father's friend.

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As ev'ry true-born, loyal subject ought. Acas. Let me embrace ye both! now, the souls




Of my brave ancestors, I'm truly happy!
For this, be ever blest my marriage day!
Blest be your mother's memory, that bore you;
And doubly blest be that auspicious hour
That gave ye

Enter a Servant.

Sero. My lord, th' expected guests are just arriv'd.

Acas. Go you and give 'em welcome and reception.

[Exeunt Castalio and Polydore. Cham. My lord, I stand in need of your assistance,

In something that concerns my peace and honour.
Acas. Spoke like the son of that brave mau
I lov'd!

So freely, friendly, we convers'd together.
Whate'er it be, with confidence impart it;
Thou shalt command my fortune and my sword.

Cham. I dare not doubt your friendship, nor
your justice,

Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear,
My orphan sister, must not be forgotten!
Acas. Pr'ythee no more of that, it grates
my nature.

Cham. When our dear parents dy'd, they
dy'd together;

One fate surpris'd'em, and one grave receiv'd'em;
My father, with his dying breath, bequeath'd
Her to my love; my mother, as she lay
Languishing by him, call'd me to her side,
Took me
in her fainting arms, wept, and
embrac'd me;

Then press'd me close, and, as she observ'd
my tears,

Kiss'd them away; said she, "Chamont, my son,
By this, and all the love I ever show'd thee,
Be careful of Monimia: watch her youth;
Let not her wants betray her to dishonour;
Perhaps kind heav'n may raise some friend."
Then sigh'd,

Kiss'd me again; so bless'd us, and expir'd.
Pardon my grief.

Acas. It speaks an honest nature.
Cham. The friend heat'n rais'd was you;
you took her up,

An infant, to the desert world expos'd,
And prov'd another parent.

Acas. I've not wrong'd her.

Cham. Far be it from my fears.

Acas. Then why this argument?

Cham. 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 shameful thing but once:
Though kept in darkness from the world, and

He could not have forgiv'n it to himself.
This was the only portion that he left us;
And I more glory in't than if possess'd
Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
'Twas a large trust, and must be manag'd nicely;
Now if, by any chance, Monimia,
You have soil'd this gem, and taken from its value,
How will you account with me?

Mon. I challenge envy,

Malice, and all the practices of hell,
To censure all the actions of my past
Unhappy life, and taint me if they can!

Cham. I'll tell thee, then; three nights ago, asl
Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dew'd all my face, and trembling seiz'd my
limbs :

My bed shook 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 loose, and in each hand
A wanton lover, who by turns caress'd thee
With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure.
I snatch'd my sword, and in the very moment
Darted it at the phantom; straight it left me;

Cham. My lord, my nature's jealous, and Then rose, and' call'd for lights, when, O dire

Acas. Go on.

you'll bear it.

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Within my reach, though it should touch my
In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance
Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoic'd in,
I'd prosecute it with severest vengeance. [Exit.
Cham. I thank you, from my soul.

on. Alas, my brother! What have I done?
My heart quakes in me; in your settled face,
And clouded brow, methinks I see my fate.
You will not kill me?

Cham. Pr'ythee, why dost thou talk so?
Mon. Look kindly on me then; I cannot bear
Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me;
My heart's so tender, should you charge me

I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing:
But use me gently, like a loving brother,
And search through all the secrets of my soul.
Cham. Fear nothing, I will show myself a

A tender, honest, and a loving brother.
You've not forgot our father?

Mon. I never shall.



found my weapon had the arras pierc'd, Just where that famous tale was interwoven, How the unhappy Theban slew his father.

Mon. And for this cause my virtue is suspected! Because in dreams your fancy has been ridden, I must be tortur'd waking!

Cham. Have a care;

Labour not to be justify'd too fast:

Hear all, and then let justice hold the scale,
What follow'd was the riddle that confounds me.
Through a close lane, as I pursu'd my journey,
And meditating on the last night's vision,
I spy'd a wrinkled hag, with age grown double
Picking dry sticks, and mumbling
Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd

and red:

to herself;

Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seem'd

And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd
The tatter'd remnant of an old strip'd hanging
Which serv'd to keep her carcass from the cold;
So there was nothing of a piece about her.
Hier lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd
With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white,


And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness.
I ask'd her of my way, which she inform'd me;
Then crav'd my charity, and bade me hasten
To save a sister! At that word I started!

Mon. The common cheat of beggars; every day
They flock about our doors, pretend to gifts
Of prophecy, and telling fools their fortunes.
Cham. Oh! but she told me such a tale,

As in it bore great circumstance of truth;
Castalio and Polydore, my sister.

Mon. Ha!
[fail you?
Cham. What, alter'd? does your courage

Now, by my father's soul, the witch was honest.
Answer me, if thou hast not lost to them
Thy honour at a sordid game?

Mon. I will,

I must, so hardly my misfortune loads me,
That both have offer'd me their love 's most true.
Cham. And 'tis as true too they have both

undone thee,

Cas. What means my love? Oh, how have
I deserv'd

This language from the sovereign of my joys?
Stop, stop these tears, Monimia, for they fall
Like baneful dew from a distemper'd sky:
I feel 'em chill me to my very heart.
Mon. Oh, you are false, Castalio, most

Mon. Though they both with earnest vows Attempt no further to delude my faith;
Have press'd my heart, if e'er in thought I yielded My heart is fix'd, and you shall shak't no more.
To any but Castalio

Cham. But Castalio!

Mon. Still will you cross the line of my

Yes, I confess that he has won my soul
By gen'rous love and honourable vows,
Which he this day appointed to complete,
And make himself by holy marriage mine.
Cham. Art thou then spotless? hast thou
still preserv'd

Thy virtue white, without a blot, untainted?
Mon. When I'm unchaste, may heaven re-
ject my prayers;
Or more, to make me wretched, may you know it!
Cham. Oh then, Monimia, art thou dearer
to me

Than all the comforts ever yet bless'd man.
But let not marriage bait thee to thy ruin.
Trust not a man; we are by nature false,
Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant;
When a man talks oflove, with caution trust him;
But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive thee.
I charge thee, let no more Castalio sooth thee;
Avoid it, as thou wouldst preserve the peace
Of a poor brother, to whose soul thou'rt precious.
Mon. I will.

Cas. Who told you so? What hell-bred
villain durst

Profane the sacred business of my love?
Mon. Your brother, knowing on what terms
I'm here,

Th' unhappy object of your father's charity,
Licentiously discours'd to me of love,
And durst affront me with his brutal passion.

Cas. "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 own'd it,
Tax'd me with mine, and claim'd a right

above me.

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

Or, rather than lose him, abandon me?

Cas. I, knowing him precipitate and rash,
Seem'd to comply with his unruly will;
Lest he in rage might have our loves betray'd,
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.

Cas. Is this Monimia? Surely no! till now I ever thought her dove-like, soft, and kind. Who trusts his heart with woman's surely lost: You were made fair on purpose to undo us, When merit begs; then shalt thou see how soon While greedily we snatch th' alluring bait, His heart will cool, and all his pains grow And ne'er distrust the poison that it hides.

Cham. Appear as cold, when next you meet, as great ones,



Mon. Yes, I will try him, torture him severely;
For, O Castalio, thou too much bast wrong'd me,
In leaving me to Polydore's ill usage.
He comes! and now, for once, O love, stand


Mon. When love ill-plac'd, would find a means to break

Cas. It never wants pretences or excuse. Mon. Man therefore was a lordlike creature made,

Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too: Whilst a hard part's perform'd; for I must 'tempt, A lofty aspect given him for command; Wound his soft nature, though my heart Easily soften'd when he would betray.

aches for't.

Re-enter CASTALIO.

Cas. Monimia, my angel! 'twas not kind
To leave me here alone.

Re-enter POLYDORE, with Page, at the Door.
Pol. Here place yourself, and watch my
brother thoroughly;
Pass not one circumstance without remark.
[Apart to Page, and exit.
Cas. 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. O the bewitching tongues of faithless

Like conqu'ring tyrants, you our breasts invade;
But soon you find new conquests out, and leave
The ravag'd province ruinate and waste.
If so, Castalio, you have serv'd my heart,
I find that desolation's settled there,
And I shall ne'er recover peace again.

Cas. Who can hear this and bear an equal

Since you will drive me from you, I must go:
But, O Monimia! when thou hast banish'd me,
No creeping slave, though tractable and dull
As artful woman for her ends would choose,
Shall ever dote as I have done.

Mon. Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find
My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace.
These little quarrels love must needs forgive.
Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue,
I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows,
And listen to the language of thy heart.

Cas. Where am I? Surely Paradise is round me!

Tis thus the false hyena makes her moan,
To draw the pitying traveller to her den:
lour sex are so, such false dissemblers all;
With sighs and plaints y' entice poor women's Sweets planted by the hand of heaven grow



And all that pity you are made your prey. And every sense is full of thy perfection.

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Enter POLYDORE and Page.. 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 foes:

Monimia rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd: Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so haughty,

They scorn'd submission, though love all the while

The rebel play'd, and scarce could be contain❜d. 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 sigh'd and blush'd; Castalio swore; As you, my lord, I well remember, did To my young sister, in the orange grove, When I was first preferr'd to be your page. Pol. Boy, go to your chamber, and prepare your lute. [Exit Page. Happy Castalio! now, by my great soul, My ambitious soul, that languishes to 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 refus'd? Has he supplanted me by some foul play? Traduc'd my honour? Death! he durst not do't. It must be so we parted, and he met her, Half to compliance brought by me; surpris'd Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite. So poachers pick up tired game, While the fair hunter's cheated of his prey. Boy!

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er told!

Pol. The matter?

Sero. Oh! your father, my good master, As with his guests he sat in mirth rais'd high, And chas'd the goblet round the joyful board, A sudden trembling seiz'd on all his limbs;

eyes distorted grew, his visage pale, s speech forsook him, life itself seem'd fled, And all his friends are waiting now about him.

Enter ACASTO and Attendants. Acas. Support me, give me air, I'll yet recover. '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,

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Cas. Angels preserve my dearest father's life!
Oh! may he live till time itself decay,
Till good men wish him dead, or I offend him!
Acas. Thank you, Castalio: give me both
your hands.

So now, methinks,
I appear as great as Hercules himself,
Supported by the pillars he had rais'd.

Ser. My father!
Acas. My heart's darling!
Ser. Let my knees

Fix to the earth. Ne'er let my eyes have rest,
But wake and weep, till heaven restore my father.
Acas. Rise to my arms, and thy kind pray'rs
are answer'd.

For thou'rt a wondrous extract of all goodness;
Born for my joy, and no pain's felt when near


Cham. My lord, may't prove not an unlucky omen!

Many I see are waiting round about you,
And I am come to ask a blessing too.
Acas. May'st thou be happy!
Cham. Where?

Acas. In all thy wishes.

Cham. Confirm.me so, and make this fair one


I am unpractis'd in the trade of court-hip, And know not how to deal love out 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.

Acas. What says Serina? Canst thou love a soldier?

One born to honour, and to honour bred? One that has learn'd to treat e'en foes with kindness,

To wrong no

Ser. Oh!

good man's fame, nor praise himself?

name not love, for that's ally'd 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 blest,
Praise the kind gods, and wonder at his virtues.
Acas. Chamont, pursue her, conquer, and
possess 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 you:

Are you yet satisfy'd that I'm your friend? Cham. My lord, I would not lose that satisfaction,

For any blessing I could wish for:
As to my fears, already I have lost them:
They ne'er shall vex me more, nor trouble you.
Acas. I thank you.

My friends, 'tis late:

I hope they'll pardon an unhappy_fault
My unmannerly infirmity has made!
Death could not come in a more welcome hour; Now my disorder seems all past and over,
For I'm prepar'd to meet him; and, methinks, And I, methinks, begin to feel new health.
Would live and die with all my friends! Cas. Would you but rest, it might restore

about me.

you quite.

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