Cut in the living rock, by Nature's hands,
The venerable seat of holy hermits,
Who there, secure in separated cells,
Sacred ev❜n to the Moors, enjoy devotion;
And, from the purling streams and savage fruits,
Have wholesome bev'rage, and unbloody feasts.
Seb. 'Tis penance too voluptuous for my

crime.

Dor. Your subjects, conscious of your life, are few,

But all desirous to partake your exile,
And to do office to your sacred person;
The rest, who think you dead, shall be dismiss'd,
Under safe convoy, till they reach your fleet.

Alm. But how am wretched I to be dispos'd?
A vain enquiry, since I leave my lord ;
For all the world beside is banishment!

Dor. I have a sister, abbess in Terceras, Who lost her lover on her bridal day.—

Alm. There fate provided me a fellow-turtle, To mingle sighs with sighs, and tears with tears. Dor. Last, for myself, if I have well fulfill'd My sad commission, let me beg the boon, To share the sorrows of your last recess, And mourn the common losses of our loves.

Alv. And what becomes of me? must I be left, As age and time had worn me out of use? These sinews are not yet so much unstrung, To fail me when my master should be serv'd; And when they are, then will I steal to death, Silent, and unobserv'd, to save his tears. Seb. I've heard you both: Alvarez, have thy wish; But thine, Alonzo, thine, is too unjust. I charge thee with my last commands, return, And bless thy Violante with thy vows. Antonio, be thou happy too in thine.

Last, let me swear you all to secresy;
And, to conceal my shame, conceal my life.
Dor. Ant. Mor. We swear to keep it secret.
Aim. Now I would speak the last farewell, I

cannot.

It would be still farewell, a thousand times,
And, multiply'd in echos, still farewell.
I will not speak, but think a thousand thousand.
And be thou silent too. my last Sebastian;
So let us part in the dumb pomp of grief.
My heart's too great, or I would die this moment:
But death, I thank him, in an hour, has made
A mighty journey, and I haste to meet him.

[She staggers, and her women hold her up. Seb. Help to support this feeble, drooping flower;

This tender sweet, so shaken by the storm;
For these fond arms must thus be stretch'd in

vain,

And never, never must embrace her more. 'Tis past my soul goes in that word;farewell.

[ALVAREZ goes with SEBASTIAN to one end of the Stage; women with ALMEYDA to the other.

DORAX, coming up to ANTONIO and MORAYMA,
who stand on the middle of the stage.
Dor. Haste to attend Almeyda: for your sake
Your father is forgiven: but to Antonio
He forfeits half his wealth: be happy both.
And let Sebastian's and Almeyda's fate
This dreadful sentence to the world relate,
That unrepented crimes of parents dead,
Are justly punish'd on their children's head.
[Exeunt omncs.

shion

Should have seduc'd us two to separation :
To be drawn in, against our own desire,
Poor I to be a nun, poor you a friar.

Ant. I trembled when the old man's hand
was in,

He would have prov'd we were too near of kin:
Discovering old intrigues of love, like t'other,
Betwixt my father and thy sinful mother;
To make us sister Turk, and Christian brother.
Mor. Excuse me there; that league should have
been rather

Betwixt your mother and my Mufti father;
'Tis for my own and my relations' credit,
Your friends should bear the bastard, mine should
get it.

Ant. Suppose us two, Almeyda and Sebastian, With incest prov'd upon us

Mor. Without question,

Their conscience was too queasy of digestion.

Mor. Beast as you are, on nature's laws to

trample!

"Twere fitter that we follow'd their example; And since all marriage in repentance ends, 'Tis good for us to part while we are friends. To save a maid's remorses and confusions, E'en leave me now before we try conclusions.

Ant. To copy their example, first make certain Of one good hour, like theirs, before our parting; Make a debauch o'er night of love and madness, And marry when we wake in sober sadness.

Mor. I'll follow no new sects of your inventing, One night might cost me nine long months re

penting:

First wed, and if you find that life a fetter,
Die when you please, the sooner, sir, the better:
My wealth would get me love ere I could ask it:
Oh, there's a strange temptation in the casket!
All these young sharpers would my grace impor-
tune,

brother,

tune.

OR,

To you, great judges in this writing age,
The sons of wit, and patrons of the stage,
With all those humble thoughts, which still have
sway'd,

His pride much doubting, trembling and afraid
Of what is to his want of merit due,
And aw'd by every excellence in you,
The author sends; to beg you would be kind,
And spare those many faults you needs must
find.

You, to whom wit a common foe is grown,
The thing ye scorn and publicly disown;
Though now perhaps ye're here for other ends,
He swears to me ye ought to be his friends:
For he ne'er called ye yet insipid tools;
Nor wrote one line to tell ye you were fools:
But says of wit you have so large a store,
So very much, you never will have more.
He ne'er with libel treated yet the town,
The names of honest men bedaub'd and shown;

Nay, never once lampoon'd the harmless life
Of suburb virgin, or of city wife.
Satire's the effect of poetry's disease,
Which, sick of a lewd age, she vents for ease;
But now her only strife should be to please:
Since of ill fate the baneful cloud's withdrawn,
And happiness again begins to dawn,
Since back with joy and triumph he is come,
That always drove fears hence, ne'er brought 'em
home.

Oft has he plough'd the boisterous ocean o'er,
Yet ne'er more welcome to the longing shore,
Not when he brought home victories before;
For then fresh laurels flourish'd on his brow,
And he comes crown'd with olive branches now.
Receive him! Oh receive him, as his friends,
Embrace the blessings which he recommends;
Such quiet as your foes shall ne'er destroy;
Then shake off fears, and clap your hands for
joy.

Monimia.

ship of old Acasto.

SERINA, Acasto's daughter.

FLORELLA, Monimia's woman.

SCENE I.

Enter PAULINO and ERNESTO.

Paul. "Tis strange, Ernesto, this severity Should still reign powerful in Acasto's mind, To hate the court, where he was bred and lived, All honours heaped on him, that power could give.

Ern. 'Tis true, he came hither a private gen-
tleman,

But young and brave, and of a family
Ancient and noble as the empire holds.
The honours he has gained are justly his;
He purchased them in war: thrice has he led
An army 'gainst the rebels, and as often
Returned with victory. The world has not
A truer soldier, or a better subject.

Paul. It was his virtue at first made me serve him;

He is the best of masters as of friends:
I know he has lately been invited thither,
Yet still he keeps his stubborn purpose; cries
He's old, and willingly would be at rest.
I doubt there's deep resentment in his mind,
For the late slight his honour suffered there.

Ern. Has he not reason? When, for what he
had borne,

As only death could end. Chamont's estate
Was ruined in our late and civil discords;
Therefore, unable to advance her fortune,
He left his daughter to our master's care;
To such a care, as she scarce lost a father.
Ern. Her brother to the emperor's wars went
early,

To seek a fortune, or a noble fate;
Whence he, with honour, is expected back,
And mighty marks of that great prince's favour.
Paul. Our master never would permit his sons
To launch for fortune in the uncertain world;

Where dilatory Fortune plays the jilt
With the brave, noble, honest, gallant man,
To throw herself away on fools and knaves.
Ern. They both have forward, generous, ac-
tive spirits.

'Tis daily their petition to their father,
To send them forth where glory's to be gotten:
They cry, they're weary of their lazy home,
Restless to do something, that fame may talk of
To-day they chased the boar, and near this time
Should be returned.

Paul. Oh, that's a royal sport!
We yet may see the old man in a morning,
Lusty as health, come ruddy to the field,
And there pursue the chase, as if he meant
To o'ertake time, and bring back youth again.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Garden.

Enter CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and Page. Cast. Polydore, our sport

Has been to-day much better for the danger; When, on the brink, the foaming boar I met, And in his side thought to have lodged my

spear,

The desperate savage rushed within my force, And bore me headlong with him down the rocks Pol. But then

Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed, Came on, and down the dangerous precipice leaped,

To save Castalio. 'Twas a godlike act!

Pol. But, when I came, I found you conqueror. Oh, my heart danced to see your danger past! The heat and fury of the chase was cold, And I had nothing in my mind but joy.

Cast. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war Rush on together: thou shouldst be my guard, And I be thine; what is't could hurt us then? Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, How fulsome must it be to stay behind, And die of rank diseases here at home?

Pol. No! let me purchase in my youth re

Pol. I told you I had done:
But you, Castalio, would dispute it.
Cast. No;

Not with my Polydore; though I must own
My nature obstinate, and void of sufferance:
Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart,
Attended on his throne by all his guards
Of furious wishes, fears, and nice suspicions.
I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.

Pol. Yet you would break this friendship.
Cast. Not for crowns

What can this mean?

Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too,

By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship,
To show your heart as naked in this point,
As you would purge you of your sins to heaven.
Cast. I will.

Pol. And should I chance to touch it nearly,
bear it

With all the sufferance of a tender friend.

Cast. As calmly as the wounded patient bears The artist's hand, that ministers his cure.

Pol. That's kindly said.-You know our fa-
ther's ward,

The fair Monimia. Is your heart at peace?
Is it so guarded, that you could not love her?
Cast. Suppose I should?

Pol. Suppose you should not, brother?
Cast. You'd say I must not.

Pol. That would sound too roughly

"Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are. Cast. Is love a fault?

Pol. In one of us it may be. What if I love her?

Cast. Then I must inform you

I loved her first, and cannot quit the claim, But will preserve the birth-right of my passion. Pol. You will?

Pol. Both of us cannot. Cast. No matter

Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for it.

Pol. You would not wed Monimia, would you?
Cast. Wed her!

No; were she all desire could wish, as fair
As would the vainest of her sex be thought,
With wealth beyond what woman's pride could
waste,

She should not cheat me of my freedom. Marry!
When I am old, and weary of the world,
I may grow desperate,

And take a wife to mortify withal.

Pol. It is an elder brother's duty so
To propagate his family and name:
You would not have yours die and buried with you?
Cast. Mere vanity, and silly dotage all.
No, let me live at large, and when I die-

Pol. Who shall possess the estate you leave?
Cast. My friend,

If he survives me; if not, my king,

Who may bestow it again on some brave man,
Whose honesty and services deserve one.
Pol. 'Tis kindly offered.

Cast. By yon heaven, I love

My Polydore beyond all worldly joys;
And would not shock his quiet, to be blest
With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.
Pol. And by that heaven, eternally I swear,
To keep the kind Castalio in my heart!-
Whose shall Monimia be?

Cast. No matter whose.
Pol. Were you not with her privately last
night?

Cast. I was, and should have met her here

again;

But the opportunity shall now be thine; Myself will bring thee to the scene of love:

fair day

Seems as if sent to invite the world abroad.
Passed not Castalio and Polydore this way?
Page. Madam, just now.

Mon. Sure some ill fate's upon me;
Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart,
And apprehension shocks my timorous soul.
Why was not I laid in my peaceful grave
With my poor parents, and at rest as they are?
Instead of that I'm wandering into cares.
Castalio! oh, Castalio! thou hast caught
My foolish heart; and, like a tender child,
That trusts his play-thing to another hand,
I fear its harm, and would fain have it back.-
Come near, Cordelio. I must chide you, sir.
Page. Why, madam, have I done you any
wrong?

Mon. I never see you now; you have been kinder,

Sat by my bed, and sung me pretty songs: Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money for

you:

Will you oblige me? Shall I see you oftener?

Page. Madam, I'd serve you with my soul:
But in the morning when you call me to you,
As by your bed I stand, and tell you stories,
I am ashamed to see your swelling breasts,
It makes me blush, they are so very white.
Mon. Oh, men! for flattery and deceit re-
nowned!

Thus, when ye are young, ye learn it all, like him,
Till, as your years increase, that strengthens too,
To undo poor maids, and make our ruin easy.—
Tell me, Cordelio, for thou oft hast heard
Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets;
Sometimes, at least, have they not talked of me?
Page. Oh, madam, very wickedly they have
talked!

But I am afraid to name it; for, they say,

Boys must be whipped, that tell their masters' se

crets.

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 the 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 hast 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 proved; But as the one grew hot, the other cooled, And yielded to the frailty of his friend; At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolvedMon. What, good Cordelio? Page. Not to quarrel for you.

Mon. I would not have them; by my dearest
hope,

I would not be the argument of strife.
But surely my Castalio wont forsake me,
And make a mockery of my easy love.
Went they together?

Page. Yes, to seek you, madam.
Castalio promised 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 heightened the debate?

Page. The fault was Polydore's.
Castalio played with love, and smiling shewed
The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire.
He said, no woman's smiles should buy his free
dom;

And marriage is a mortifying thing.

Mon. Then I am ruined! 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. Oh, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me!

Why was I made with all my sex's softness,
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.

Enter CASTALIO and POLYDORE. He comes, the conqueror comes! lie still, my heart,

And learn to bear thy injuries with scorn.

Cast. Madam, my brother begs he may have

leave

To tell you something, that concerns you nearly. I leave you as becomes me, and withdraw.