Pol. Never. Cas. 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 employ'd our thoughts. Whene'er had I a friend that was not Polydore's, Or Polydore a foe that was not mine? E'en in the womb we embrac'd; and wilt thou now, For the first fault, abandon and forsake me? Leave me, amidst afflictions, to myself, Plung'd 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. Cas. What arts? Pol. Blind wretch! thou husband? there's a question! Is she not a—— Cas. What? Pol. Whore? I think that word needs no explaining. Cas. Alas! I can forgive e'en this to thee; But let me tell thee, Polydore, I'm griev'd To find thee guilty of such low revenge, To wrong that virtue which thou couldst not ruin. Pol. It seems I lie, then! Cas. Should the bravest man That e'er wore conq'ring sword, but dare to whisper What thou proclaim'st, he were the worst of liars. My friend may be mistaken. Pol. Damn the evasion! Thou mean'st the worst! and he's a base-born villain That said, I lied! Cas. A base-born villain! Pol. Yes! thou never cam'st From old Acasto's loins: the midwife put A cheat upon my mother; and, instead Of a true brother, in the cradle by me Plac'd some coarse peasant's cub, and thou art he! Cas. Thou art my brother still. Pol. Thou liest! Cas. Nay, then——[draws. Yet, I am calm. Pol. A coward's always so. Cas. Ah!—ah!—that stings home! Coward! Pol. Ay, base-born coward! villain! Cas. This to thy heart, then, though my mother bore thee! [they fight; Polydore runs on Castalio's sword. Pol. Now my Castalio is again my friend. Cas. What have I done? my sword is in thy breast. Pol. So would I have it be, thou best of men, Thou kindest brother, and thou truest friend! Cas. Ye gods! we're taught that all your works are justice: Ye're painted merciful, and friends to innocence: If so, then why these plagues upon my head? Pol. Blame not the heav'ns, 'tis Polydore has wrong'd thee; I've stain'd thy bed; thy spotless marriage joys Have been polluted by thy brother's lust. Cas. By thee? Pol. By me, last night, the horrid deed Was done, when all things slept but rage and incest. Cas. Now, where's Monimia? Oh! Enter Monimia. Mon. I'm here! who calls me? Methought I heard a voice Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains, When all his little flock's at feed before him. But what means this? here's blood! Cas. Ay, brother's blood! Art thou prepar'd for everlasting pains? Pol. Oh! let me charge thee, by th' eternal justice, Hurt not her tender life! Cas. Not kill her? Mon. That task myself have finish'd: I shall die