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Title: The Orphan; Or, The Unhappy Marriage. A Tragedy, in Five Acts
Author: Thomas Otway
Release date: March 1, 2010 [eBook #31463]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ORPHAN; OR, THE UNHAPPY MARRIAGE. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS ***
THE ORPHAN;
OR,
The Unhappy Marriage.
A TRAGEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS.
BY THOMAS OTWAY.
CORRECTLY GIVEN,
AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL.
With Remarks.
London:
Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch-street;
SOLD BY
T. HUGHES, 35, LUDGATE STREET, AND J. BYSH,
52, PATERNOSTER ROW; & J. CUMMING, DUBLIN.
REMARKS.
To the great merit of Miss O'Neil, in Monimia, we are indebted for the revival of this tragedy, which was originally played at the Duke's Theatre, in 1680; and long kept possession of the stage. The language of this play is poetical and tender, and the incidents affecting; but, amidst many beauties, there is great inconsistency*.
Dr. Johnson observes,—"This is one of the few pieces that has pleased for almost a century, through all the vicissitudes of dramatic fashion. Of this play, nothing new can easily be said. It is a domestic tragedy, drawn from middle life:—its whole power is upon the affections; for it is not written with much comprehension of thought, or elegance of expression. But, if the heart is interested, many other beauties may be wanting; yet not be missed."
* Many readers will, probably, exclaim with the critic, when he first saw it,—"Oh! what an infinite deal of mischief would a farthing rush-light have prevented!"
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
| Drury-Lane, 1780. | Covent Garden, 1815. | |
| Castalio | Mr. Reddish | Mr. C. Kemble. |
| Acasto | Mr. Packer | Mr. Egerton. |
| Polydore | Mr. Brereton | Mr. Conway. |
| Chaplain | Mr. Usher | Mr. Chapman. |
| Ernesto | Mr. Wrighten | Mr. Jefferies. |
| Page | Master Pulley | Miss Prescott. |
| Chamont | Mr. Smith | Mr. Young. |
| Serina | Miss Platt | Miss Boyce. |
| Florella | Mrs. Johnston | Mrs. Seymour. |
| Monimia | Miss Younge | Miss O'Neil. |
| SCENE—Bohemia. | ||
THE ORPHAN.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I. A GARDEN.
| Enter Castalio, Polydore, and Page. |
| Cas. Polydore, our sport |
| Has been to-day much better for the danger: |
| When on the brink the foaming boar I met, |
| And in his side thought to have lodg'd my spear, |
| The desperate savage rush'd within my force, |
| And bore me headlong with him down the rock. |
| Pol. But then—— |
| Cas. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Polydore, |
| Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed, |
| Came on, and down the dang'rous precipice leap'd |
| To save Castilio.—'Twas a godlike act! |
| Pol. But when I came, I found you conqueror. |
| Oh! my heart danc'd, to see your danger past! |
| The heat and fury of the chase was cold, |
| And I had nothing in my mind but joy. |
| Cas. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war |
| Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard, |
| And I be thine. What is't could hurt us then? |
| Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, |
| How fulsome must it be to stay behind, |
| And die of rank diseases here at home! |
| Pol. No, let me purchase in my youth renown, |
| To make me lov'd and valu'd when I'm old; |
| I would be busy in the world, and learn, |
| Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed, |
| Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow. |
| Cas. Our father |
| Has ta'en himself a surfeit of the world, |
| And cries, it is not safe that we should taste it. |
| I own, I have duty very pow'rful in me: |
| And though I'd hazard all to raise my name, |
| Yet he's so tender, and so good a father, |
| I could not do a thing to cross his will. |
| Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my heart, |
| Which you, and only you, can satisfy. |
| Will you be free and candid to your friend? |
| Cas. Have I a thought my Polydore should not know? |
| What can this mean? |
| Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too, |
| By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship, |
| To show your heart as naked in this point, |
| As you would purge you of your sins to heav'n. |
| And should I chance to touch it near, bear it |
| With all the suff'rance of a tender friend. |
| Cas. As calmly as the wounded patient bears |
| The artist's hand, that ministers his cure. |
| Pol. That's kindly said.——You know our father's ward, |
| The fair Monimia:—is your heart at peace? |
| Is it so guarded, that you could not love her? |
| Cas. Suppose I should? |
| Pol. Suppose you should not, brother? |
| Cas. You'd say, I must not. |
| Pol. That would sound too roughly |
| Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are. |
| Cas. Is love a fault? |
| Pol. In one of us it may be—— |
| What, if I love her? |
| Cas. Then I must inform you |
| I lov'd her first, and cannot quit the claim; |
| But will preserve the birthright of my passion. |
| Pol. You will? |
| Cas. I will. |
| Pol. No more; I've done. |
| Cas. Why not? |
| Pol. I told you, I had done. |
| But you, Castalio, would dispute it. |
| Cas. No; |
| Not with my Polydore:—though I must own |
| My nature obstinate, and void of suff'rance; |
| I could not bear a rival in my friendship, |
| I am so much in love, and fond of thee. |
| Pol. Yet you will break this friendship! |
| Cas. Not for crowns. |
| Pol. But for a toy you would, a woman's toy, |
| Unjust Castalio! |
| Cas. Pr'ythee, where's my fault? |
| Pol. You love Monimia. |
| Cas. Yes. |
| Pol. And you would kill me, |
| If I'm your rival? |
| Cas. 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. |
| Cas. Love her still; |
| Win, and enjoy her. |
| Pol. Both of us cannot. |
| Cas. No matter |
| Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for't. |
| Pol. You would not wed Monimia, would you? |
| Cas. 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? |
| Cas. Mere vanity, and silly dotage, all:— |
| No, let me live at large, and when I die—— |
| Pol. Who shall possess th' estate you leave? |
| Cas. My friend, |
| If he survive me; if not, my king, |
| Who may bestow't again on some brave man, |
| Whose honesty and services deserve one. |
| Pol. 'Tis kindly offer'd. |
| Cas. 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? |
| Cas. No matter whose. |
| Pol. Were you not with her privately last night? |
| Cas. I was; and should have met her here again. |
| The opportunity shall now be thine? |
| But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee, |
| That no false play be offer'd to thy brother. |
| Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper; |
| But wrong not mine. |
| Pol. By heaven, I will not. |
| Cas. If't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to conquer |
| (For thou hast all the arts of soft 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 pow'r, or wealthy cities pride; |
| Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her. |
| [exeunt Castalio and Polydore. |
| Enter Monimia. |
| Mon. Pass'd 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 tim'rous 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 wand'ring into cares.—— |
| Castalio! O Castalio! hast thou 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; |
| Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money for you. |
| Page. Madam, I'd serve you with all my soul. |
| Mon. Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast heard |
| Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets), |
| Sometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me? |
| Page. O madam! very wickedly they have talk'd: |
| But I am afraid to name it; for, they say, |
| Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters' 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 with 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 prov'd; |
| But, as the one grew hot, the other cool'd, |
| And yielded to the frailty of his friend; |
| At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd—— |
| Mon. What, good Cordelio? |
| Page. Not to quarrel for you. |
| Mon. I would not have 'em, by my dearest hopes; |
| I would not be the argument of strife. |
| But surely my Castalio won't forsake me, |
| And make a mock'ry of my easy love! |
| Went they together? |
| Page. Yes, to seek you, madam. |
| Castalio promis'd 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 heighten'd the debate? |
| Page. The fault was Polydore's. |
| Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd |
| The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire. |
| He said, no woman's smiles should buy his freedom; |
| And marriage is a mortifying thing.[exit. |
| Mon. Then I am ruin'd! 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. |
| O, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me! |
| Why was I made with all my sex's fondness, |
| 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. |
| Cas. 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! |
| Cas. Madam! |
| Mon. Have you purpos'd |
| To abuse me palpably? What means this usage? |
| Why am I left with Polydore alone? |
| Cas. He best can tell you. Business of importance |
| Calls me away: I must attend my father. |
| Mon. Will you then leave me thus? |
| Cas. But for a moment. |
| Mon. It has been otherwise: the time has been, |
| When business might have stay'd, and I been heard. |
| 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. |