Cast. 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?
Cast. Suppose I should?
Pol. Suppose you should not, brother?
Cast. You'd say, I must not.
Pol. That would sound too roughly
'Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are.
Cast. Is love a fault?
Pol. In one of us it may be:
What if I love her?
Cast. Then I must inform you
I loved her first, and cannot quit the claim,
But will preserve the birthright of my passion.
Pol. You will?