| Enter Castalio, Polydore, and Page. |
| |
| Cas. Polydore, our sport |
| Has been to-day much better for the danger: |
| When on the brink the foaming boar I met, |
| And in his side thought to have lodg'd my spear, |
| The desperate savage rush'd within my force, |
| And bore me headlong with him down the rock. |
| |
| Pol. But then—— |
| |
| Cas. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Polydore, |
| Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed, |
| Came on, and down the dang'rous precipice leap'd |
| To save Castilio.—'Twas a godlike act! |
| |
| Pol. But when I came, I found you conqueror. |
| Oh! my heart danc'd, to see your danger past! |
| The heat and fury of the chase was cold, |
| And I had nothing in my mind but joy. |
| |
| Cas. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war |
| Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard, |
| And I be thine. What is't could hurt us then? |
| Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, |
| How fulsome must it be to stay behind, |
| And die of rank diseases here at home! |
| |
| Pol. No, let me purchase in my youth renown, |
| To make me lov'd and valu'd when I'm old; |
| I would be busy in the world, and learn, |
| Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed, |
| Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow. |
| |
| Cas. Our father |
| Has ta'en himself a surfeit of the world, |
| And cries, it is not safe that we should taste it. |
| I own, I have duty very pow'rful in me: |
| And though I'd hazard all to raise my name, |
| Yet he's so tender, and so good a father, |
| I could not do a thing to cross his will. |
| |
| Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my heart, |
| Which you, and only you, can satisfy. |
| Will you be free and candid to your friend? |
| |
| Cas. Have I a thought my Polydore should not know? |
| What can this mean? |
| |
| Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too, |
| By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship, |
| To show your heart as naked in this point, |
| As you would purge you of your sins to heav'n. |
| And should I chance to touch it near, bear it |
| With all the suff'rance of a tender friend. |
| |
| Cas. As calmly as the wounded patient bears |
| The artist's hand, that ministers his cure. |
| |
| Pol. That's kindly said.——You know our father's ward, |
| The fair Monimia:—is your heart at peace? |
| Is it so guarded, that you could not love her? |
| |
| Cas. Suppose I should? |
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| Pol. Suppose you should not, brother? |
| |
| Cas. You'd say, I must not. |
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| Pol. That would sound too roughly |
| Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are. |
| |
| Cas. Is love a fault? |
| |
| Pol. In one of us it may be—— |
| What, if I love her? |
| |
| Cas. Then I must inform you |
| I lov'd her first, and cannot quit the claim; |
| But will preserve the birthright of my passion. |
| |
| Pol. You will? |
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| Cas. I will. |
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| Pol. No more; I've done. |
| |
| Cas. Why not? |
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| Pol. I told you, I had done. |
| But you, Castalio, would dispute it. |
| |
| Cas. No; |
| Not with my Polydore:—though I must own |
| My nature obstinate, and void of suff'rance; |
| I could not bear a rival in my friendship, |
| I am so much in love, and fond of thee. |
| |
| Pol. Yet you will break this friendship! |
| |
| Cas. Not for crowns. |
| |
| Pol. But for a toy you would, a woman's toy, |
| Unjust Castalio! |
| |
| Cas. Pr'ythee, where's my fault? |
| |
| Pol. You love Monimia. |
| |
| Cas. Yes. |
| |
| Pol. And you would kill me, |
| If I'm your rival? |
| |
| Cas. No;—sure we're such friends, |
| So much one man, that our affections too |
| Must be united, and the same as we are. |
| |
| Pol. I dote upon Monimia. |
| |
| Cas. Love her still; |
| Win, and enjoy her. |
| |
| Pol. Both of us cannot. |
| |
| Cas. No matter |
| Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for't. |
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| Pol. You would not wed Monimia, would you? |
| |
| Cas. Wed her! |
| No—were she all desire could wish, as fair |
| As would the vainest of her sex be thought, |
| With wealth beyond what woman's pride could waste, |
| She should not cheat me of my freedom.—Marry! |
| When I am old and weary of the world, |
| I may grow desperate, |
| And take a wife to mortify withal. |
| |
| Pol. It is an elder brother's duty, so |
| To propagate his family and name. |
| You would not have yours die, and buried with you? |
| |
| Cas. Mere vanity, and silly dotage, all:— |
| No, let me live at large, and when I die—— |
| |
| Pol. Who shall possess th' estate you leave? |
| |
| Cas. My friend, |
| If he survive me; if not, my king, |
| Who may bestow't again on some brave man, |
| Whose honesty and services deserve one. |
| |
| Pol. 'Tis kindly offer'd. |
| |
| Cas. By yon heaven, I love |
| My Polydore beyond all worldly joys; |
| And would not shock his quiet, to be blest |
| With greater happiness than man e'er tasted. |
| |
| Pol. And, by that heaven, eternally I swear |
| To keep the kind Castalio in my heart. |
| Whose shall Monimia be? |
| |
| Cas. No matter whose. |
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| Pol. Were you not with her privately last night? |
| |
| Cas. I was; and should have met her here again. |
| The opportunity shall now be thine? |
| But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee, |
| That no false play be offer'd to thy brother. |
| Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper; |
| But wrong not mine. |
| |
| Pol. By heaven, I will not. |
| |
| Cas. If't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to conquer |
| (For thou hast all the arts of soft persuasion); |
| Trust me, and let me know thy love's success, |
| That I may ever after stifle mine. |
| |
| Pol. Though she be dearer to my soul than rest |
| To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold, |
| To great men pow'r, or wealthy cities pride; |
| Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her. |
| [exeunt Castalio and Polydore. |
| |
| Enter Monimia. |
| |
| Mon. Pass'd not Castalio and Polydore this way? |
| |
| Page. Madam, just now. |
| |
| Mon. Sure, some ill fate's upon me: |
| Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart, |
| And apprehension shocks my tim'rous soul. |
| Why was I not laid in my peaceful grave |
| With my poor parents, and at rest as they are? |
| Instead of that, I'm wand'ring into cares.—— |
| Castalio! O Castalio! hast thou caught |
| My foolish heart; and, like a tender child, |
| That trusts his plaything to another hand, |
| I fear its harm, and fain would have it back. |
| Come near, Cordelio; I must chide you, sir. |
| |
| Page. Why, madam, have I done you any wrong? |
| |
| Mon. I never see you now; you have been kinder; |
| Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money for you. |
| |
| Page. Madam, I'd serve you with all my soul. |
| |
| Mon. Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast heard |
| Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets), |
| Sometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me? |
| |
| Page. O madam! very wickedly they have talk'd: |
| But I am afraid to name it; for, they say, |
| Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters' secrets. |
| |
| Mon. Fear not, Cordelio; it shall ne'er be known; |
| For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine. |
| Polydore cannot be so kind as I. |
| I'll furnish thee with all thy harmless sports, |
| With pretty toys, and thou shalt be my page. |
| |
| Page. And truly, madam, I had rather be so. |
| Methinks you love me better than my lord; |
| 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; |
| At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd—— |
| |
| 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 loth 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; |
| And marriage is a mortifying thing.[exit. |
| |
| Mon. Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio's false, |
| Where is there faith and honour to be found? |
| Ye gods, that guard the innocent, and guide |
| 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. Have 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. |
| |
| Mon. It has been otherwise: the time has been, |
| When business might have stay'd, and I been heard. |
| |
| Cas. I could for ever hear thee; but this time |
| Matters of such odd circumstances press me, |
| That I must go.[exit. |
| |
| Mon. Then go, and, if't be possible, for ever. |
| Well, my lord Polydore, I guess your business, |
| And read th' ill-natur'd purpose in your eyes. |
| |
| Pol. If to desire you, more than misers wealth, |
| Or dying men an hour of added life; |
| 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 not hear it. |
| |
| Pol. Who can behold such beauty, and be silent? |
| Desire first taught us words. Man, when created, |
| At first alone long wander'd up and down |
| 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; |
| They were the only objects of each other, |
| Therefore he courted her, and her alone; |
| But in this peopled world of beauty, where |
| There's roving room, where you may court, and ruin |
| 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 'twixt our families; |
| And therefore when my tender parents dy'd, |
| Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them, |
| Your father's pity and his bounty took me, |
| A poor and helpless orphan, to his care. |
| |
| Pol. 'Twas Heav'n ordain'd it so, to make me happy. |
| Hence with this peevish virtue, 'tis a cheat; |
| And those who taught it first were hypocrites. |
| Come, these soft tender limbs were made for yielding. |
| |
| 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, |
| And lay all nature's riches at my feet; |
| I'd rather run a savage in the woods, |
| Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled and deform'd, |
| So I might still enjoy my honour safe, |
| From the destroying wiles of faithless men.[exit. |
| |
| Pol. Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man? |
| I'll yet possess my love; it shall be so.[exeunt. |