When thou art from me, every place is desert, Mon. Oh, the bewitching tongues of faithless men ! 'Tis thus the false hyæna makes her moan To draw the pitying traveller to her den. Your sex are so, such false dissemblers all, With sighs and plaints y'entice poor women's hearts, And all that pity you are made your prey. 361 Cast. What means my love? Oh, how have I deserv'd This language from the sov'reign of my joys? Stop, stop those tears, Monimia, for they fall, Like baneful dew from a distempered sky; I feel 'em chill me to my very heart. Mon. Oh, you are false, Castalio, most forsworn! Attempt no farther to delude my faith; My heart is fixt, and you shall shak't no more. Cast. Who told you so? What ill-bred villain durst Profane the sacred business of my love? Mon. Your brother, knowing on what terms I'm here, The unhappy object of your father's charity, Licentiously discours'd to me of love, And durst affront me with his brutal passion. Or rather than lose him, abandon me? 381 Cast. I, knowing him precipitate and rash, To calm his heat, and to conceal my happiness, Seem'd to comply with his unruly will; 'Talk'd as he talk'd, and granted all he ask'd; Lest he in rage might have our loves betray'd, And I for ever had Monimia lost. Mon. Could you then? did you? can you own it too? 'Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself! And I can never think you meant me fair. Cast. Is this Monimia? surely no; till now Mon. When love ill-plac'd would find a means to Cast. It never wants pretences or excuse. Mon. Man therefore was a lord-like creature made, Rough as the winds and as inconstant too: Like conqu❜ring tyrants, you our breasts invade, Cast. Who can hear this and bear an equal mind 400 Since you will drive me from you, I must go; No tongue my pleasure nor my pain can tell, 420 Mon. Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace. These little quarrels, love must needs forgive, "They rouse up drowsy thoughts, and wake my soul,” Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue, I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows, And listen to the language of thy heart. Cast. Where am I surely Paradise is round me, Sweets planted by the hand of Heav'n grow here, And ev'ry sense is full of thy perfection. To hear thee speak might calm a madman's frenzy, But to behold thy eyes, th' amazing beauties, And form'd thee by the best lov'd angel there. [Ex. ACT III. SCENE I. A Garden. Enter POLYDORE and PAGE. Polydore. WERE they so kind? Express it to me all In words, 'twill make me think I saw it too. Page. At first I thought they had been mortal foes; Monimia rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd; Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so haughty, Page. Oh, 'twas wond'rous pretty! 20 Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite. Page. My lord! Pol. Go to your chamber, and prepare your lute: Find out some song to please me, that describes Women's hypocrisies, their subtile wiles, Betraying smiles, feign'd tears, inconstancies; Their painted outsides, and corrupted minds; The sum of all their follies, and their falsehoods. Enter Servant. Serv. Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er told! Serv. Oh! your father, my good master, Enter ACASTO leaning on two. 49 Acast. Support me; give me air; I'll yet recover. 'Twas but a slip decaying nature made; For she grows weary near her journey's end. Where are my sons? Come near, my Polydore; Serv. My lord, |