1 Calls saucy loud suspicion public zeal, And laugh you out of it. Never shew religion, Ser. My father! Fix to the earth. Ne'er let my eyes have rest, For thou art a wondrous extract of all goodness, Born for my joy, and no pains felt when near thee. Chamont! Enter CHAMONT. Cha. My lord, may it prove not an unlucky. omen. Many, I see, are waiting round about you, And I am come to ask a blessing too! Acast. Mayest thou be happy! Cha. Where? Acast. In all thy wishes. Cha. Confirm me so, and make this fair one mine; I am unpractised in the trade of courtship, Acast. What says Serina? Canst thou love a soldier? One born to honour, and to honour bred? One that has learned to treat even foes with kindness; To wrong no man's good fame, nor praise himself? Ser. Oh! name not love, for that's allied to joy, And joy must be a stranger to my heart, When you are in danger. May Chamont's good fortune Render him lovely to some happier maid! Whilst I, at friendly distance, see him blest, And, as my son, the third of all my fortune But keep thy eyes from wandering, man of frailty. They put false beauty off to all the world, My friends, 'tis late; Now my disorder secins all past and over, Acast. Yes, I'll to bed; old men must humour weakness: Let me have music, then, to lull and chase To-morrow early we'll salute the day, Cha. If you're at leisure, sir, we'll waste an hour. 'Tis yet too soon to sleep, and 'twill be charity To lend your conversation to a stranger. Chap. Sir, you are a soldier? Cha. Yes. Nor I gravely whimsical; he has good nature, And I have manners. 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; I rise in a morning early, study moderately, Cha. Why, what affrights thee? Chap. You do, Who are not to be trusted with the secret. And hardly shall be mad enough to-night So meet with respect, and am not the jest of the To trust you with my ruin, family. Cha. 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. Cha. Why? didst thou love him? Chap. Every body loved him; besides he was my master's friend. Cha. 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, Cha. Then prithee tell me, Think'st thou the lord Castalio loves my sister? Nay, never start. Come, come, I know thy office Cha. Art thou then So far concerned in it? What has been thy office? Chap. Sir, I am not often used thus. Chap. So I shall be to the trust, Cha. By the reverenced soul Of that great honest man, that gave me being, Tell me but what thou knowest concerns my honour, And if I c'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 moved, and I will Keep still the secret; for it ne'er shall escape | But speak not the least word; for if you should, Cast. Young Chamont and the chaplain? sure No matter what's contrived, or who consulted, The heavenly powers were sure displeased to-day; And as your hand was kindly joined with mine, What should that mean? Cast. Oh, thou art tender all! Gentle and kind as sympathising nature! When a sad story has been told, I have seen Thy little breasts, with soft compassion swelled, Move 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 grows jealous now; Sure she's too good for any mortal creature! ness. But wherefore do I dally with my bliss?. You know your father's chamber is next to mine, Cast. Impossible! impossible! alas: Is it impossible 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 art 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 hast power to stop a flowing tide, Or in a tempest make the seas be calm; 'Tis surely heard, and all will be betrayed. Cast. My Polydore, how dost thou? Cast. Doubtless, well: A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleased, Pol. Is she the same Monimia still she was? May we not hope she's made of mortal mould? Čast. She's not woman else: Though I am grown weary of this tedious hoping; We have in a barren desert strayed too long. Pol. Yet may relief be unexpected found, And love's sweet manna cover all the field. Met ye to-day? Cast. No; she has still avoided me: Her brother, too, is jealous of her grown, And has been hinting something to my father. I wish I had never meddled with the matter: And would enjoin thee, Polydore Pol. To what? 'Till more be known. Pol. When you, Castalio, cease Cast. It seems you have watched me, then? Cust. Prithce avoid a thing thou mayest repent. Pol. That is henceforward making leagues with you. Cast. Nay, if you are angry, Polydore, goodnight. [Exit. Pol. Good-night, Castalio, if you are in such haste. Pretend to secrecy, cajole and flatter Command, whate'er's your pleasure I'll observe; Go to my brother, he is in his chamber now, Dissemble with thy brother! that's one point. [Aside. But do not leave him, till he is in bed, To me; would often set me on his knee, wishes. Here I am alone, and fit for mischief; now Blest heavens, assist me but in this dear hour, [Gives the sign. [Maid at the window.] Who's there? Pol. 'Tis I. Maid. My lord Castalio? Pol. The same. How does my love, my dear Monimia ? Maid. Oh! opened. She wonders much at your unkind delay; Enter CASTALIO and Page. Page. Indeed, my lord, 'twill be a lovely morning: Pray let us hunt. Cast. Go, you are 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. Cast. No, my kind boy, the night is too far wasted; My senses are quite disrobed of thought, Good-night. Commend me to my brother. You never heard the last new song I learned! Of my lord and my lady, you know who, that were caught Together, you know where. My lord, indeed it is. Cast. You must be whipped, youngster, if you get such songs as those are. What means this boy's impertinence to-night? Page. What, what must I sing, pray, my dear lord? Cast. Psalms, child, psalms. Page. Oh, dear me! boys that go to school learn psalms: But pages, that are better bred, sing lampoons. Cast. Well, leave me. I am weary. Page. Oh! but you promised me, the last time I told you what colour my lady Monimia's stockings were of, and that she gartered them above knee, that you would give me a little horse to go a hunting upon, so you did. I'll tell you no more stories, except you keep your word with me. Cast. Well, go, you trifler, and to-morrow ask me. Page. Indeed, my lord, I can't abide to leave you. Cast. Why, wert thou instructed to attend me? Page. No, no, indeed, my lord, I was not; But I know what I know. Cast. What dost thou know? Death! what Page. Oh! I know who loves somebody. Cast. 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 play-things then. I heard her say so, as she lay a-bed, man. Cast. 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 so look with her eyes; and her breasts did so lift up and down, I could have found in my heart to have beat them, for they made me ashamed. Cast. Hark! what's that noise? Surely it was a noise! hist-only fancy; All the wild herds are in the coverts couched; The feeling air's at rest, and feels no noise, She hears me not; sure she already sleeps; [Knocks again. Monimia! my angel!-ha!-not yet- Once more Maid. [At the window.] Who's there, Maid. Who are you? What's your name? The lord Castalio has no business here. Cast. 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. Maid. Whoe'er you are, ye may repent this outrage. My lady must not be disturbed. Good-night. Cast. She must; tell her she shall. Go, I'm in haste, And bring her tidings from the State of Love; Cast. Or this will make me so. Maid. My lady's answer is, you may depart. Maid. Well, 'tis a fine cool evening; and, I |