_Cast._ What will my fate do with me? I've lost all happiness, and know not why. What means this, brother? _Pol._ Perjured, treacherous wretch, Farewell! _Cast._ I'll be thy slave; and thou shalt use me Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me. _Pol._ Never. _Cast._ 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 employed our thoughts; Whene'er had I a friend that was not Polydore's, Or Polydore a foe that was not mine? Even in the womb we embraced; and wilt thou now, For the first fault, abandon and forsake me, Leave me amidst afflictions to myself, Plunged 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. _Cast._ What arts? _Pol._ Blind wretch, thou husband! there's a question! Go to her fulsome bed, and wallow there, Till some hot ruffian, full of lust and wine, Come storm thee out, and show thee what's thy bargain. _Cast._ Hold there, I charge thee! _Pol._ Is she not a-- _Cast._ Whore? _Pol._ Ay, whore; I think that word needs no explaining. _Cast._ Alas! I can forgive even this to thee: But let me tell thee, Polydore, I'm grieved To find thee guilty of such low revenge, To wrong that virtue which thou couldst not ruin. _Pol._ It seems I lie then? _Cast._ Should the bravest man That e'er wore conquering 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. _Cast._ Do, draw thy sword, and thrust it through my heart; There is no joy in life, if thou art lost. A base-born villain! _Pol._ Yes, thou never camest From old Acasto's loins; the midwife put A cheat upon my mother, and, instead Of a true brother, in the cradle by me Placed some coarse peasant's cub, and thou art he. _Cast._ Thou art my brother still. _Pol._ Thou liest. _Cast._ Nay then: [_He draws._ Yet I am calm. _Pol._ A coward's always so. _Cast._ Ah--ah--that stings home: coward! _Pol._ Ay, base-born coward, villain. _Cast._ This to thy heart then, though my mother bore thee. [_They fight_; POLYDORE _drops his sword, and runs on_ CASTALIO'S. _Pol._ Now my Castalio is again my friend. _Cast._ What have I done? my sword is in thy breast! _Pol._ So I would have it be, thou best of men, Thou kindest brother, and thou truest friend.