_Mon._ Here, on my knees, by heav'n's blest pow'r I swear, [_kneels._ If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you, But rather wander through the world a beggar, And live on sordid scraps at proud men's doors; For, though to fortune lost, I'll still inherit My mother's virtues, and my father's honour.
_Pol._ Intolerable vanity! your sex Was never in the right! y'are always false, Or silly; ev'n your dresses are not more Fantastic than your appetites; you think Of nothing twice; opinion you have none. To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free; Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then glad; Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you know not why!
_Mon._ Indeed, my lord, I own my sex's follies; I have 'em all; And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you. Therefore, believe me, could you raise me high As most fantastic woman's wish could reach, And lay all nature's riches at my feet; I'd rather run a savage in the woods, Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled and deform'd, So I might still enjoy my honour safe, From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [_exit._
_Pol._ Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man? I'll yet possess my love; it shall be so. [_exeunt._
_Enter Acasto, Castalio, Polydore, and Attendants._
_Acas._ To-day has been a day of glorious sport: When you, Castalio, and your brother, left me, Forth from the thickets rush'd another boar, So large, he seem'd the tyrant of the woods, With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high, They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back; Foaming he came at me, where I was posted Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase, Whetting his huge large tusks, and gaping wide, As if he already had me for his prey! Till, brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high, With this bold executing arm I struck The ugly brindled monster to the heart.
_Cas._ The actions of your life were always wondrous.
_Acas._ No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by't; It is a little sneaking art, which knaves Use to cajole and soften fools withal. If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't, Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive.
_Cas._ Your lordship's wrongs have been So great, that you with justice may complain; But suffer us, whose younger minds ne'er felt Fortune's deceits, to court her, as she's fair: Were she a common mistress, kind to all, Her worth would cease, and half the world grow idle. Methinks, I would be busy.