_Cast._ Young Chamont, and the chaplain! sure 'tis they! No matter what's contrived, or who consulted, Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look Seems no good-boding omen to her bliss; Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down? Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart were breaking? _Mon._ Castalio, I am thinking what we've done. The heavenly powers were sure displeased to-day; For at the ceremony as we stood, And as your hand was kindly joined with mine, As the good priest pronounced the sacred words, Passion grew big, and I could not forbear; Tears drowned my eyes, and trembling seized my soul. What should that mean? _Cast._ Oh, thou art tender all; Gentle and kind as sympathising nature! When a sad story has been told, I've seen Thy little breasts, with soft compassion swelled, Shove up and down, and heave like dying birds: But now let fear be banished, think no more Of danger, for there's safety in my arms; Let them receive thee: Heaven, grow jealous now! Sure she's too good for any mortal creature; I could grow wild, and praise thee even to madness. But wherefore do I dally with my bliss? The night's far spent, and day draws on apace; To bed, my love, and wake till I come thither. _Re-enter_ POLYDORE, _behind_. _Pol._ So hot, my brother? [_Aside._ _Mon._ 'Twill be impossible: You know your father's chamber's next to mine, And the least noise will certainly alarm him. _Cast._ Impossible! impossible! alas! Is't possible to live one hour without thee? Let me behold those eyes, they'll tell me truth. Hast thou no longing? Art thou still the same Cold, icy virgin? No; thou'rt altered quite. Haste, haste to bed, and let loose all thy wishes. _Mon._ 'Tis but one night, my lord; I pray be ruled. _Cast._ Try if thou'st power to stop a flowing tide, Or in a tempest make the seas be calm; And, when that's done, I'll conquer my desires. No more, my blessing. What shall be the sign? When shall I come? for to my joys I'll steal, As if I ne'er had paid my freedom for them. _Mon._ Just three soft strokes upon the chamber-door; And at that signal you shall gain admittance: But speak not the least word; for if you should, 'Tis surely heard, and all will be betrayed. _Cast._ Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss Of souls that by intelligence converse: Immortal pleasures shall our senses drown; Thought shall be lost, and every power dissolved: Away, my love! first take this kiss. Now haste. I long for that to come, yet grudge each minute past. [_Exit_ MONIMIA. My brother wandering too so late this way! _Pol._ [_Coming forward_]. Castalio!