_Cast._ I could for ever hear thee; but this time Matters of such odd circumstances press me, That I must go. [_Exit._ _Mon._ Then go, and, if't be possible, for ever.-- Well, my Lord Polydore, I guess your business, And read the ill-natured purpose in your eyes. _Pol._ If to desire you more than misers wealth, Or dying men an hour of added life; If softest wishes, and a heart more true Than ever suffered yet for love disdained, Speak an ill-nature, you accuse me justly. _Mon_. Talk not of love, my lord; I must not hear it. _Pol._ Who can behold such beauty and be silent? Desire first taught us words: man, when created, At first alone, long wandered up and down, Forlorn, and silent as his vassal-beasts; But when a Heaven-born maid, like you, appeared, Strange pleasures filled his eyes, and fired his heart, Unloosed his tongue, and his first talk was love. _Mon._ The first-created pair, indeed, were blest; They were the only objects of each other, Therefore he courted her, and her alone; But in this peopled world of beauty, where There's roving room, where you may court, and ruin A thousand more, why need you talk to me? _Pol._ Oh! I could talk to thee for ever; thus Eternally admiring, fix and gaze On those dear eyes; for every glance they send Darts through my soul, and almost gives enjoyment. _Mon._ How can you labour thus for my undoing? I must confess, indeed, I owe you more Than ever I can hope or think to pay. There always was a friendship 'twixt our families; And therefore when my tender parents died, Whose ruined fortunes too expired with them, Your father's pity and his bounty took me, A poor and helpless orphan, to his care. _Pol._ 'Twas Heaven ordained it so, to make me happy. Hence with this peevish virtue! 'tis a cheat; And those who taught it first were hypocrites. Come, these soft tender limbs were made for yielding! _Mon._ Here on my knees, by Heaven's blest power I swear, [_Kneels._ If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you, But rather wander through the world a beggar, And live on sordid scraps at proud men's doors; For, though to fortune lost, I still inherit My mother's virtues, and my father's honour. _Pol._ Intolerable vanity! your sex Was never in the right; you're always false, Or silly; even your dresses are not more Fantastic than your appetites; you think Of nothing twice; opinion you have none: To-day you're nice, to-morrow not so free; Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then glad; Now pleased, now not; and all you know not why! Virtue you affect, inconstancy's your practice; And, when your loose desires once get dominion, No hungry churl feeds coarser at a feast; Every rank fool goes down--