_Page._ Why, madam, have I done you any wrong?
_Mon._ I never see you now; you have been kinder; Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money for you.
_Page._ Madam, I'd serve you with all my soul.
_Mon._ Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast heard Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets), Sometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me?
_Page._ O madam! very wickedly they have talk'd: But I am afraid to name it; for, they say, Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters' secrets.
_Mon._ Fear not, Cordelio; it shall ne'er be known; For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine. Polydore cannot be so kind as I. I'll furnish thee with all thy harmless sports, With pretty toys, and thou shalt be my page.
_Page._ And truly, madam, I had rather be so. Methinks you love me better than my lord; For he was never half so kind as you are. What must I do?
_Mon._ Inform me how thou'st heard Castalio and his brother use my name.
_Page._ With all the tenderness of love, You were the subject of their last discourse. At first I thought it would have fatal prov'd; But, as the one grew hot, the other cool'd, And yielded to the frailty of his friend; At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd----
_Mon._ I would not have 'em, by my dearest hopes; I would not be the argument of strife. But surely my Castalio won't forsake me, And make a mock'ry of my easy love! Went they together?
_Page._ Yes, to seek you, madam. Castalio promis'd Polydore to bring him, Where he alone might meet you, And fairly try the fortune of his wishes.
_Mon._ Am I then grown so cheap, just to be made A common stake, a prize for love in jest? Was not Castalio very loth to yield it? Or was it Polydore's unruly passion, That heighten'd the debate?
_Page._ The fault was Polydore's. Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire. He said, no woman's smiles should buy his freedom; And marriage is a mortifying thing. [_exit._
_Mon._ Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio's false, Where is there faith and honour to be found? Ye gods, that guard the innocent, and guide The weak, protect and take me to your care. O, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me! Why was I made with all my sex's fondness, Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies? I'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods, Be a true woman, rail, protest my wrongs; Resolve to hate him, and yet love him still.