_Cham._ Have a care; Labour not to be justified too fast: Hear all, and then let Justice hold the scale. What followed was the riddle that confounds me: Through a close lane as I pursued my journey, And meditated on the last night's vision, I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, Picking dry sticks and mumbling to herself; Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red; Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seemed withered, And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped The tattered remnant of an old striped hanging, Which served to keep her carcass from the cold; So there was nothing of a piece about her: Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched With different-coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow, And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness. I asked her of my way, which she informed me; Then craved my charity, and bade me hasten To save a sister:--at that word I started. _Mon._ The common cheat of beggars every day; They flock about our doors, pretend to gifts Of prophecy, and telling fools their fortunes. _Cham._ Oh! but she told me such a tale, Monimia, As in it bore great circumstance of truth:-- Castalio and Polydore, my sister-- _Mon._ Ha! _Cham._ What, altered! does your courage fail you? Now, by my father's soul, the witch was honest; Answer me, if thou hast not lost to them Thy honour at a sordid game? _Mon._ I will, I must; so hardly my misfortune loads me. That both have offered me their loves, most true. _Cham._ And 'tis as true too, they have both undone thee. _Mon._ Though they both with earnest vows Have pressed my heart, if e'er in thought I yielded To any but Castalio-- _Cham._ But Castalio? _Mon._ Still will you cross the line of my discourse? Yes, I confess that he has won my soul By generous love, and honourable vows: Which he this day appointed to complete, And make himself by holy marriage mine. _Cham._ Art thou then spotless? hast thou still preserved Thy virtue white, without a blot, untainted? _Mon._ When I'm unchaste, may Heaven reject my prayers! Or, more to make me wretched, may you know it! _Cham._ Oh, then, Monimia, art thou dearer to me Than all the comforts ever yet blessed man. But let not marriage bait thee to thy ruin. Trust not a man; we are by nature false, Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant: When a man talks of love, with caution trust him; But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive thee. I charge thee let no more Castalio soothe thee: Avoid it as thou wouldst preserve the peace Of a poor brother, to whose soul thou'rt precious. _Mon._ I will. _Cham._ Appear as cold, when next you meet, as great ones When merit begs; then shalt thou see how soon His heart will cool, and all his pains grow easy. [_Exit._