._ Truly I'm not to blame. Suppose I'm fond,
And grieve for what as much may please another?
Should I upbraid the dearest friend on earth
For the first fault? You would not do so, would you?

_Cham._ Not if I'd cause to think it was a friend.

_Mon._ Why do you then call this unfaithful dealing?
I ne'er conceal'd my soul from you before:
Bear with me now, and search my wounds no further;
For every probing pains me to the heart.

_Cham._ 'Tis sign there's danger in't, and must be prob'd.
Where's your new husband? Still that thought disturbs you--
What! only answer me with tears?--Castalio!
Nay, now they stream:--
Cruel, unkind, Castalio!--Is't not so?

_Mon._ I cannot speak;--grief flows so fast upon me,
It chokes, and will not let me tell the cause.
Oh!----

_Cham._ My Monimia! to my soul thou'rt dear
As honour to my name!
Why wilt thou not repose within my breast
The anguish that torments thee?

_Mon._ Oh! I dare not.

_Cham._ I have no friend but thee. We must confide
In one another.--Two unhappy orphans,
Alas! we are! and when I see thee grieve,
Methinks it is a part of me that suffers.

_Mon._ Could you be secret?

_Cham._ Secret as the grave.

_Mon._ But when I've told you, will you keep your fury
Within its bounds? Will you not do some rash
And horrid mischief? For, indeed, Chamont,
You would not think how hardly I've been us'd
From a dear friend--from one that has my soul
A slave, and therefore treats it like a tyrant.

_Cham._ I will be calm.--But has Castalio wrong'd thee?
Has he already wasted all his love?
What has he done?--quickly! for I'm all trembling
With expectation of a horrid tale!

_Mon._ Oh! could you think it?

_Cham._ What?

_Mon._ I fear, he'll kill me!

_Cham._ Ha!

_Mon._ Indeed, I do: he's strangely cruel to me;
Which, if it last, I'm sure must break my heart.

_Cham._ What has he done?

_Mon._ Most barbarously us'd me.
Just as we met, and I, with open arms,
Ran to embrace the lord of all my wishes,
Oh then----

_Cham._ Go on!

_Mon._ He threw me from his breast,
Like a detested sin.

_Cham._ How!

_Mon._ As I hung too
Upon his knees, and begg'd to know the cause,
He dragg'd me, like a slave, upon the earth,
And had no pity on my cries.

_Cham._ How! did he
Dash thee disdainfully away, with scorn?

_Mon._ He did.

_Cham._ What! throw thee from him?

_Mon._ Yes, indeed, he did!

_Cham._ So may this arm
Throw him to th' earth, like a dead dog