Till, brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high, With this bold executing arm I struck The ugly brindled monster to the heart. Cas. The actions of your life were always wondrous. Acas. No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by't; It is a little sneaking art, which knaves Use to cajole and soften fools withal. If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't, Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive. Cas. Your lordship's wrongs have been So great, that you with justice may complain; But suffer us, whose younger minds ne'er felt Fortune's deceits, to court her, as she's fair: Were she a common mistress, kind to all, Her worth would cease, and half the world grow idle. Methinks, I would be busy. Pol. So would I, Not loiter out my life at home, and know No further than one prospect gives me leave. Acas. Busy your minds then, study arts and men; Learn how to value merit, though in rags, And scorn a proud, ill-manner'd, knave in office. Enter Serina. Ser. My lord, my father! Acas. Blessings on my child! My little cherub, what hast thou to ask me? Ser. I bring you, sir, most glad and welcome news; The young Chamont, whom you've so often wish'd for, Is just arriv'd, and entering. Acas. By my soul, And all my honours, he's most dearly welcome; Let me receive him like his father's friend. Enter Chamont. Welcome, thou relic of the best lov'd man! Welcome, from all the turmoils and the hazards Of certain danger and uncertain fortune! Welcome, as happy tidings after fears. Cham. Words would but wrong the gratitude I owe you! Should I begin to speak, my soul's so full, That I should talk of nothing else all day. Enter Monimia. Mon. My brother! Cham. O my sister, let me hold thee Long in my arms. I've not beheld thy face These many days; by night I've often seen thee In gentle dreams, and satisfy'd my soul With fancy'd joys, till morning cares awak'd me. Another sister! sure, it must be so; Though I remember well I had but one: But I feel something in my heart that prompts, And tells me, she has claim and interest there. Acas. Young soldier, you've not only studied war; Courtship, I see, has been your practice too, And may not prove unwelcome to my daughter. Cham. Is she your daughter? then my heart told true, And I'm at least her brother by adoption; For you have made yourself to me a father, And by that patent I have leave to love her. Ser. Monimia, thou hast told me men are false, Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love: Is Chamont so? no, sure, he's more than man; Something that's near divine, and truth dwells in him. Acas. Thus happy, who would envy pompous pow'r, The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities? Let there be joy through all the house this day! In ev'ry room let plenty flow at large! It is the birth day of my royal master!