Mon. Away! What meant my lord, last night?
Pol. Is that a question now to be demanded?
I hope Monimia was not much displeased.
Mon. Was it well done to treat me like a prostitute?
To assault my lodging at the dead of night,
And threaten me if I denied admittance?—
You said you were Castalio—
Pol. By those eyes!
It was the same; I spent my time much better;
I tell thee, ill-natured fair one, I was posted
To more advantage,—on a pleasant hill
Of springing joy, and everlasting sweetness.
Mon. Ha!—have a care—
Pol. Where is the danger near me?
Mon. I fear you're on a rock will wreck your quiet,
And drown your soul in wretchedness for ever;
A thousand horrid thoughts crowd on my memory.
Will you be kind, and answer me one question?
Pol. I'd trust thee with my life; on those soft breasts
Breathe out the choicest secrets of my heart,
Till I had nothing in it left but love.
Mon. Nay, I'll conjure you, by the gods, and angels,
By the honour of your name, that's most concerned,
To tell me, Polydore, and tell me truly,
Where did you rest last night?
Pol. Within thy arms
I triumphed: rest had been my foe.