No More Learning

_Cast. _ Wished morning's come! And now, upon the plains
And distant mountains, where they feed their flocks,
The happy shepherds leave their homely huts,
And with their pipes proclaim the new-born day.
The lusty swain comes with his well-filled scrip
Of healthful viands, which, when hunger calls,
With much content and appetite, he eats,
To follow in the fields his daily toil,
And dress the grateful glebe, that yields him fruits.
The beasts, that under the warm hedges slept,
And weathered out the cold bleak night, are up,
And, looking towards the neighbouring pastures, raise
The voice, and bid their fellow-brutes good-morrow
The cheerful birds too, on the tops of trees,
Assemble all in quires, and with their notes
Salute and welcome up the rising sun.
There's no condition sure so cursed as mine;
I'm married! 'Sdeath! I'm sped. How like a dog
Looked Hercules, thus to a distaff chained!
Monimia! O Monimia!

_Enter_ MONIMIA _and_ FLORELLA.

_Mon. _ I come,
I fly to my adored Castalio's arms,
My wishes' lord. May every morn begin
Like this; and with our days our loves renew!
Now I may hope you're satisfied-- [_Looking languishingly on him. _

_Cast. _ I am
Well satisfied--that thou art--Oh! --

_Mon. _ What? speak.
Art thou not well, Castalio? Come, lean
Upon my breasts, and tell me where's thy pain.

_Cast. _ 'Tis here; 'tis in my head; 'tis in my heart;
'Tis everywhere; it rages like a madness;
And I most wonder how my reason holds!
Nay, wonder not, Monimia: the slave
You thought you had secured within my breast
Is grown a rebel, and has broke his chain,
And now he walks there like a lord at large.

_Mon. _ Am I not then your wife, your loved Monimia?
I once was so, or I've most strangely dreamt.
What ails my love?

_Cast. _ Whate'er thy dreams have been,
Thy waking thoughts ne'er meant Castalio well.
No more, Monimia, of your sex's arts,
They're useless all: I'm not that pliant tool,
That necessary utensil you'd make me:
I know my charter better--I am man,
Obstinate man, and will not be enslaved.

_Mon. _ You shall not fear't: indeed my nature's easy;
I'll ever live your most obedient wife,
Nor ever any privilege pretend
Beyond your will; for that shall be my law;--
Indeed I will not.

_Cast. _ Nay, you shall not, madam;
By yon bright Heaven, you shall not! All the day
I'll play the tyrant, and at night forsake thee;
Till by afflictions, and continued cares,
I've worn thee to a homely household drudge:
Nay, if I've any too, thou shalt be made
Subservient to all my looser pleasures;
For thou hast wronged Castalio.

_Mon. _ No more:
Oh, kill me here, or tell me my offence;
I'll never quit you else, but on these knees
Thus follow you all day, till they're worn bare,
And hang upon you like a drowning creature.
Castalio!

_Cast. _ Away! Last night, last night!

_Mon. _ It was our wedding-night.

_Cast. _ No more! forget it.

_Mon. _ Why? do you then repent?

_Cast. _ I do.

_Mon. _ O Heaven!
And will you leave me thus? Help, help, Florella!

[_He drags her to the door, breaks from her, and exit. _

Help me to hold this yet loved cruel man.
Oh, my heart breaks--I'm dying! Oh--stand off!
I'll not indulge this woman's weakness; still,
Chafed and fomented, let my heart swell on,
Till with its injuries it burst, and shake,
With the dire blow, this prison to the earth.

_Flor. _ What sad mistake has been the cause of this?

_Mon. _ Castalio! Oh, how often has he swore
Nature should change, the sun and stars grow dark,
Ere he would falsify his vows to me!
Make haste, confusion, then! sun, lose thy light,
And stars, drop dead with sorrow to the earth!
For my Castalio's false.

_Flor. _ Unhappy day!

_Mon. _ False as the wind, the water, or the weather;
Cruel as tigers o'er their trembling prey:
I feel him in my breast, he tears my heart,
And at each sigh he drinks the gushing blood.
Must I be long in pain?

_Enter_ CHAMONT.

_Cham. _ In tears, Monimia?

_Mon. _ Whoe'er thou art,
Leave me alone to my beloved despair.

_Cham. _ Lift up thy eyes, and see who comes to cheer thee.
Tell me the story of thy wrongs, and then
See if my soul has rest till thou hast justice.

_Mon. _ My brother!

_Cham. _ Yes, Monimia, if thou think'st
That I deserve the name, I am thy brother.

_Mon. _ O Castalio!

_Cham. _ Ha!
Name me that name again! My soul's on fire
Till I know all: there's meaning in that name.
I know he is thy husband; therefore trust me
With all the following truth--

_Mon. _ Indeed, Chamont,
There's nothing in it but the fault of nature:
I'm often thus seized suddenly with grief,
I know not why.

_Cham. _ You use me ill, Monimia;
And I might think, with justice, most severely
Of this unfaithful dealing with your brother.

_Mon. _ Truly I'm not to blame: suppose I'm fond,
And grieve for what as much may please another?
Should I upbraid the dearest friend on earth
For the first fault? you would not do so, would you?

_Cham. _ Not if I'd cause to think it was a friend.

_Mon. _ Why do you then call this unfaithful dealing?
I ne'er concealed my soul from you before:
Bear with me now, and search my wounds no farther;
For every probing pains me to the heart.

_Cham. _ 'Tis sign there's danger in't must be prevented.
Where's your new husband? still that thought disturbs you.
What! only answer me with tears? Castalio!
Nay, now they stream;--
Cruel, unkind Castalio! is't not so?

_Mon. _ I cannot speak, grief flows so fast upon me;
It chokes, and will not let me tell the cause.
Oh!

_Cham. _ My Monimia, to my soul thou'rt dear,
As honour to my name; dear as the light
To eyes but just restored, and healed of blindness.
Why wilt thou not repose within my breast
The anguish that torments thee?

_Mon. _ Oh! I dare not.

_Cham. _ I have no friend but thee; we must confide
In one another. Two unhappy orphans,
Alas, we are; and, when I see thee grieve,
Methinks it is a part of me that suffers.

_Mon. _ Oh, shouldst thou know the cause of my lamenting,
I'm satisfied, Chamont, that thou wouldst scorn me;
Thou wouldst despise the abject, lost Monimia;
No more wouldst praise this hated beauty; but
When in some cell, distracted, as I shall be,
Thou seest me lie, these unregarded locks
Matted like furies' tresses; my poor limbs
Chained to the ground; and, 'stead of the delights
Which happy lovers taste, my keeper's stripes,
A bed of straw, and a coarse wooden dish
Of wretched sustenance;--when thus thou seest me,
Pr'ythee have charity and pity for me:
Let me enjoy this thought!

_Cham. _ Why wilt thou rack
My soul so long, Monimia? Ease me quickly;
Or thou wilt run me into madness first.

_Mon. _ Could you be secret?

_Cham. _ Secret as the grave.

_Mon. _ But when I've told you, will you keep your fury
Within its bounds? will you not do some rash
And horrid mischief? for, indeed, Chamont,
You would not think how hardly I've been used
From a near friend; from one that has my soul
A slave, and therefore treats it like a tyrant.

_Cham. _ I will be calm. But has Castalio wronged thee?
Has he already wasted all his love?
What has he done? quickly; for I'm all trembling
With expectation of a horrid tale.

_Mon. _ Oh! could you think it?

_Cham. _ What?

_Mon. _ I fear he'll kill me.

_Cham. _ Ha!

_Mon. _ Indeed I do; he's strangely cruel to me;
Which, if it lasts, I'm sure must break my heart.

_Cham. _ What has he done?

_Mon. _ Most barbarously used me:
Nothing so kind as he, when in my arms,
In thousand kisses, tender sighs and joys,
Not to be thought again, the night was wasted.
At dawn of day, he rose, and left his conquest;
But when we met, and I with open arms
Ran to embrace the lord of all my wishes,
Oh, then--

_Cham. _ Go on!

_Mon. _ He threw me from his breast,
Like a detested sin.

_Cham. _ How!

_Mon. _ As I hung too
Upon his knees, and begged to know the cause,
He dragged me like a slave upon the earth,
And had no pity on my cries.

_Cham. _ How! did he
Dash thee disdainfully away with scorn?

_Mon. _ He did; and more, I fear will ne'er be friends,
Though I still love him with unbated passion.

_Cham. _ What, throw thee from him!

_Mon. _ Yes, indeed, he did.

_Cham. _ So may this arm
Throw him to the earth, like a dead dog despised!
Lameness and leprosy, blindness and lunacy,
Poverty, shame, pride, and the name of villain,
Light on me, if, Castalio, I forgive thee!

_Mon. _ Nay, now, Chamont, art thou unkind as he is:
Didst thou not promise me thou wouldst be calm?
Keep my disgrace concealed; why shouldst thou kill him?
By all my love, this arm should do him vengeance.
Alas! I love him still; and though I ne'er
Clasp him again within these longing arms,
Yet bless him, bless him, gods, where'er he goes!

_Enter_ ACASTO.

_Acast. _ Sure some ill fate is towards me; in my house
I only meet with oddness and disorder:
Each vassal has a wild distracted face,
And looks as full of business as a blockhead
In times of danger: just this very moment
I met Castalio--

_Cham. _ Then you met a villain.

_Acast. _ Ha!

_Cham. _ Yes, a villain.

_Acast. _ Have a care, young soldier,
How thou'rt too busy with Acasto's fame;
I have a sword, my arm's good old acquaintance.
Villain to thee!

_Cham.
_ Curse on thy scandalous age,
Which hinders me to rush upon thy throat,
And tear the root up of that cursed bramble!

_Acast. _ Ungrateful ruffian! sure my good old friend
Was ne'er thy father; nothing of him's in thee:
What have I done in my unhappy age,
To be thus used? I scorn to upbraid thee, boy;
But I could put thee in remembrance--

_Cham. _ Do.

_Acast. _ I scorn it!

_Cham. _ No, I'll calmly hear the story;
For I would fain know all, to see which scale
Weighs most--Ha! is not that good old Acasto?
What have I done? --can you forgive this folly?

_Acast. _ Why dost thou ask it?

_Cham. _ 'Twas the rude o'erflowing
Of too much passion; pray, my lord, forgive me. [_Kneels. _

_Acast. _ Mock me not, youth; I can revenge a wrong.

_Cham. _ I know it well; but for this thought of mine,
Pity a madman's frenzy, and forget it.

_Acast. _ I will; but henceforth, pr'ythee, be more kind.

[_Raises him. _

Whence came the cause?

_Cham. _ Indeed I've been to blame:
But I'll learn better; for you've been my father:
You've been her father too-- [_Takes_ MONIMIA _by the hand_.

_Acast. _ Forbear the prologue,
And let me know the substance of thy tale.

_Cham. _ You took her up a little tender flower,
Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost
Had nipped; and, with a careful loving hand,
Transplanted her into your own fair garden,
Where the sun always shines; there long she flourished,
Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye;
Till, at the last, a cruel spoiler came,
Cropped this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness,
Then cast it, like a loathsome weed, away.

_Acast. _ You talk to me in parables, Chamont.
You may have known that I'm no wordy man:
Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves,
Or fools, that use them when they want good sense;
But honesty
Needs no disguise nor ornament. Be plain.

_Cham. _ Your son--

_Acast. _ I've two; and both, I hope, have honour.

_Cham. _ I hope so too--but--

_Acast. _ Speak.

_Cham. _ I must inform you,
Once more, Castalio--

_Acast. _ Still Castalio!

_Cham. _ Yes.
Your son Castalio has wronged Monimia.

_Acast. _ Ha! wronged her?

_Cham. _ Married her.

_Acast. _ I'm sorry for't.

_Cham. _ Why sorry? By yon blest Heaven! there's not a lord
But might be proud to take her to his heart.

_Acast. _ I'll not deny't.

_Cham. _ You dare not; by the gods!
You dare not; all your family, combined
In one damned falsehood to out-do Castalio,
Dare not deny't.

_Acast. _ How has Castalio wronged her?

_Cham. _ Ask that of him: I say, my sister's wronged;
Monimia, my sister, born as high
And noble as Castalio. Do her justice,
Or, by the gods! I'll lay a scene of blood
Shall make this dwelling horrible to nature.
I'll do't. Hark you, my lord; your son Castalio,
Take him to your closet, and there teach him manners.

_Acast. _ You shall have justice.

_Cham. _ Nay, I will have justice.
Who'll sleep in safety that has done me wrong?
My lord, I'll not disturb you to repeat
The cause of this: I beg you (to preserve
Your house's honour) ask it of Castalio.

_Acast. _ I will.

_Cham. _ Till then, farewell! [_Exit. _

_Acast. _ Farewell, proud boy!
Monimia!

_Mon. _ My lord.

_Acast. _ You are my daughter.

_Mon. _ I am, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe to own me.

_Acast. _ When you'll complain to me, I'll prove a father. [_Exit. _

_Mon. _ Now I'm undone for ever: who on earth
Is there so wretched as Monimia?
First by Castalio cruelly forsaken;
I've lost Acasto now: his parting frowns
May well instruct me rage is in his heart:
I shall be next abandoned to my fortune,
Thrust out a naked wanderer to the world,
And branded for the mischievous Monimia!
What will become of me? My cruel brother
Is framing mischiefs too, for aught I know,
That may produce bloodshed, and horrid murder;
I would not be the cause of one man's death,
To reign the empress of the earth; nay, more,
I'd rather lose for ever my Castalio,
My dear unkind Castalio!

_Enter_ POLYDORE.

_Pol. _ Monimia weeping!
So morning dews on new-blown roses lodge,
By the sun's amorous heat to be exhaled.
I come, my love, to kiss all sorrow from thee.
What mean these sighs? and why thus beats thy heart?

_Mon. _ Let me alone to sorrow: 'tis a cause
None e'er shall know; but it shall with me die.

_Pol. _ Happy, Monimia, he to whom these sighs,
These tears, and all these languishings are paid!
I am no stranger to your dearest secret;
I know your heart was never meant for me:
That jewel's for an elder brother's price.

_Mon. _ My lord!

_Pol. _ Nay, wonder not; last night I heard
His oaths, your vows, and to my torment saw
Your wild embraces; heard the appointment made:
I did, Monimia, and I cursed the sound.
Wilt thou be sworn my love? wilt thou be ne'er
Unkind again?

_Mon. _ Banish such fruitless hopes:
Have you sworn constancy to my undoing?
Will you be ne'er my friend again?

_Pol. _ What means
My love?

_Mon. _ Away! What meant my lord, last night?

_Pol. _ Is that a question now to be demanded?
I hope Monimia was not much displeased.

_Mon. _ Was it well done to treat me like a prostitute?
To assault my lodging at the dead of night,
And threaten me if I denied admittance? --
You said you were Castalio--

_Pol. _ By those eyes!
It was the same; I spent my time much better;
I tell thee, ill-natured fair one, I was posted
To more advantage,--on a pleasant hill
Of springing joy, and everlasting sweetness.

_Mon. _ Ha! --have a care--

_Pol. _ Where is the danger near me?

_Mon. _ I fear you're on a rock will wreck your quiet,
And drown your soul in wretchedness for ever;
A thousand horrid thoughts crowd on my memory.
Will you be kind, and answer me one question?

_Pol. _ I'd trust thee with my life; on those soft breasts
Breathe out the choicest secrets of my heart,
Till I had nothing in it left but love.

_Mon. _ Nay, I'll conjure you, by the gods, and angels,
By the honour of your name, that's most concerned,
To tell me, Polydore, and tell me truly,
Where did you rest last night?

_Pol. _ Within thy arms
I triumphed: rest had been my foe.

_Mon. _ 'Tis done. [_She faints. _

_Pol. _ She faints! No help! Who waits? A curse
Upon my vanity, that could not keep
The secret of my happiness in silence.
Confusion! we shall be surprised anon;
And consequently all must be betrayed.
Monimia! --she breathes. --Monimia!

_Mon. _ Well;
Let mischiefs multiply! Let every hour
Of my loathed life yield me increase of horror!
Oh, let the sun to these unhappy eyes
Ne'er shine again, but be eclipsed for ever!
May every thing I look on seem a prodigy,
To fill my soul with terrors, till I quite
Forget I ever had humanity,
And grow a curser of the works of nature!

_Pol. _ What means all this?

_Mon. _ Oh, Polydore, if all
The friendship e'er you vowed to good Castalio
Be not a falsehood; if you ever loved
Your brother, you've undone yourself and me.

_Pol. _ Which way can ruin reach the man that's rich,
As I am, in possession of thy sweetness?

_Mon. _ Oh! I'm his wife.

_Pol. _ What says Monimia? ha!
Speak that again.

_Mon. _ I am Castalio's wife.

_Pol_. His married, wedded wife?

_Mon. _ Yesterday's sun
Saw it performed.

_Pol. _ And then have I enjoyed
My brother's wife?

_Mon. _ As surely as we both
Must taste of misery, that guilt is thine.

_Pol. _ Must we be miserable then?

_Mon. _ Oh!

_Pol_. Oh! thou mayst yet be happy.

_Mon. _ Couldst thou be
Happy, with such a weight upon thy soul?

_Pol. _ It may be yet a secret: I'll go try
To reconcile and bring Castalio to thee;
Whilst from the world I take myself away,
And waste my life in penance for my sin.

_Mon.