_Mon._ Could you then, did you, can you, own it too? 'Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself! And I can never think you meant me fair.
_Cas._ Is this Monimia? Surely, no! till now I ever thought her dove-like, soft, and kind. Who trusts his heart with woman's surely lost: You were made fair on purpose to undo us, While greedily we snatch th' alluring bait, And ne'er distrust the poison that it hides.
_Mon._ When love, ill-plac'd, would find a means to break--
_Cas._ It never wants pretences or excuse.
_Mon._ Man therefore was a lord-like creature made, Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too: A lofty aspect given him for command; Easily soften'd when he would betray. Like conqu'ring tyrants, you our breasts invade; But soon you find new conquests out, and leave The ravag'd province ruinate and waste. If so, Castalio, you have serv'd my heart, I find that desolation's settled there, And I shall ne'er recover peace again.
_Cas._ Who can hear this and bear an equal mind? Since you will drive me from you, I must go: But, O Monimia! when thou hast banish'd me, No creeping slave, though tractable and dull As artful woman for her ends would choose, Shall ever dote as I have done.
_Mon._ Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace. These little quarrels love must needs forgive. Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue, I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows, And listen to the language of thy heart.
_Cas._ Where am I? Surely, Paradise is round me! Sweets planted by the hand of heaven grow here, And every sense is full of thy perfection. Sure, framing thee, heaven took unusual care; } As its own beauty it design'd thee fair, } And form'd thee by the best lov'd angel there. } [_exeunt._
_Pol._ Were they so kind? Express it to me all In words; 'twill make me think I saw it too.
_Page._ At first I thought they had been mortal foes: Monimia rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd: Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so haughty, They scorn'd submission, though love all the while The rebel play'd, and scarce could be contain'd.
_Page._ Oh, 'twas wondrous pretty! For of a sudden all the storm was past: A gentle calm of love succeeded it: Monimia sigh'd and blush'd; Castalio swore; As you, my lord, I well remember, did To my young sister, in the orange grove, When I was first preferr'd to be your page.