Cast. I'll be thy slave; and thou shalt use me
Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me.
Pol. Never.
Cast. Oh! think a little what thy heart is doing;
How from our infancy we hand in hand
Have trod the path of life in love together;
One bed has held us, and the same desires,
The same aversions, still employed our thoughts;
Whene'er had I a friend that was not Polydore's,
Or Polydore a foe that was not mine?
Even in the womb we embraced; and wilt thou now,
For the first fault, abandon and forsake me,
Leave me amidst afflictions to myself,
Plunged in the gulf of grief, and none to help me?
Pol. Go to Monimia; in her arms thou'lt find
Repose; she has the art of healing sorrows.
Cast. What arts?
Pol. Blind wretch, thou husband! there's a question!
Go to her fulsome bed, and wallow there,
Till some hot ruffian, full of lust and wine,
Come storm thee out, and show thee what's thy bargain.
Cast. Hold there, I charge thee!
Pol. Is she not a—
Cast. Whore?
Pol. Ay, whore; I think that word needs no explaining.