Mon. Ah, poor Castalio! [Exit.
Cast. Pity! by the gods,
She pities me! Then thou wilt go eternally?
What means all this? why all this stir, to plague
A single wretch? If but your word can shake
This world to atoms, why so much ado
With me? Think me but dead, and lay me so.
Enter Polydore.
Pol. To live, and live a torment to myself!
What dog would bear't, that knew but his condition?
We've little knowledge, and that makes us cowards,
Because it cannot tell us what's to come.
Cast. Who's there?
Pol. Why, what art thou?
Cast. My brother Polydore?
Pol. My name is Polydore.
Cast. Canst thou inform me—
Pol. Of what?