_Ern._ I can't leave you, And not the reason know of your disorders. Remember how, when young, I in my arms Have often borne you, pleased you in your pleasures, And sought an early share in your affection. Do not discard me now, but let me serve you. _Cast._ Thou canst not serve me. _Ern._ Why? _Cast._ Because my thoughts Are full of woman; thou, poor wretch, art past them. _Ern._ I hate the sex. _Cast._ Then I'm thy friend, Ernesto. [_Rises._ I'd leave the world for him that hates a woman. Woman, the fountain of all human frailty! What mighty ills have not been done by woman! Who was't betrayed the Capitol? A woman. Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman. Who was the cause of a long ten years' war, And laid at last old Troy in ashes? Woman, Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman! Woman to man first as a blessing given, When innocence and love were in their prime! Happy awhile in Paradise they lay, But quickly woman longed to go astray; Some foolish new adventure needs must prove, And the first devil she saw, she changed her love; To his temptations lewdly she inclined Her soul, and for an apple damned mankind. [_Exeunt._ [Illustration] [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [20] _i.e._ Palm off false beauty. [21] Hears. [22] "Softest" in original edition. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I.--_A Room in_ ACASTO'S _House_. _Enter_ ACASTO. Acast. Blest be the morning that has brought me health; A happy rest has softened pain away, And I'll forget it, though my mind's not well: A heavy melancholy clogs my heart; I droop and sigh, I know not why. Dark dreams, Sick fancy's children, have been over-busy, And all the night played farces in my brains. Methought I heard the midnight raven cry; Waked with the imagined noise, my curtains seemed To start, and at my feet my sons appeared, Like ghosts, all pale and stiff: I strove to speak, But could not; suddenly the forms were lost, And seemed to vanish in a bloody cloud. 'Twas odd, and for the present shook my thoughts; But was the effect of my distempered blood; And, when the health's disturbed, the mind's unruly. _Enter_ POLYDORE. Good-morning, Polydore. _Pol._ Heaven keep your lordship! _Acast._ Have you yet seen Castalio to-day? _Pol._ My lord, 'tis early day; he's hardly risen. _Acast._ Go, call him up, and meet me in the chapel. [_Exit_ POLYDORE. I cannot think all has gone well to-night; For as I waking lay (and sure my sense Was then my own) methought I heard my son Castalio's voice; but it seemed low and mournful; Under my window too I thought I heard it: My untoward fancy could not be deceived In everything; and I will search the truth out.