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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;

If softest wishes, and a heart more true
Than ever suffer'd yet for love disdain'd,
Speak an ill nature, you accuse me justly.
Mon. Talk not of love, my lord, I must no

hear it.

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

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
freedom:

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

bless'd;

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A thousand more, why need you talk to me?
Pol. Oh! I could talk to thee for ever. Thus
Eternally admiring, fix, and gaze

On those dear eyes; for every glance they send
Darts through my soul.

Mon. How can you labour thus for my
undoing?

I must confess indeed, I owe you more
Than ever I can hope, or think, to pay.
There always 'was a friendship 'twist our
families;

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.

Re-enter CASTALIO and POLYDORE.

He comes.

Cas. Madam, my brother begs he may have
leave

To tell you something that concerns you nearly.
I leave you, as becomes me, and withdraw.
Mon. My lord Castalio!

Cas. Madam!

Mon. Ilave you purpos'd

To abuse me palpably? What means this usage?
Why am I left with Polydore alone?
Cas. He best can tell you. Business of
importance

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

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

Mon. Here on my knees, by heav'n's bles
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; Mon. It has been otherwise: the time has been, And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you. When business might have stay'd, and I been Therefore, believe me, could you raise me high As most fantastic woman's wish could reach,

heard.

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. [Exil Pol. If to desire you more than misers wealth, Pol. Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man I'll yet possess my love, it shall be so.

Or dying men an hour of added life;

[Exeunt

ACT II.

SCENE I-A Saloon.

Enter ACASTO, CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and
Attendants.

Another sister! sure, it must be so;
Though I remember well I had but one:
But I feel something in my heart that prompts,
And tel's me, she has claim and interest there.
Acas. Young soldier, you've not only studied

war,

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,

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; And I'm at least her brother by adoption;
Foaming he came at me, where I was posted For you have made yourself to me a father,
Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase, And by that patent I have leave to love her.
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 wondrous.

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

It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
'se 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 suffer 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

men;

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

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 wel-

The

come news;

young Chamont, whom you've so often
wish'd for,
Is just arriv'd, and entering.
Acas. By my soul,

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

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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?

I

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?

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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 birth!

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.

e

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
hidden,

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 nature,

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. Prythee, 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
rough,

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
brother,

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

Mon. I never shall.

omen!

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Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seem'd wither'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. Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white,

yellow,

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!

day

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

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
discourse.

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;
Ormore, 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
Ofapoor brother, to whose soul thou'rt precious.
Mon. I will.

Cham. Appear as cold, when next you meet,

as great ones,

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

easy.

[Exit.

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

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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:
The presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul.
Mon. O the bewitching tongues of faithless

men!

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

Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too:
A lofty aspect given him for command;
Easily soften'd when he would betray.
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
mind?

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:
Your sex are so, such false dissemblers all;
With sighs and plaints y' entice poor women's Sweets planted

hearts,

by the hand of heaven grow here,

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?

Serv. 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,

I've search'd, as you commanded, all the house!
He and Monimia are not to be found.
Acas. Not to be found? then where are all
my friends?

'Tis well

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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

good man's fame, nor praise himself?

Ser. Oh! 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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