_Cast._ Where am I? surely paradise is round me! Sweets planted by the hand of Heaven grow here, And every sense is full of thy perfection. To hear thee speak might calm a madman's frenzy, Till by attention he forgot his sorrows; But to behold thy eyes, thy amazing beauties, Might make him rage again with love, as I do. To touch thee's Heaven; but to enjoy thee, oh! Thou Nature's whole perfection in one piece! Sure, framing thee Heaven took unusual care; As its own beauty it designed thee fair; And formed thee by the best-loved angel there. [_Exeunt._ [Illustration] [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [18] "Superstitious" in old edition, but evidently a misprint. [19] OEdipus. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I.--_The Garden before_ ACASTO'S _House_. _Enter_ POLYDORE _and_ Page. _Pol._ Were they so kind? Express it to me all In words, 'twill make me think I saw it too. _Page._ At first I thought they had been mortal foes; Monimia raged, Castalio grew disturbed; Each thought the other wronged, yet both so haughty, They scorned submission, though love all the while The rebel played, and scarce could be contained. _Pol._ But what succeeded? _Page._ Oh, 'twas wondrous pretty! For of a sudden all the storm was past, A gentle calm of love succeeded it; Monimia sighed and blushed, Castalio swore; As you, my lord, I well remember, did To my young sister in the orange grove, When I was first preferred to be your page. _Pol._ Happy Castalio! now by my great soul, My ambitious soul, that languishes to glory, I'll have her yet; by my best hopes, I will. She shall be mine, in spite of all her arts. But for Castalio why was I refused? Has he supplanted me by some foul play? Traduced my honour? death! he durst not do't. It must be so: we parted, and he met her, Half to compliance brought by me; surprised Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite. So poachers basely pick up tired game, Whilst the fair hunter's cheated of his prey. Boy! _Page._ My lord! _Pol._ Go to your chamber, and prepare your lute; Find out some song to please me, that describes Women's hypocrisies, their subtle wiles, Betraying smiles, feigned tears, inconstancies; Their painted outsides and corrupted minds; The sum of all their follies, and their falsehoods. [_Exit_ Page. _Enter_ Servant. _Serv._ Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er told! _Pol._ The matter? _Serv._ Oh! your father, my good master, As with his guests he sat in mirth raised high, And chased the goblet round the joyful board, A sudden trembling seized on all his limbs; His eyes distorted grew; his visage pale; His speech forsook him; life itself seemed fled; And all his friends are waiting now about him.