No More Learning

_Cas. _ 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 th' ill-natur'd 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 suffer'd yet for love disdain'd,
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 wander'd up and down
Forlorn and silent as his vassal beasts:
But when a heav'n-born maid, like you, appear'd,
Strange pleasures fill'd his eyes and fir'd his heart,
Unloos'd his tongue, and his first talk was love.

_Mon. _ The first created pair indeed were bless'd;
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.

_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 dy'd,
Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them,
Your father's pity and his bounty took me,
A poor and helpless orphan, to his care.

_Pol. _ 'Twas Heav'n ordain'd 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 heav'n's blest pow'r 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'll still inherit
My mother's virtues, and my father's honour.

_Pol. _ Intolerable vanity! your sex
Was never in the right! y'are always false,
Or silly; ev'n your dresses are not more
Fantastic than your appetites; you think
Of nothing twice; opinion you have none.
To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free;
Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then glad;
Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you know not why!

_Mon. _ Indeed, my lord,
I own my sex's follies; I have 'em all;
And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you.
Therefore, believe me, could you raise me high
As most fantastic woman's wish could reach,
And lay all nature's riches at my feet;
I'd rather run a savage in the woods,
Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled and deform'd,
So I might still enjoy my honour safe,
From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [_exit. _

_Pol. _ Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man?
I'll yet possess my love; it shall be so. [_exeunt. _




ACT THE SECOND.


SCENE I. A SALOON.

_Enter Acasto, Castalio, Polydore, and Attendants. _

_Acas. _ To-day has been a day of glorious sport:
When you, Castalio, and your brother, left me,
Forth from the thickets rush'd another boar,
So large, he seem'd the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high,
They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back;
Foaming he came at me, where I was posted
Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase,
Whetting his huge large tusks, and gaping wide,
As if he already had me for his prey!
Till, brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high,
With this bold executing arm I struck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

_Cas. _ The actions of your life were always wondrous.

_Acas. _ No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by't;
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't,
Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive.

_Cas. _ Your lordship's wrongs have been
So great, that you with justice may complain;
But suffer us, whose younger minds ne'er felt
Fortune's deceits, to court her, as she's fair:
Were she a common mistress, kind to all,
Her worth would cease, and half the world grow idle.
Methinks, I would be busy.

_Pol. _ So would I,
Not loiter out my life at home, and know
No further than one prospect gives me leave.

_Acas. _ Busy your minds then, study arts and men;
Learn how to value merit, though in rags,
And scorn a proud, ill-manner'd, knave in office.

_Enter Serina. _

_Ser. _ My lord, my father!

_Acas. _ Blessings on my child!
My little cherub, what hast thou to ask me?

_Ser. _ I bring you, sir, most glad and welcome news;
The young Chamont, whom you've so often wish'd for,
Is just arriv'd, and entering.

_Acas. _ By my soul,
And all my honours, he's most dearly welcome;
Let me receive him like his father's friend.

_Enter Chamont. _

Welcome, thou relic of the best lov'd man!
Welcome, from all the turmoils and the hazards
Of certain danger and uncertain fortune!
Welcome, as happy tidings after fears.

_Cham. _ Words would but wrong the gratitude I owe you!
Should I begin to speak, my soul's so full,
That I should talk of nothing else all day.

_Enter Monimia. _

_Mon. _ My brother!

_Cham. _ O my sister, let me hold thee
Long in my arms. I've not beheld thy face
These many days; by night I've often seen thee
In gentle dreams, and satisfy'd my soul
With fancy'd joys, till morning cares awak'd me.
Another sister! sure, it must be so;
Though I remember well I had but one:
But I feel something in my heart that prompts,
And tells me, she has claim and interest there.

_Acas. _ Young soldier, you've not only studied war;
Courtship, I see, has been your practice too,
And may not prove unwelcome to my daughter.

_Cham. _ Is she your daughter? then my heart told true,
And I'm at least her brother by adoption;
For you have made yourself to me a father,
And by that patent I have leave to love her.

_Ser. _ Monimia, thou hast told me men are false,
Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love:
Is Chamont so? no, sure, he's more than man;
Something that's near divine, and truth dwells in him.

_Acas. _ Thus happy, who would envy pompous pow'r,
The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
Let there be joy through all the house this day!
In ev'ry room let plenty flow at large!
It is the birth day of my royal master!
You have not visited the court, Chamont,
Since your return?

_Cham. _ I have no bus'ness there;
I have not slavish temperance enough
T' attend a favourite's heels, and watch his smiles,
Bear an ill office done me to my face,
And thank the lord that wrong'd me, for his favour.

_Acas. _ This you could do. [_to his Sons. _

_Cas. _ I'd serve my prince.

_Acas. _ Who'd serve him?

_Cas. _ I would, my lord.

_Pol. _ And I; both would.

_Acas. _ Away!
He needs not any servants such as you.
Serve him! he merits more than man can do!
He is so good, praise cannot speak his worth;
So merciful, sure he ne'er slept in wrath!
So just, that, were he but a private man,
He could not do a wrong! How would you serve him?

_Cas. _ I'd serve him with my fortune here at home,
And serve him with my person in his wars:
Watch for him, fight for him, bleed for him.

_Pol. _ Die for him,
As ev'ry true-born, loyal, subject ought.

_Acas. _ Let me embrace ye both! now, by the souls
Of my brave ancestors, I'm truly happy!
For this, be ever blest my marriage day!
Blest be your mother's memory, that bore you;
And doubly blest be that auspicious hour
That gave ye birth!

_Enter a Servant. _

_Serv. _ My lord, th' expected guests are just arriv'd.

_Acas. _ Go you and give 'em welcome and reception.
[_exeunt Castalio and Polydore. _

_Cham. _ My lord, I stand in need of your assistance,
In something that concerns my peace and honour.

_Acas. _ Spoke like the son of that brave man I lov'd!
So freely, friendly, we convers'd together.
Whate'er it be, with confidence impart it;
Thou shalt command my fortune and my sword.

_Cham. _ I dare not doubt your friendship, nor your justice,
Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear,
My orphan sister, must not be forgotten!

_Acas. _ Pr'ythee no more of that, it grates my nature.

_Cham. _ When our dear parents dy'd, they dy'd together;
One fate surpris'd 'em, and one grave receiv'd 'em;
My father, with his dying breath, bequeath'd
Her to my love; my mother, as she lay
Languishing by him, call'd me to her side,
Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and embrac'd me;
Then press'd me close, and, as she observ'd my tears,
Kiss'd them away: said she, "Chamont, my son,
By this, and all the love I ever show'd thee,
Be careful of Monimia: watch her youth;
Let not her wants betray her to dishonour;
Perhaps, kind heav'n may raise some friend. " Then sigh'd,
Kiss'd me again; so bless'd us, and expir'd.
Pardon my grief.

_Acas. _ It speaks an honest nature.

_Cham. _ The friend heav'n rais'd was you; you took her up,
An infant, to the desert world expos'd,
And prov'd another parent.

_Acas. _ I've not wrong'd her.

_Cham. _ Far be it from my fears.

_Acas. _ Then why this argument?

_Cham. _ My lord, my nature's jealous, and you'll bear it.

_Acas. _ Go on.

_Cham. _ Great spirits bear misfortunes hardly;
Good offices claim gratitude; and pride,
Where pow'r is wanting, will usurp a little,
And make us (rather than be thought behind hand)
Pay over price.

_Acas. _ I cannot guess your drift;
Distrust you me?

_Cham. _ No, but I fear her weakness
May make her pay her debt at any rate:
And, to deal freely with your lordship's goodness,
I've heard a story lately much disturbs me.

_Acas. _ Then first charge her; and if th' offence be found
Within my reach, though it should touch my nature,
In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance
Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoic'd in,
I'd prosecute it with severest vengeance. [_exit. _

_Cham. _ I thank you, from my soul.

_Mon. _ Alas, my brother! what have I done?
My heart quakes in me; in your settled face,
And clouded brow, methinks I see my fate.
You will not kill me?

_Cham. _ Pr'ythee, why dost thou talk so?

_Mon. _ Look kindly on me then; I cannot bear
Severity; it daunts, and does amaze, me;
My heart's so tender, should you charge me rough,
I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing;
But use me gently, like a loving brother,
And search through all the secrets of my soul.

_Cham. _ Fear nothing, I will show myself a brother,
A tender, honest, and a loving, brother.
You've not forgot our father?

_Mon. _ I never shall.

_Cham. _ Then you'll remember too he was a man
That liv'd up to the standard of his honour,
And priz'd that jewel more than mines of wealth:
He'd not have done a shameful thing but once:
Though kept in darkness from the world, and hidden,
He could not have forgiv'n it to himself.
This was the only portion that he left us;
And I more glory in't than if possess'd
Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
'Twas a large trust, and must be manag'd nicely;
Now, if by any chance, Monimia,
You have soil'd this gem, and taken from its value,
How will you account with me?

_Mon. _ I challenge envy,
Malice, and all the practices of hell,
To censure all the actions of my past
Unhappy life, and taint me if they can!

_Cham. _ I'll tell thee, then; three nights ago, as I
Lay musing on my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dew'd all my face, and trembling seiz'd my limbs:
My bed shook under me, the curtains started,
And to my tortur'd fancy there appear'd
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art;
Thy garments flowing loose, and in each hand
A wanton lover, who by turns caress'd thee
With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure.
I snatch'd my sword, and in the very moment
Darted it at the phantom; straight it left me;
Then rose, and call'd for lights, when, O dire omen!
I found my weapon had the arras pierc'd,
Just where that famous tale was interwoven,
How the unhappy Theban slew his father.

_Mon. _ And for this cause my virtue is suspected!
Because in dreams your fancy has been ridden,
I must be tortur'd waking!

_Cham. _ Have a care;
Labour not to be justify'd too fast:
Hear all, and then let justice hold the scale.
What follow'd was the riddle that confounds me.
Through a close lane, as I pursu'd my journey,
And meditating on the last night's vision,
I spy'd a wrinkled hag, with age grown double,
Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself;
Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd and red:
Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seem'd wither'd,
And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd
The tatter'd remnant of an old strip'd hanging,
Which serv'd to keep her carcase from the cold:
So there was nothing of a piece about her.
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd
With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white, yellow,
And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness.
I ask'd her of my way, which she inform'd me;
Then crav'd 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, alter'd? does your courage fail you?
Now, by my father's soul, the witch was honest.
Answer me, if thou hast not lost them
Thy honour at a sordid game?

_Mon. _ I will,
I must, so hardly my misfortune loads me:--
That both have offer'd me their love's most true.

_Cham. _ And 'tis as true too they have both undone thee.

_Mon. _ Though they both with earnest vows
Have press'd 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 hath won my soul
By gen'rous 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 preserv'd
Thy virtue white, without a blot, untainted?

_Mon. _ When I'm unchaste, may heaven reject my prayers;
O more, to make me wretched, may you know it!

_Cham. _ Oh then, Monimia, art thou dearer to me
Than all the comforts ever yet bless'd 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 sooth 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. _

_Mon. _ Yes, I will try him, torture him severely;
For, O Castalio, thou too much hast wrong'd me,
In leaving me to Polydore's ill usage.
He comes; and now, for once, O Love, stand neuter,
Whilst a hard part's perform'd; for I must tempt,
Wound, his soft nature, though my heart aches for't.

_Re-enter Castalio. _

_Cas. _ Monimia, my angel! 'twas not kind
To leave me here alone.

_Re-enter Polydore, with Page, at the door. _

_Pol. _ Here place yourself, and watch my brother thoroughly;
Pass not one circumstance without remark.
[_apart to Page, and exit. _

_Cas. _ When thou art from me, every place is desert,
And I, methinks, am savage and forlorn:
Thy presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul.

_Mon. _ O the bewitching tongues of faithless men!
'Tis thus the false hyena makes her moan,
To draw the pitying traveller to her den:
Your sex are so, such false dissemblers all;
With sighs and plaints y' entice poor women's hearts,
And all that pity you are made your prey.

_Cas. _ What means my love? Oh, how have I deserv'd
This language from the sovereign of my joys?
Stop, stop, these tears, Monimia, for they fall
Like baneful dew from a distemper'd sky;
I feel 'em chill me to my very heart.

_Mon. _ Oh, you are false, Castalio, most forsworn!
Attempt no further to delude my faith;
My heart is fix'd, and you shall shake't no more.

_Cas. _ Who told you so? what hell-bred villain durst
Profane the sacred business of my love?

_Mon. _ Your brother, knowing on what terms I'm here,
Th' unhappy object of your father's charity,
Licentiously discours'd to me of love,
And durst affront me with his brutal passion.

_Cas. _ 'Tis I have been to blame, and only I;
False to my brother, and unjust to thee.
For, oh! he loves thee too, and this day own'd it,
Tax'd me with mine, and claim'd a right above me.

_Mon. _ And was your love so very tame, to shrink?
Or, rather than lose him, abandon me?

_Cas. _ I, knowing him precipitate and rash,
Seem'd to comply with his unruly will;
Lest he in rage might have our loves betray'd,
And I for ever had Monimia lost.

_Mon. _ Could you then, did you, can you, own it too?
'Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself!
And I can never think you meant me fair.

_Cas. _ Is this Monimia? Surely, no! till now
I ever thought her dove-like, soft, and kind.
Who trusts his heart with woman's surely lost:
You were made fair on purpose to undo us,
While greedily we snatch th' alluring bait,
And ne'er distrust the poison that it hides.

_Mon. _ When love, ill-plac'd, would find a means to break--

_Cas. _ It never wants pretences or excuse.

_Mon. _ Man therefore was a lord-like creature made,
Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too:
A lofty aspect given him for command;
Easily soften'd when he would betray.
Like conqu'ring tyrants, you our breasts invade;
But soon you find new conquests out, and leave
The ravag'd province ruinate and waste.
If so, Castalio, you have serv'd my heart,
I find that desolation's settled there,
And I shall ne'er recover peace again.

_Cas. _ Who can hear this and bear an equal mind?
Since you will drive me from you, I must go:
But, O Monimia! when thou hast banish'd me,
No creeping slave, though tractable and dull
As artful woman for her ends would choose,
Shall ever dote as I have done.

_Mon. _ Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find
My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace.
These little quarrels love must needs forgive.
Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue,
I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows,
And listen to the language of thy heart.

_Cas. _ 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.
Sure, framing thee, heaven took unusual care; }
As its own beauty it design'd thee fair, }
And form'd thee by the best lov'd angel there. } [_exeunt. _




ACT THE THIRD.


SCENE I. A GARDEN.

_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 rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd:
Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so haughty,
They scorn'd submission, though love all the while
The rebel play'd, and scarce could be contain'd.

_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 sigh'd and blush'd; Castalio swore;
As you, my lord, I well remember, did
To my young sister, in the orange grove,
When I was first preferr'd to be your page.

_Pol. _ Boy, go to your chamber, and prepare your lute.
[_exit Page. _
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 refus'd?
Has he supplanted me by some foul play?
Traduc'd my honour? death! he durst not do't.
It must be so: we parted, and he met her,
Half to compliance brought by me; surpris'd
Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite.
So poachers pick up tir'd game,
While the fair hunter's cheated of his prey.
Boy!

_Enter a 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 rais'd high,
And chas'd the goblet round the joyful board,
A sudden trembling seiz'd on all his limbs;
His eyes distorted grew, his visage pale,
His speech forsook him, life itself seem'd fled,
And all his friends are waiting now about him.

_Enter Acasto and Attendants. _

_Acas. _ Support me, give me air, I'll yet recover.
'Twas but a slip decaying nature made;
For she grows weary near her journey's end.
Where are my sons? come near, my Polydore!
Your brother--where's Castalio?

_Serv. _ My lord,
I've search'd, as you commanded, all the house!
He and Monimia are not to be found.

_Acas. _ Not to be found? then where are all my friends?
'Tis well--
I hope they'll pardon an unhappy fault
My unmannerly infirmity has made!
Death could not come in a more welcome hour;
For I'm prepar'd to meet him; and, methinks,
Would live and die with all my friends about me.

_Enter Castalio. _

_Cas. _ Angels preserve my dearest father's life!
Oh! may he live till time itself decay,
Till good men wish him dead, or I offend him!

_Acas. _ Thank you, Castalio: give me both your hands.
So now, methinks,
I appear as great as Hercules himself,
Supported by the pillars he has rais'd.

_Enter Serina. _

_Ser. _ My father!

_Acas. _ My heart's darling!

_Ser. _ Let my knees
Fix to the earth. Ne'er let my eyes have rest,
But wake and weep, till heaven restore my father.

_Acas. _ Rise to my arms, and thy kind pray'rs are answer'd.
For thou'rt a wondrous extract of all goodness;
Born for my joy, and no pain's felt when near thee.
Chamont!

_Enter Chamont. _

_Cham. _ My lord, may't prove not an unlucky omen!
Many I see are waiting round about you,
And I am come to ask a blessing too.

_Acas. _ May'st thou be happy!

_Cham. _ Where?

_Acas. _ In all thy wishes.

_Cham. _ Confirm me so, and make this fair one mine:
I am unpractis'd in the trade of courtship,
And know not how to deal love out with art:
Onsets in love seem best like those in war,
Fierce, resolute, and done with all the force;
So I would open my whole heart at once,
And pour out the abundance of my soul.