_Pol._ And by that Heaven eternally I swear To keep the kind Castalio in my heart. Whose shall Monimia be? _Cast._ No matter whose. _Pol._ Were you not with her privately last night? _Cast._ I was, and should have met her here again; But the opportunity shall now be thine; Myself will bring thee to the scene of love: But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee, That no false play be offered to thy brother! Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper, But wrong not mine. _Pol._ Heaven blast me if I do! _Cast._ If't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to conquer, (For thou hast all the arts of fine persuasion!) Trust me, and let me know thy love's success, That I may ever after stifle mine. _Pol._ Though she be dearer to my soul than rest To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold, To great men power, or wealthy cities pride, Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her. For if ye, powers, have happiness in store, When ye would shower down joys on Polydore, In one great blessing all your bounty send, That I may never lose so dear a friend! [_Exeunt_ CASTALIO _and_ POLYDORE. _Enter_ MONIMIA. _Mon._ So soon returned from hunting? this fair day Seems as if sent to invite the world abroad. Passed not Castalio and Polydore this way? _Page._ Madam, just now. _Mon._ Sure some ill fate's upon me; Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart, And apprehension shocks my timorous soul. Why was I not laid in my peaceful grave With my poor parents, and at rest as they are? Instead of that, I'm wandering into cares. Castalio! O Castalio! thou hast caught My foolish heart; and, like a tender child, That trusts his plaything to another hand, I fear its harm, and fain would have it back. Come near, Cordelio. I must chide you, sir. _Page._ Why, madam, have I done you any wrong? _Mon._ I never see you now; you have been kinder; Sat by my bed, and sung me pretty songs: Perhaps I've been ungrateful: here's money for you: Will you oblige me? shall I see you oftener? _Page._ Madam, I'd serve you with my soul; But in a morning when you call me to you, As by your bed I stand and tell you stories, I am ashamed to see your swelling breasts, It makes me blush, they are so very white. _Mon._ O men, for flattery and deceit renowned! Thus when you're young ye learn it all like him, Till, as your years increase, that strengthens too, To undo poor maids, and make our ruin easy. Tell me, Cordelio, for thou oft hast heard Their friendly converse and their bosom-secrets; Sometimes, at least, have they not talked of me? _Page._ O madam! very wickedly they've talked: But I'm afraid to name it; for they say Boys must be whipped that tell their master's secrets.