nhappy sister
Of poor Chamont, whose sword is all his portion,
Be oppress'd by thee, thou proud, imperious traitor!

_Cas._ Ha! set me free.

_Cham._ Come, both.

_Cas._ Sir, if you'd have me think you did not take
This opportunity to show your vanity,
Let's meet some other time, when by ourselves
We fairly may dispute our wrongs together.

_Cham._ Till then I am Castalio's friend. [_exit._

_Acas._ Would I'd been absent when this boist'rous brave
Came to disturb thee thus. I'm griev'd I hinder'd
Thy just resentment----But, Monimia----

_Cas._ Damn her!

_Acas._ Don't curse her.

_Cas._ Did I?

_Acas._ Yes.

_Cas._ I'm sorry for't.

_Acas._ Methinks, if, as I guess, the fault's but small,
It might be pardon'd.

_Cas._ No.

_Acas._ What has she done?

_Cas._ That she's my wife, may heaven and you forgive me.

_Acas._ Be reconcil'd then.

_Cas._ No.

_Acas._ For my sake,
Castalio, and the quiet of my age.

_Cas._ Why will you urge a thing my nature starts at?

_Acas._ Pr'ythee, forgive her.

_Cas._ Lightnings first shall blast me!
I tell you, were she prostrate at my feet,
Full of her sex's best dissembled sorrows
And all that wondrous beauty of her own,
My heart might break, but it should never soften.

_Acas._ Did you but know the agonies she feels--
She flies with fury over all the house;
Through every room of each department, crying,
"Where's my Castalio! Give me my Castalio!"
Except she sees you, sure she'll grow distracted!

_Cas._ Ha! will she? Does she name Castalio?
And with such tenderness? Conduct me quickly
To the poor lovely mourner.

_Acas._ Then wilt thou go? Blessings attend thy purpose!

_Cas._ I cannot hear Monimia's soul's in sadness,
And be a man: my heart will not forget her.

_Acas._ Delay not then; but haste and cheer thy love.

_Cas._ Oh! I will throw my impatient arms about her;
In her soft bosom sigh my soul to peace;
Till through the panting breast she finds the way
To mould my heart, and make it what she will.
Monimia! Oh! [_exeunt._

SCENE II. A CHAMBER.

_Enter Monimia._

_Mon._ Stand off, and give me room;
I will not rest till I have found Castalio,
My wish's lord, comely as the rising day.
I cannot die in peace till I have seen him.

_Enter Castalio._

_Cas._ Who talks of dying, with a voice so sweet
That life's in love with it?

_Mon._ Hark! 'tis he that answers.
Where art thou?

_Cas._ Here, my love.

_Mon._ No nearer