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