No More Learning

I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.

_Pol. _ Yet you would break this friendship

_Cast. _ Not for crowns.

_Pol. _ But for a toy you would, a woman's toy:
Unjust Castalio!

_Cast. _ Pr'ythee, where's my fault?

_Pol. _ You love Monimia.

_Cast. _ Yes.

_Pol. _ And you would kill me,
If I'm your rival.

_Cast. _ No, sure we're such friends,
So much one man, that our affections too
Must be united, and the same as we are.

_Pol. _ I dote upon Monimia.

_Cast. _ Love her still;
Win, and enjoy her.

_Pol. _ Both of us cannot.

_Cast. _ No matter
Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for't.

_Pol. _ You would not wed Monimia, would you?

_Cast. _ Wed her!
No! were she all desire could wish, as fair
As would the vainest of her sex be thought,
With wealth beyond what woman's pride could waste,
She should not cheat me of my freedom. Marry!
When I am old and weary of the world,
I may grow desperate,
And take a wife to mortify withal.

_Pol. _ It is an elder brother's duty so
To propagate his family and name:
You would not have yours die and buried with you?

_Cast. _ Mere vanity, and silly dotage all:
No, let me live at large, and when I die--

_Pol. _ Who shall possess the estate you leave?

_Cast. _ My friend,
If he survives me; if not, my king,
Who may bestow't again on some brave man,
Whose honesty and services deserve one.

_Pol. _ 'Tis kindly offered.

_Cast. _ By yon Heaven, I love
My Polydore beyond all worldly joys,
And would not shock his quiet, to be blest
With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.

_Pol. _ And by that Heaven eternally I swear
To keep the kind Castalio in my heart.
Whose shall Monimia be?

_Cast. _ No matter whose.

_Pol. _ Were you not with her privately last night?

_Cast. _ I was, and should have met her here again;
But the opportunity shall now be thine;
Myself will bring thee to the scene of love:
But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee,
That no false play be offered to thy brother!
Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper,
But wrong not mine.

_Pol. _ Heaven blast me if I do!

_Cast. _ If't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to conquer,
(For thou hast all the arts of fine persuasion! )
Trust me, and let me know thy love's success,
That I may ever after stifle mine.

_Pol. _ Though she be dearer to my soul than rest
To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold,
To great men power, or wealthy cities pride,
Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her.
For if ye, powers, have happiness in store,
When ye would shower down joys on Polydore,
In one great blessing all your bounty send,
That I may never lose so dear a friend!

[_Exeunt_ CASTALIO _and_ POLYDORE.

_Enter_ MONIMIA.

_Mon. _ So soon returned from hunting? this fair day
Seems as if sent to invite the world abroad.
Passed not Castalio and Polydore this way?

_Page. _ Madam, just now.

_Mon. _ Sure some ill fate's upon me;
Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart,
And apprehension shocks my timorous soul.
Why was I not laid in my peaceful grave
With my poor parents, and at rest as they are?
Instead of that, I'm wandering into cares.
Castalio! O Castalio! thou hast caught
My foolish heart; and, like a tender child,
That trusts his plaything to another hand,
I fear its harm, and fain would have it back.
Come near, Cordelio. I must chide you, sir.

_Page. _ Why, madam, have I done you any wrong?

_Mon. _ I never see you now; you have been kinder;
Sat by my bed, and sung me pretty songs:
Perhaps I've been ungrateful: here's money for you:
Will you oblige me? shall I see you oftener?

_Page. _ Madam, I'd serve you with my soul;
But in a morning when you call me to you,
As by your bed I stand and tell you stories,
I am ashamed to see your swelling breasts,
It makes me blush, they are so very white.

_Mon. _ O men, for flattery and deceit renowned!
Thus when you're young ye learn it all like him,
Till, as your years increase, that strengthens too,
To undo poor maids, and make our ruin easy.
Tell me, Cordelio, for thou oft hast heard
Their friendly converse and their bosom-secrets;
Sometimes, at least, have they not talked of me?

_Page. _ O madam! very wickedly they've talked:
But I'm afraid to name it; for they say
Boys must be whipped that tell their master's secrets.

_Mon. _ Fear not, Cordelio! it shall ne'er be known;
For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine.
Polydore cannot be so kind as I.
I'll furnish thee for all thy harmless sports
With pretty toys, and thou shalt be my page.

_Page. _ And truly, madam, I had rather be so.
Methinks you love me better than my lord,
For he was never half so kind as you are.
What must I do?

_Mon. _ Inform me how thou'st heard
Castalio, and his brother, use my name.

_Page. _ With all the tenderness of love.
You were the subject of their last discourse:
At first I thought it would have fatal proved;
But, as the one grew hot, the other cooled,
And yielded to the frailty of his friend;
At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolved--

_Mon. _ What, good Cordelio?

_Page. _ Not to quarrel for you.

_Mon. _ I would not have them; by my dearest hopes,
I would not be the argument of strife.
But surely my Castalio won't forsake me,
And make a mockery of my easy love?
Went they together?

_Page. _ Yes, to seek you, madam.
Castalio promised Polydore to bring him
Where he alone might meet you,
And fairly try the fortune of his wishes.

_Mon. _ Am I then grown so cheap, just to be made
A common stake, a prize for love in jest?
Was not Castalio very loth to yield it?
Or was it Polydore's unruly passion
That heightened the debate?

_Page. _ The fault was Polydore's.
Castalio played with love, and smiling showed
The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire.
He said no woman's smiles should buy his freedom,
And marriage is a mortifying thing.

_Mon. _ Then I am ruined! if Castalio's false,
Where is there faith and honour to be found?
Ye Gods, that guard the innocent and guide
The weak, protect and take me to your care!
Oh, but I love him! there's the rock will wreck me
Why was I made with all my sex's softness,
Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies?
I'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods,
Be a true woman, rail, protest my wrongs;
Resolve to hate him, and yet love him still.

_Re-enter_ CASTALIO _and_ POLYDORE.

He comes, the conqueror comes! lie still, my heart,
And learn to bear thy injuries with scorn.

_Cast. _ Madam, my brother begs he may have leave
To tell you something that concerns you nearly;
I leave you, as becomes me, and withdraw.

_Mon. _ My Lord Castalio!

_Cast. _ Madam!

_Mon. _ Have you purposed
To abuse me palpably? what means this usage?
Why am I left with Polydore alone?

_Cast. _ He best can tell you. Business of importance
Calls me away; I must attend my father.

_Mon. _ Will you then leave me thus?

_Cast. _ But for a moment.

_Mon. _ It has been otherwise; the time has been,
When business might have stayed, and I been heard.

_Cast. _ 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 the ill-natured 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 suffered yet for love disdained,
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 wandered up and down,
Forlorn, and silent as his vassal-beasts;
But when a Heaven-born maid, like you, appeared,
Strange pleasures filled his eyes, and fired his heart,
Unloosed his tongue, and his first talk was love.

_Mon. _ The first-created pair, indeed, were blest;
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, and almost gives enjoyment.

_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 died,
Whose ruined fortunes too expired with them,
Your father's pity and his bounty took me,
A poor and helpless orphan, to his care.

_Pol. _ 'Twas Heaven ordained 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 Heaven's blest power 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 still inherit
My mother's virtues, and my father's honour.

_Pol. _ Intolerable vanity! your sex
Was never in the right; you're always false,
Or silly; even your dresses are not more
Fantastic than your appetites; you think
Of nothing twice; opinion you have none:
To-day you're nice, to-morrow not so free;
Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then glad;
Now pleased, now not; and all you know not why!
Virtue you affect, inconstancy's your practice;
And, when your loose desires once get dominion,
No hungry churl feeds coarser at a feast;
Every rank fool goes down--

_Mon. _ Indeed, my lord,
I own my sex's follies; I've them all,
And, to avoid its faults, 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 deformed
As wildness and most rude neglect could make me,
So I might still enjoy my honour safe
From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [_Exit. _

_Pol. _ Who'd be that sordid foolish thing called man,
To cringe thus, fawn, and flatter for a pleasure,
Which beasts enjoy so very much above him?
The lusty bull ranges through all the field,
And, from the herd singling his female out,
Enjoys her, and abandons her at will.
It shall be so; I'll yet possess my love,
Wait on, and watch her loose unguarded hours;
Then, when her roving thoughts have been abroad,
And brought in wanton wishes to her heart,
In the very minute when her virtue nods,
I'll rush upon her in a storm of love,
Beat down her guard of honour all before me,
Surfeit on joys, till even desire grow sick;
Then by long absence liberty regain,
And quite forget the pleasure and the pain. [_Exeunt. _

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




ACT THE SECOND.


SCENE I. --_A Room in_ ACASTO'S _House_.

_Enter_ ACASTO, CASTALIO, POLYDORE, _and_ Attendants.

_Acast.
_ To-day has been a day of glorious sport.
When you, Castalio, and your brother left me,
Forth from the thickets rushed another boar,
So large, he seemed the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles raised up high,
They seemed 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 long tusks, and gaping wide,
As if he already had me for his prey;
Till, brandishing my well-poised javelin high,
With this bold executing arm, I struck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

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

_Acast. _ 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.

_Pol. _ Why there?

_Acast. _ 'Tis, next to money, current there;
To be seen daily in as many forms
As there are sorts of vanities, and men:
The supercilious[18] statesman has his sneer
To smooth a poor man off with, that can't bribe him;
The grave dull fellow of small business soothes
The humourist, and will needs admire his wit.
Who without spleen could see a hot-brained atheist
Thanking a surly doctor for his sermon?
Or a grave counsellor meet a smooth young lord,
Squeeze him by the hand, and praise his good complexion?

_Pol. _ Courts are the places where best manners flourish;
Where the deserving ought to rise, and fools
Make show. Why should I vex and chafe my spleen,
To see a gaudy coxcomb shine, when I
Have seen enough to soothe him in his follies,
And ride him to advantage as I please?

_Acast. _ Who merit ought indeed to rise i' the world;
But no wise man that's honest should expect.
What man of sense would rack his generous mind,
To practise all the base formalities
And forms of business, force a grave starched face,
When he's a very libertine in's heart?
Seem not to know this or that man in public,
When privately perhaps they meet together,
And lay the scene of some brave fellow's ruin?
Such things are done--

_Cast. _ 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.

_Acast. _ Go to, you're fools, and know me not; I've learnt
Long since to bear revenge, or scorn my wrongs,
According to the value of the doer.
You both would fain be great, and to that end
Desire to do things worthy your ambition:
Go to the camp, preferment's noblest mart,
Where honour ought to have the fairest play,
You'll find
Corruption, envy, discontent, and faction,
Almost in every band: how many men
Have spent their blood in their dear country's service,
Yet now pine under want, while selfish slaves,
That even would cut their throats whom now they fawn on,
Like deadly locusts, eat the honey up,
Which those industrious bees so hardly toiled for!

_Cast. _ These precepts suit not with my active mind:
Methinks I would be busy.

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

_Acast. _ Busy your minds then, study arts and men:
Learn how to value merit though in rags,
And scorn a proud ill-mannered knave in office.

_Enter_ SERINA, MONIMIA, _and_ FLORELLA.

_Ser. _ My lord, my father!

_Acast. _ 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 wished for,
Is just arrived and entering.

_Acast. _ 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 relict of the best-loved 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.

_Mon. _ My brother!

_Cham. _ Oh 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 satisfied my soul
With fancied joy, till morning cares awaked 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.

_Acast. _ 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.

_Acast. _ Thus happy, who would envy pompous power,
The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
Let there be joy through all the house this day;
In every 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 business there;
I have not slavish temperance enough
To attend a favourite's heels, and watch his smiles;
Bear an ill office done me to my face,
And thank the lord that wronged me for his favour.

_Acast. _ This you could do.

[_To_ CASTALIO _and_ POLYDORE.

_Cast. _ I'd serve my prince.

_Acast. _ Who'd serve him?

_Cast. _ I would, my lord.

_Pol. _ And I; both would.

_Acast. _ 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?

_Cast. _ 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 every true-born loyal subject ought.

_Acast. _ Let me embrace you 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! Yes, my aspiring boys,
Ye shall have business, when your master wants you:
You cannot serve a nobler: I have served him;
In this old body yet the marks remain
Of many wounds. I've with this tongue proclaimed
His right, even in the face of rank rebellion;
And when a foul-mouthed traitor once profaned
His sacred name, with my good sabre drawn,
Even at the head of all his giddy rout,
I rushed, and clove the rebel to the chine.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Ser. _ My lord, the expected guests are just arrived.

_Acast. _ Go you, and give them welcome and reception.

[_Exeunt_ CASTALIO, POLYDORE,
SERINA, FLORELLA, _and_ Servant.

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

_Acast. _ Spoke like the son of that brave man I loved;
So freely, friendly we conversed 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.

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

_Cham. _ When our dear parents died, they died together,
One fate surprised them, and one grave received them:
My father with his dying breath bequeathed
Her to my love: my mother, as she lay
Languishing by him, called me to her side,
Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and embraced me;
Then pressed me close, and as she observed my tears,
Kissed them away: said she, "Chamont, my son,
By this, and all the love I ever showed thee,
Be careful of Monimia; watch her youth;
Let not her wants betray her to dishonour;
Perhaps kind Heaven may raise some friend": then sighed,
Kissed me again, so blessed us, and expired.
Pardon my grief.

_Acast. _ It speaks an honest nature.

_Cham. _ The friend Heaven raised was you; you took her up,
An infant, to the desert world exposed,
And proved another parent.

_Acast. _ I've not wronged her!

_Cham. _ Far be it from my fears.

_Acast. _ Then why this argument?

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

_Acast. _ Go on.

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

_Acast. _ I cannot guess your drift:
Distrust you me?

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

_Acast. _ Then first charge her; and if the 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 rejoiced in,
I'd prosecute it with severest vengeance. [_Exit. _

_Cham. _ I thank you from my soul.

_Mon. _ Alas! my brother,
What have I done? and why do you abuse me?
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 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 shall never.

_Cham. _ Then you'll remember too, he was a man
That lived up to the standard of his honour,
And prized 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 forgiven it to himself.
This was the only portion that he left us;
And I more glory in't than if possessed
Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
'Twas a large trust, and must be managed nicely.
Now if, by any chance, Monimia,
You've soiled 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 in my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dewed all my face, and trembling seized my limbs:
My bed shook under me, the curtains started,
And to my tortured fancy there appeared
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art;
Thy garments flowing loose, and in each hand
A wanton lover, which by turns caressed thee
With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure:
I snatched my sword, and in the very moment
Darted it at the phantom; straight it left me;
Then rose and called for lights; when, O dire omen!
I found my weapon had the arras pierced,
Just where that famous tale was interwoven,
How the unhappy Theban[19] slew his father.

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

_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!