Once more, Castalio—— Acas. Still Castalio! Cham. Yes; Your son Castalio has wrong'd Monimia! Acas. Ha! wrong'd her? Cham. Marry'd her. Acas. I'm sorry for't. Cham. Why sorry? By yon blest heaven, there's not a lord But might be proud to take her to his heart. Acas. I'll not deny't. Cham. You dare not; by the gods, You dare not. All your family combin'd In one damn'd falsehood, to outdo Castalio, Dare not deny't. Acas. How has Castalio wrong'd her? Cham. Ask that of him. I say, my sister's wrong'd: Monimia, my sister, born as high And noble as Castalio.—Do her justice, Or, by the gods, I'll lay a scene of blood Shall make this dwelling horrible to nature. I'll do't.—Hark you, my lord, your son Castalio, Take him to your closet, and there teach him manners. Acas. You shall have justice. Cham. Nay, I will have justice! Who'll sleep in safety that has done me wrong? My lord, I'll not disturb you to repeat The cause of this; I beg you (to preserve Your house's honour) ask it of Castalio.[exit. Acas. Farewell, proud boy.— Monimia! Mon. My lord. Acas. You are my daughter. Mon. I am, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe to own me. Acas. When you'll complain to me, I'll prove a father.[exit. Mon. Now I'm undone for ever! Who on earth Is there so wretched as Monimia? First by Castalio cruelly forsaken; I've lost Acasto now: his parting frowns May well instruct me, rage is in his heart. I shall be next abandon'd to my fortune, Thrust out, a naked wand'rer to the world, And branded for the mischievous Monimia! What will become of me? My cruel brother Is framing mischiefs, too, for aught I know, That may produce bloodshed and horrid murder! I would not be the cause of one man's death, To reign the empress of the earth; nay, more, I'd rather lose for ever my Castalio, My dear, unkind, Castalio.[sits down. Enter Polydore. Pol. Monimia weeping! I come, my love, to kiss all sorrow from thee. What mean these sighs, and why thus beats thy heart? Mon. Let me alone to sorrow; 'tis a cause None e'er shall know; but it shall with me die. Pol. Happy, Monimia, he to whom these sighs, These tears, and all these languishings, are paid! I know your heart was never meant for me; That jewel's for an elder brother's price. Mon. My lord! Pol. Nay, wonder not; last night I heard His oaths, your vows, and to my torment saw Your wild embraces; heard the appointment made; I did, Monimia, and I curs'd the sound. Wilt thou be sworn, my love? wilt thou be ne'er Unkind again? Mon. Banish such fruitless hopes! Have you sworn constancy to my undoing? Will you be ne'er my friend again? Pol. What means my love? Mon. What meant my lord? Last night? Pol. Is that a question now to be demanded? Mon. Was it well done T' assault my lodging at the dead of night,