wn._
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