despis'd.
Lameness and leprosy, blindness and lunacy,
Poverty, shame, pride, and the name of villain,
Light on me, if, Castalio, I forgive thee!

_Mon._ Nay, now, Chamont, art thou unkind as he is!
Didst thou not promise me thou wouldst be calm?
Keep my disgrace conceal'd?
Alas, I love him still; and though I ne'er
Clasp him again within these longing arms,
Yet bless him, bless him, gods, where'er he goes!

_Enter Acasto._

_Acas._ Sure some ill fate is tow'rds me; in my house
I only meet with oddness and disorder.
Just this very moment
I met Castalio too----

_Cham._ Then you met a villain.

_Acas._ Ha!

_Cham._ Yes, a villain!

_Acas._ Have a care, young soldier,
How thou'rt too busy with Acasto's fame.
I have a sword, my arm's good old acquaintance:--
Villain, to thee.

_Cham._ Curse on thy scandalous age,
Which hinders me to rush upon thy throat,
And tear the root up of that cursed bramble!

_Acas._ Ungrateful ruffian! sure my good old friend
Was ne'er thy father! Nothing of him's in thee!
What have I done, in my unhappy age,
To be thus us'd? I scorn to upbraid thee, boy!
But I could put thee in remembrance----

_Cham._ Do.

_Acas._ I scorn it.

_Cham._ No, I'll calmly hear the story;
For I would fain know all, to see which scale
Weighs most.----Ha! is not that good old Acasto?
What have I done?--Can you forgive this folly?

_Acas._ Why dost thou ask it?

_Cham._ 'Twas the rude o'erflowing
Of too much passion--Pray, my lord, forgive me. [_kneels._

_Acas._ Mock me not, youth! I can revenge a wrong.

_Cham._ I know it well--but for this thought of mine,
Pity a madman's frenzy, and forget it.

_Acas._ I will; but henceforth pr'ythee be more kind.
Whence came the cause? [_raises him._

_Cham._ Indeed, I've been to blame;
For you've been my father--
You've been her father too. [_takes Monimia's hand._

_Acas._ Forbear the prologue,
And let me know the substance of thy tale.

_Cham._ You took her up, a little tender flower,
Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost
Had nipp'd; and with a careful, loving hand,
Transplanted her into your own fair garden,
Where the sun always shines: there long she flourish'd;
Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye;
Till at the last a cruel spoiler came,
Cropp'd this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness,
Then cast it like a loathsome weed away.

_Acas._ You talk to me in parables, Chamont:
You may have known that I'm no wo