Pol. Is she the same Monimia still she was?
May we not hope she's made of mortal mould?
Cast. She's not woman else:
Though I'm grown weary of this tedious hoping;
We've in a barren desert strayed too long.
Pol. Yet may relief be unexpected found,
And love's sweet manna cover all the field.
Met ye to-day?
Cast. No; she has still avoided me.
Her brother too is jealous of her grown,
And has been hinting something to my father.
I wish I'd never meddled with the matter;
And would enjoin thee, Polydore—
Pol. To what?
Cast. To leave this peevish beauty to herself.
Pol. What, quit my love? as soon I'd quit my post
In fight, and like a coward run away.
No, by my stars! I'll chase her till she yields
To me, or meets her rescue in another.
Cast. Nay, she has beauty that might shake the leagues
Of mighty kings, and set the world at odds;
But I have wondrous reasons on my side
That would persuade thee, were they known.
Pol. Then speak them.
What are they? came ye to her window here
To learn them now? Castalio, have a care;
Use honest dealing with your friend and brother.
Believe me, I'm not with my love so blinded,
But can discern your purpose to abuse me.
Quit your pretences to her.
Cast. Grant I do;
You love capitulation, Polydore,
And but upon conditions would oblige me.