Chap. Not knowing what reception it may find
With old Acasto; may be I was too cautious
To trust the secret from me.
Cham. What's the cause
I cannot guess: though 'tis my sister's honour,
I do not like this marriage,
Huddled i' the dark, and done at too much venture:
The business looks with an unlucky face.
Keep still the secret; for it ne'er shall 'scape me,
Not even to them, the new-matched pair. Farewell.
Believe my truth, and know me for thy friend. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Castalio and Monimia.
Cast. Young Chamont, and the chaplain! sure 'tis they!
No matter what's contrived, or who consulted,
Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look
Seems no good-boding omen to her bliss;
Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down?
Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart were breaking?
Mon. Castalio, I am thinking what we've done.
The heavenly powers were sure displeased to-day;
For at the ceremony as we stood,
And as your hand was kindly joined with mine,
As the good priest pronounced the sacred words,
Passion grew big, and I could not forbear;
Tears drowned my eyes, and trembling seized my soul.
What should that mean?
Cast. Oh, thou art tender all;
Gentle and kind as sympathising nature!
When a sad story has been told, I've seen
Thy little breasts, with soft compassion swelled,
Shove up and down, and heave like dying birds:
But now let fear be banished, think no more
Of danger, for there's safety in my arms;
Let them receive thee: Heaven, grow jealous now!
Sure she's too good for any mortal creature;
I could grow wild, and praise thee even to madness.
But wherefore do I dally with my bliss?
The night's far spent, and day draws on apace;
To bed, my love, and wake till I come thither.
Re-enter Polydore, behind.
Pol. So hot, my brother? [Aside.
Mon. 'Twill be impossible:
You know your father's chamber's next to mine,
And the least noise will certainly alarm him.
Cast. Impossible! impossible! alas!
Is't possible to live one hour without thee?
Let me behold those eyes, they'll tell me truth.
Hast thou no longing? Art thou still the same
Cold, icy virgin? No; thou'rt altered quite.
Haste, haste to bed, and let loose all thy wishes.