_Pol._ Boy, go to your chamber, and prepare your lute. [_exit Page._ Happy Castalio! now, by my great soul, My ambitious soul, that languishes to glory, I'll have her yet; by my best hopes, I will; She shall be mine, in spite of all her arts. But for Castalio, why was I refus'd? Has he supplanted me by some foul play? Traduc'd my honour? death! he durst not do't. It must be so: we parted, and he met her, Half to compliance brought by me; surpris'd Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite. So poachers pick up tir'd game, While the fair hunter's cheated of his prey. Boy!
_Serv._ Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er told!
_Serv._ Oh! your father, my good master, As with his guests he sat in mirth rais'd high, And chas'd the goblet round the joyful board, A sudden trembling seiz'd on all his limbs; His eyes distorted grew, his visage pale, His speech forsook him, life itself seem'd fled, And all his friends are waiting now about him.
_Acas._ Support me, give me air, I'll yet recover. 'Twas but a slip decaying nature made; For she grows weary near her journey's end. Where are my sons? come near, my Polydore! Your brother--where's Castalio?
_Serv._ My lord, I've search'd, as you commanded, all the house! He and Monimia are not to be found.
_Acas._ Not to be found? then where are all my friends? 'Tis well-- I hope they'll pardon an unhappy fault My unmannerly infirmity has made! Death could not come in a more welcome hour; For I'm prepar'd to meet him; and, methinks, Would live and die with all my friends about me.
_Cas._ Angels preserve my dearest father's life! Oh! may he live till time itself decay, Till good men wish him dead, or I offend him!
_Acas._ Thank you, Castalio: give me both your hands. So now, methinks, I appear as great as Hercules himself, Supported by the pillars he has rais'd.
_Ser._ Let my knees Fix to the earth. Ne'er let my eyes have rest, But wake and weep, till heaven restore my father.
_Acas._ Rise to my arms, and thy kind pray'rs are answer'd. For thou'rt a wondrous extract of all goodness; Born for my joy, and no pain's felt when near thee. Chamont!
_Cham._ My lord, may't prove not an unlucky omen! Many I see are waiting round about you, And I am come to ask a blessing too.