No More Learning

_ I have not thought it so, because my time's
Spent pleasantly. My lord's not haughty nor imperious,
Nor I gravely whimsical; he has good nature.
His sons too are civil to me, because
I do not pretend to be wiser than they are;
I meddle with no man's business but my own,
So meet with respect, and am not the jest of the family.

_Cham. _ I'm glad you are so happy.
A pleasant fellow this, and may be useful. [_aside. _

Knew you my father, the old Chamont?

_Chap. _ I did; and was most sorry when we lost him.

_Cham. _ Why, didst thou love him?

_Chap. _ Ev'ry body lov'd him; besides, he was my patron's friend.

_Cham. _ I could embrace thee for that very notion:
If thou didst love my father, I could think
Thou wouldst not be an enemy to me.

_Chap. _ I can be no man's foe.

_Cham. _ Then pr'ythee, tell me;
Think'st thou the lord Castalio loves my sister?

_Chap. _ Love your sister?

_Cham. _ Ay, love her.

_Chap. _ Either he loves her, or he much has wrong'd her.

_Cham. _ How wrong'd her? have a care; for this may lay
A scene of mischief to undo us all.
But tell me, wrong'd her, saidst thou?

_Chap. _ Ay, sir, wrong'd her.

_Cham. _ This is a secret worth a monarch's fortune:
What shall I give thee for't? thou dear physician
Of sickly wounds, unfold this riddle to me,
And comfort mine----

_Chap. _ I would hide nothing from you willingly.

_Cham. _ By the reverenc'd soul
Of that great honest man that gave me being,
Tell me but what thou know'st concerns my honour,
And, if I e'er reveal it to thy wrong,
May this good sword ne'er do me right in battle!
May I ne'er know that blessed peace of mind,
That dwells in good and pious men like thee!

_Chap. _ I see your temper's mov'd and I will trust you.

_Cham. _ Wilt thou?

_Chap. _ I will; but if it ever 'scape you----

_Cham. _ It never shall.

_Chap. _ Then, this good day, when all the house was busy,
When mirth and kind rejoicing fill'd each room,
As I was walking in the grove I met them.

_Cham. _ What, met them in the grove together?

_Chap. _ I, by their own appointment, met them there,
Receiv'd their marriage vows, and join'd their hands.

_Cham. _ How! married?

_Chap. _ Yes, sir.

_Cham. _ Then my soul's at peace:
But why would you so long delay to give it?

_Chap. _ Not knowing what reception it may find
With old Acasto; may be, I was too cautious
To trust the secret from me.

_Cham. _ What's the cause
I cannot guess, though 'tis my sister's honour,
I do not like this marriage,
Huddled i'the dark, and done at too much venture;
The business looks with an unlucky face.
Keep still the secret: for it ne'er shall 'scape me,
Not e'en to them, the new-match'd pair. Farewel!
Believe the truth, and know me for thy friend. [_exeunt. _

_Re-enter Castalio, with Monimia. _

_Cas. _ Young Chamont and the chaplain! sure 'tis they!
No matter what's contriv'd, or who consulted,
Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look
Seems no good boding omen to our bliss;
Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down,
Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart was breaking?

_Mon. _ Castalio, I am thinking what we've done;
The heavenly powers were sure displeas'd to-day;
For, at the ceremony as we stood,
And as your hand was kindly join'd with mine,
As the good priest pronounc'd the sacred words,
Passion grew big, and I could not forbear:
Tears drown'd my eyes, and trembling seiz'd my soul.
What should that mean?

_Cas. _ O, thou art tender all!
Gentle and kind as sympathising nature!

_Re-enter Polydore, unobserved. _

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.

_Mon. _ 'Twill be impossible:
You know your father's chamber's next to mine,
And the least noise will certainly alarm him.

_Cas. _ 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 betray'd.

_Cas. _ Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys
Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss
Of souls, that by intelligence converse.
Away, my love! first take this kiss. Now, haste:
I long for that to come, yet grudge each minute past.
My brother wand'ring too so late this way! [_exit Mon. _

_Pol. _ Castalio!

_Cas. _ My Polydore, how dost thou?
How does our father? is he well recover'd?

_Pol. _ I left him happily repos'd to rest:
He's still as gay as if his life was young.
But how does fair Monimia?

_Cas. _ Doubtless, well:
A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleas'd,
Is always joyful, and her mind in health.

_Pol. _ Is she the same Monimia still she was?
May we not hope she's made of mortal mould?

_Cas. _ She's not woman else:
Though I'm grown weary of this tedious hoping;
We've in a barren desart stray'd too long.

_Pol. _ Yet may relief be unexpected found,
And love's sweet manna cover all the field.
Met ye to-day?

_Cas. _ No; she has still avoided me;
I wish I'd never meddled with the matter,
And would enjoin thee, Polydore----

_Pol. _ To what?

_Cas. _ To leave this peevish beauty to herself.

_Pol. _ What, quit my love? as soon I'd quit my post
In fight, and like a coward run away.
No, by my stars, I'll chase her till she yields
To me, or meets her rescue in another.

_Cas. _ But I have wond'rous reasons on my side,
That would persuade thee, were they known.

_Pol. _ Then speak 'em:
What are they? Came ye to her window here
To learn 'em now? Castalio, have a care;
Use honest dealing with a friend and brother.
Believe me, I'm not with my love so blinded,
But can discern your purpose to abuse me.
Quit your pretences to her.
You say you've reasons: why are they conceal'd?

_Cas. _ To-morrow I may tell you.

_Pol. _ Why not now?

_Cas. _ It is a matter of such consequence,
As I must well consult ere I reveal.
But pr'ythee cease to think I would abuse thee,
Till more be known.

_Pol. _ When you, Castalio, cease
To meet Monimia unknown to me,
And then deny it slavishly, I'll cease
To think Castalio faithless to his friend.
Did I not see you part this very moment?

_Cas. _ It seems you've watch'd me, then?

_Pol. _ I scorn the office.

_Cas. _ Pr'ythee avoid a thing thou may'st repent.

_Pol. _ That is, henceforward making league with you.

_Cas. _ Nay, if ye're angry, Polydore, good night. [_exit. _

_Pol. _ Good night, Castalio, if ye're in such haste.
He little thinks I've overheard th' appointment:
But to his chamber's gone to wait awhile,
Then come and take possession of my love.
This is the utmost point of all my hopes;
Or now she must, or never can, be mine.
Oh, for a means now how to counterplot,
And disappoint this happy elder brother
In every thing we do or undertake,
He soars above me, mount what height I can,
And keeps the start he got of me in birth.
Cordelio!

_Re-enter Page. _

_Page. _ My lord!

_Pol. _ Come hither, boy!
Thou hast a pretty, forward, lying face,
And may'st in time expect preferment. Canst thou
Pretend to secresy, cajole and flatter
Thy master's follies, and assist his pleasures?

_Page. _ My lord, I could do any thing for you,
And ever be a very faithful boy.
Command, whate'er's your pleasure I'll observe;
Be it to run, or watch, or to convey
A letter to a beauteous lady's bosom:
At least, I am not dull, and soon should learn.

_Pol. _ 'Tis pity then thou shouldst not be employ'd.
Go to my brother, he's in his chamber now,
Undressing, and preparing for his rest;
Find out some means to keep him up awhile:
Tell him a pretty story, that may please
His ear; invent a tale, no matter what:
If he should ask of me, tell him I'm gone
To bed, and sent you there to know his pleasure,
Whether he'll hunt to-morrow.
But do not leave him till he's in his bed;
Or, if he chance to walk again this way,
Follow, and do not quit him, but seem fond
To do him little offices of service.
Perhaps at last it may offend him; then
Retire, and wait till I come in. Away!
Succeed in this, and be employ'd again.

_Page. _ Doubt not, my lord: he has been always kind
To me; would often set me on his knee,
Then give me sweetmeats, call me pretty boy,
And ask me what the maids talk'd of at nights.

_Pol. _ Run quickly then, and prosp'rous be thy wishes.
Here I'm alone, and fit for mischief. [_exit Page. _
I heard the sign she order'd him to give.
"Just three soft strokes against the chamber door;
But speak not the least word, for, if you should,
It's surely heard, and we are both betray'd. "
Blest heav'ns, assist me but in this dear hour,
And, my kind stars, be but propitious now,
Dispose of me hereafter as you please.
Monimia! Monimia! [_gives the sign. _

_Flo. _ [_At the window. _] Who's there?

_Pol. _ 'Tis I.

_Flo. _ My lord Castalio?

_Pol. _ The same.
How does my love, my dear Monimia?

_Flo. _ Oh!
She wonders much at your unkind delay;
You've staid so long, that at each little noise
The wind but makes, she asks if you are coming.

_Pol. _ Tell her I'm here, and let the door be open'd.
[_Florella withdraws. _

Now boast, Castalio, triumph now, and tell
Thyself strange stories of a promis'd bliss! [_exit. _

_Re-enter Castalio and Page. _

_Page. _ Indeed, my lord, 'twill be a lovely morning:
Pray, let us hunt.

_Cas. _ Go, you're an idle prattler:
I'll stay at home to-morrow; if your lord
Thinks fit, he may command my hounds. Go, leave me:
I must to bed.

_Page. _ I'll wait upon your lordship,
If you think fit, and sing you to repose.

_Cas. _ No, my kind boy.
Good night: commend me to my brother.

_Page. _ Oh!
You never heard the last new song I learn'd;
It is the finest, prettiest, song indeed,
Of my lord and my lady, you know who, that were caught
Together, you know where. My lord, indeed it is.

_Cas. _ You must be whipp'd, youngster, if you get such songs as those are.
What means this boy's impertinence to-night? [_aside. _

_Page. _ Why, what must I sing, pray, my dear lord?

_Cas. _ Psalms, child, psalms.

_Page. _ O dear me! boys that go to school learn psalms;
But pages, that are better bred, sing lampoons.

_Cas. _ Well, leave me; I'm weary.

_Page. _ Indeed, my lord, I can't abide to leave you.

_Cas. _ Why, wert thou instructed to attend me?

_Page. _ No, no, indeed, my lord, I was not.
But I know what I know.

_Cas. _ What dost thou know? ----'Sdeath! what can all this mean? [_aside. _

_Page. _ Oh! I know who loves somebody.

_Cas. _ What's that to me, boy?

_Page. _ Nay, I know who loves you too.

_Cas. _ That's a wonder! pr'ythee, tell it me.

_Page. _ 'Tis--'tis--I know who--but will
You give me the horse, then?

_Cas. _ I will, my child.

_Page. _ It is my lady Monimia, look you; but don't you tell her I told
you: she'll give me no more playthings then. I heard her say so, as she
lay abed, man.

_Cas. _ Talk'd she of me when in her bed, Cordelio?

_Page. _ Yes; and I sung her the song you made too; and she did so sigh,
and look with her eyes!

_Cas. _ Hark! what's that noise?
Take this; be gone, and leave me.
You knave, you little flatterer, get you gone. [_ex. Page. _
Surely it was a noise, hist! ----only fancy;
For all is hush'd, as nature were retir'd.
'Tis now, that, guided by my love, I go
To take possession of Monimia's arms.
Sure Polydore's by this time gone to bed. [_knocks. _
She hears me not? sure, she already sleeps!
Her wishes could not brook so long delay,
And her poor heart has beat itself to rest. [_knocks. _
Once more----

_Flo. _ [_at the window_] Who's there,
That comes thus rudely to disturb our rest?

_Cas. _ 'Tis I.

_Flo. _ Who are you? what's your name?

_Cas. _ Suppose the lord Castalio.

_Flo. _ I know you not.
The lord Castalio has no business here.

_Cas. _ Ha! have a care! what can this mean?
Whoe'er thou art, I charge thee, to Monimia fly:
Tell her I'm here, and wait upon my doom.

_Flo. _ Whoe'er you are, you may repent this outrage:
My lady must not be disturb'd. Good night!

_Cas. _ She must! tell her, she shall; go, I'm in haste,
And bring her tidings from the state of love.

_Flo. _ Sure the man's mad!

_Cas. _ Or this will make me so.
Obey me, or, by all the wrongs I suffer,
I'll scale the window and come in by force,
Let the sad consequence be what it will!
This creature's trifling folly makes me mad!

_Flo. _ My lady's answer is, you may depart.
She says she knows you: you are Polydore,
Sent by Castalio, as you were to-day,
T'affront and do her violence again.

_Cas. _ I'll not believe't.

_Flo. _ You may, sir.

_Cas. _ Curses blast thee!

_Flo. _ Well, 'tis a fine cool ev'ning! and I hope
May cure the raging fever in your blood!
Good night.

_Cas. _ And farewell all that's just in woman!
This is contriv'd, a study'd trick, to abuse
My easy nature, and torment my mind!
'Tis impudence to think my soul will bear it!
Let but to-morrow, but to-morrow, come,
And try if all thy arts appease my wrong;
Till when, be this detested place my bed; [_lies down. _
Where I will ruminate on woman's ills,
Laugh at myself, and curse th' inconstant sex.
Faithless Monimia! O Monimia!

_Enter Ernesto. _

_Ern. _ Either
My sense has been deluded, or this way
I heard the sound of sorrow; 'tis late night,
And none, whose mind's at peace, would wander now.

_Cas. _ Who's there?

_Ern. _ Castalio! --My lord, why in this posture,
Stretch'd on the ground? your honest, true, old servant,
Your poor Ernesto, cannot see you thus.
Rise, I beseech you.

_Cas. _ Oh, leave me to my folly.

_Ern. _ I can't leave you,
And not the reason know of your disorders.
Remember how, when young, I in my arms
Have often borne you, pleas'd you in your pleasures,
And sought an early share in your affection.
Do not discard me now, but let me serve you.

_Cas. _ Thou canst not serve me.

_Ern. _ Why?

_Cas. _ Because my thoughts
Are full of woman; thou, poor wretch, art past them.

_Ern. _ I hate the sex.

_Cas. _ Then I'm thy friend, Ernesto! [_rises. _
I'd leave the world for him that hates a woman!
Woman, the fountain of all human frailty!
What mighty ills have not been done by woman?
Who was't betray'd the capitol? --a woman!
Who lost Mark Antony the world? --a woman!
Who was the cause of a long ten years' war,
And laid at last old Troy in ashes? --Woman!
Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!
Woman, to man first as a blessing given;
When innocence and love were in their prime.
Happy awhile in Paradise they lay;
But quickly woman long'd to go astray:
Some foolish new adventure needs must prove,
And the first devil she saw, she chang'd her love:
To his temptations lewdly she inclin'd
Her soul, and for an apple damn'd mankind. [_exeunt. _




ACT THE FOURTH.


SCENE I. A CHAMBER.

_Enter Castalio. _

_Cas. _ Wish'd 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.
There's no condition sure so curs'd as mine----
Monimia! O Monimia!

_Enter Monimia and Florella. _

_Mon. _ I come!
I fly to my ador'd Castalio's arms,
My wishes' lord. May every morn begin
Like this; and, with our days, our loves renew!

_Cas. _ Oh----

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

_Cas. _ 'Tis here--'tis in my head--'tis in my heart--
'Tis every where: it rages like a madness,
And I most wonder how my reason holds.
No more, Monimia, of your sex's arts:
They're useless all--I'm not that pliant tool;
I know my charter better----I am man,
Obstinate man, and will not be enslav'd!

_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.

_Cas.