Believe the truth, and know me for thy friend.[exeunt. Re-enter Castalio, with Monimia. Cas. Young Chamont and the chaplain! sure 'tis they! No matter what's contriv'd, or who consulted, Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look Seems no good boding omen to our bliss; Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down, Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart was breaking? Mon. Castalio, I am thinking what we've done; The heavenly powers were sure displeas'd to-day; For, at the ceremony as we stood, And as your hand was kindly join'd with mine, As the good priest pronounc'd the sacred words, Passion grew big, and I could not forbear: Tears drown'd my eyes, and trembling seiz'd my soul. What should that mean? Cas. O, thou art tender all! Gentle and kind as sympathising nature! Re-enter Polydore, unobserved. But wherefore do I dally with my bliss? The night's far spent, and day draws on apace; To bed, my love, and wake till I come thither. Mon. 'Twill be impossible: You know your father's chamber's next to mine, And the least noise will certainly alarm him. Cas. No more, my blessing. What shall be the sign? When shall I come? for to my joys I'll steal, As if I ne'er had paid my freedom for them. Mon. Just three soft strokes upon the chamber door, And at that signal you shall gain admittance: But speak not the least word; for, if you should, 'Tis surely heard, and all will be betray'd. Cas. Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss Of souls, that by intelligence converse. Away, my love! first take this kiss. Now, haste: I long for that to come, yet grudge each minute past. My brother wand'ring too so late this way![exit Mon. Pol. Castalio! Cas. My Polydore, how dost thou? How does our father? is he well recover'd? Pol. I left him happily repos'd to rest: He's still as gay as if his life was young. But how does fair Monimia? Cas. Doubtless, well: A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleas'd, Is always joyful, and her mind in health. Pol. Is she the same Monimia still she was? May we not hope she's made of mortal mould? Cas. She's not woman else: Though I'm grown weary of this tedious hoping; We've in a barren desart stray'd too long. Pol. Yet may relief be unexpected found, And love's sweet manna cover all the field. Met ye to-day? Cas. No; she has still avoided me; I wish I'd never meddled with the matter, And would enjoin thee, Polydore—— Pol. To what? Cas. To leave this peevish beauty to herself. Pol. What, quit my love? as soon I'd quit my post In fight, and like a coward run away. No, by my stars, I'll chase her till she yields To me, or meets her rescue in another. Cas. But I have wond'rous reasons on my side, That would persuade thee, were they known. Pol. Then speak 'em: What are they? Came ye to her window here