_Cas._ Nay, you shall not, madam; By yon bright heaven, you shall not: all the day I'll play the tyrant, and at night forsake thee; Nay, if I've any too, thou shalt be made Subservient to my looser pleasures; For thou hast wrong'd Castalio.
_Mon._ Oh, kill me here, or tell me my offence! I'll never quit you else; but, on these knees, Thus follow you all day, till they're worn bare, And hang upon you like a drowning creature. Castalio!----
_Cas._ Away!----Last night! last night!----
_Mon._ O heaven! And will you leave me thus?--Help! help! Florella!
[_Castalio drags her to the door, breaks from her, and exit._
Help me to hold this yet lov'd, cruel man! Castalio!--Oh! how often has he sworn, Nature should change--the sun and stars grow dark, Ere he would falsify his vows to me! Make haste, confusion, then! Sun, lose thy light! And, stars, drop dead with sorrow to the earth, For my Castalio's false! False as the wind, the waters, or the weather! Cruel as tigers o'er their trembling prey! I feel him in my breast; he tears my heart, And at each sigh he drinks the gushing blood! Must I be long in pain?
_Mon._ Whoe'er thou art, Leave me alone to my belov'd despair!
_Cham._ Lift up thy eyes, and see who comes to cheer thee! Tell me the story of thy wrongs, and then See if my soul has rest, till thou hast justice.
_Cham._ Yes, Monimia, if thou think'st That I deserve the name, I am thy brother.
_Cham._ Ha! Name me that name again! my soul's on fire Till I know all!--There's meaning in that name:-- I know he is thy husband; therefore, trust me With the following truth.
_Mon._ Indeed, Chamont, There's nothing in it but the fault of nature: I'm often thus seiz'd suddenly with grief, I know not why.
_Cham._ You use me ill, Monimia; And I might think, with justice, most severely Of this unfaithful dealing with your brother.
_Mon._ Truly I'm not to blame. Suppose I'm fond, And grieve for what as much may please another? Should I upbraid the dearest friend on earth For the first fault? You would not do so, would you?
_Cham._ Not if I'd cause to think it was a friend.
_Mon._ Why do you then call this unfaithful dealing? I ne'er conceal'd my soul from you before: Bear with me now, and search my wounds no further; For every probing pains me to the heart.