Mon. O Castalio!
Cham. Ha!
Name me that name again! My soul's on fire
Till I know all: there's meaning in that name.
I know he is thy husband; therefore trust me
With all the following truth—
Mon. Indeed, Chamont,
There's nothing in it but the fault of nature:
I'm often thus seized suddenly with grief,
I know not why.
Cham. You use me ill, Monimia;
And I might think, with justice, most severely
Of this unfaithful dealing with your brother.
Mon. Truly I'm not to blame: suppose I'm fond,
And grieve for what as much may please another?
Should I upbraid the dearest friend on earth
For the first fault? you would not do so, would you?
Cham. Not if I'd cause to think it was a friend.
Mon. Why do you then call this unfaithful dealing?
I ne'er concealed my soul from you before:
Bear with me now, and search my wounds no farther;
For every probing pains me to the heart.
Cham. 'Tis sign there's danger in't must be prevented.
Where's your new husband? still that thought disturbs you.
What! only answer me with tears? Castalio!
Nay, now they stream;—
Cruel, unkind Castalio! is't not so?
Mon. I cannot speak, grief flows so fast upon me;
It chokes, and will not let me tell the cause.
Oh!
Cham. My Monimia, to my soul thou'rt dear,
As honour to my name; dear as the light
To eyes but just restored, and healed of blindness.
Why wilt thou not repose within my breast
The anguish that torments thee?