Cham. I'll tell thee then: three nights ago, as I
Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dewed all my face, and trembling seized my limbs:
My bed shook under me, the curtains started,
And to my tortured fancy there appeared
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art;
Thy garments flowing loose, and in each hand
A wanton lover, which by turns caressed thee
With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure:
I snatched my sword, and in the very moment
Darted it at the phantom; straight it left me;
Then rose and called for lights; when, O dire omen!
I found my weapon had the arras pierced,
Just where that famous tale was interwoven,
How the unhappy Theban[19] slew his father.
Mon. And for this cause my virtue is suspected!
Because in dreams your fancy has been ridden,
I must be tortured waking!
Cham. Have a care;
Labour not to be justified too fast:
Hear all, and then let Justice hold the scale.
What followed was the riddle that confounds me:
Through a close lane as I pursued my journey,
And meditated on the last night's vision,
I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double,
Picking dry sticks and mumbling to herself;
Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red;
Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seemed withered,
And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped
The tattered remnant of an old striped hanging,
Which served to keep her carcass from the cold;
So there was nothing of a piece about her:
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched
With different-coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow,
And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness.
I asked her of my way, which she informed me;
Then craved 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, Monimia,
As in it bore great circumstance of truth:—
Castalio and Polydore, my sister—
Mon. Ha!
Cham. What, altered! does your courage fail you?
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 offered me their loves, most true.
Cham. And 'tis as true too, they have both undone thee.
Mon. Though they both with earnest vows
Have pressed my heart, if e'er in thought I yielded
To any but Castalio—