"Just three soft strokes against the chamber door; But speak not the least word, for, if you should, It's surely heard, and we are both betray'd." Blest heav'ns, assist me but in this dear hour, And, my kind stars, be but propitious now, Dispose of me hereafter as you please. Monimia! Monimia![gives the sign. Flo. [At the window.] Who's there? Pol. 'Tis I. Flo. My lord Castalio? Pol. The same. How does my love, my dear Monimia? Flo. Oh! She wonders much at your unkind delay; You've staid so long, that at each little noise The wind but makes, she asks if you are coming. Pol. Tell her I'm here, and let the door be open'd. [Florella withdraws. Now boast, Castalio, triumph now, and tell Thyself strange stories of a promis'd bliss![exit. Re-enter Castalio and Page. Page. Indeed, my lord, 'twill be a lovely morning: Pray, let us hunt. Cas. Go, you're an idle prattler: I'll stay at home to-morrow; if your lord Thinks fit, he may command my hounds. Go, leave me: I must to bed. Page. I'll wait upon your lordship, If you think fit, and sing you to repose. Cas. No, my kind boy. Good night: commend me to my brother. Page. Oh! You never heard the last new song I learn'd; It is the finest, prettiest, song indeed, Of my lord and my lady, you know who, that were caught Together, you know where. My lord, indeed it is. Cas. You must be whipp'd, youngster, if you get such songs as those are. What means this boy's impertinence to-night?[aside. Page. Why, what must I sing, pray, my dear lord? Cas. Psalms, child, psalms. Page. O dear me! boys that go to school learn psalms; But pages, that are better bred, sing lampoons. Cas. Well, leave me; I'm weary. Page. Indeed, my lord, I can't abide to leave you. Cas. Why, wert thou instructed to attend me? Page. No, no, indeed, my lord, I was not. But I know what I know. Cas. What dost thou know?——'Sdeath! what can all this mean? [aside. Page. Oh! I know who loves somebody. Cas. What's that to me, boy? Page. Nay, I know who loves you too. Cas. That's a wonder! pr'ythee, tell it me. Page. 'Tis—'tis—I know who—but will You give me the horse, then? Cas. I will, my child. Page. It is my lady Monimia, look you; but don't you tell her I told you: she'll give me no more playthings then. I heard her say so, as she lay abed, man. Cas. Talk'd she of me when in her bed, Cordelio? Page. Yes; and I sung her the song you made too; and she did so sigh, and look with her eyes! Cas. Hark! what's that noise? Take this; be gone, and leave me. You knave, you little flatterer, get you gone.[ex. Page. Surely it was a noise, hist!——only fancy; For all is hush'd, as nature were retir'd. 'Tis now, that, guided by my love, I go To take possession of Monimia's arms. Sure Polydore's by this time gone to bed.[knocks.