 | The Orphan : or, The Unhappy-Marriage |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Acasto solus.Acast.
Blest be the morning that has brought me health,
A happy rest has softned pain away,
And I'll forget it, though my mind's not well.
A heavy melancholly cloggs my heart,
I droop and sigh I know not why! Dark-dreams,
Sick Fancies Children, have been over-busie,
And all the Night play'd Farces in my Brains;
Methought I heard the Midnight-Raven cry;
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To start, and at my Feet my Sons appear'd
Like Ghosts, all pale and stiff: I strove to speak,
But could not; suddenly the Forms were lost,
And seem'd to vanish in a bloudy Cloud;
'Twas odd, and for the present shook my thoughts;
But was th' effect of my distemper'd bloud;
And when the Health's disturb'd, the mind's unruly.
Enter Polydore.
Good Morning, Polydore.
Pol.
Heaven keep your Lordship.
Acast.
Have you yet seen Castalio to day?
Pol.
My Lord, 'tis early day, he's hardly risen.
Acast.
Go, call him up, and meet me in the Chapel.
[Ex. Pol.
I cannot think all has gone well to night;
For as I waking lay (and sure my sense
Was then my own) methought I heard my Son
Castalio's Voice; but it seem'd low and mournful,
Under my Window too I thought I heard it;
M' untoward fancy could not be deceiv'd
In every thing; and I will search the truth out.
Enter Monimia, and her Maid.
Already up Monimia! you Rose
Thus early surely to out-shine the Day!
Or was there any thing that crost your rest!
They were naughty thoughts that wou'd not let you sleep.
Mon.
What ever are my thoughts, my Lord, I've learn't
By your Example to correct their Ills,
And Morn, and Evening, give up th' Account.
Acast.
Your Pardon, Sweet one, I upbraid you not;
Or if I would, you are so good I could not;
Though I'm deceiv'd, or you are more fair to Day;
For Beauty's heighten'd in your Cheeks, and all
Your Charmes seem up, and ready in your Eyes.
Mon.
The little share I have's so very mean,
That it may easily admit Addition;
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To give it too much praise, and make me proud.
Acast.
Proud of an Old mans praises! No Monimia!
But if my Pray'rs can work thee any good,
Thou shalt not want the largest share of 'em:
Heard you no Noise to Night?
Mon.
Noise! my good Lord!
Acast.
Ay! about Midnight.
Mon.
Indeed, my Lord, I do'nt remember any.
Acast.
You must sure! went you early to rest?
Mon.
About the wonted Hour: Why this enquiry?
[Aside.
Acast.
And went your Maid to bed too?
Mon.
My Lord, I guess so;
I've seldom known her disobey my Orders.
Acast.
Sure Goblins then, Fairyes haunt the dwelling;
I'll have inquiry made through all the House,
But I'll find out the Cause of these Disorders.
Good Day to thee, Monimia—I'll to Chapel.
[Ex. Acasto.
Mon.
I'll but dispatch some orders to my Woman,
And wait upon your Lordship there:
I fear the Priest has plaid us false; if so,
My poor Castalio loses all for me;
I wonder though, he made such haste to leave me!
Was't not unkind, Florella! surely 'twas!
He scarce afforded one kind parting Word,
But went away so cold: The kiss he gave me
Seem'd the forc'd Complement of sated Love.
Would I had never marry'd!
Maid.
Why?
Mon.
Methinks
The Scene's quite alter'd; I am not the same;
I've bound up for my self a weight of Cares,
And how the burden will be born none knows.
A Husband may be Jealous, rigid, false;
And should Castalio e're prove so to me;
So tender is my Heart, so nice my Love,
'Twould ruin, and distract my rest for ever.
Maid.
Madam, he's coming.
Mon.
Where, Florella? where?
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I'll meet him there: The Mysteries of our Love
Should be kept private, as Religious Rites,
From the unhallow'd View of Common Eyes.
[Ex. Mon. and Maid.
Enter Castalio.
Cast.
Wish't Morning's come! And now upon the plains
And distant Mountains, where they feed their Flocks,
The happy Shepherds leave their Homely Huts,
And with their Pipes proclaim the new-born day.
The lusty Swain comes with his well-fill'd Scrip
Of Healthful Viands, which, when hunger calls,
With much content, and appetite he eats,
To follow in the Field's his daily Toil,
And dress the grateful Glebe, that yields him Fruits.
The Beasts that under the Warm Hedges slept,
And weather'd out the cold bleak Night, are up,
And looking towards the Neighb'ring Pastures, raise
The Voice, and bid their fellow Bruites good morrow:
The Chearful Birds too, on the tops of Trees,
Assemble all in Quoires, and with their Notes
Salute and welcome up the rising Sun.
There's no Condition sure so curst as mine;
I'm marry'd: 'Sdeath! I am sped. How like a Dog
Lookt Hercules, thus to a Distaff chain'd?
Monimia! oh Monimia!
Enter Monimia; and Maid.
Mon.
I come,
I fly to my ador'd Castalio's Armes,
My wishes Lord. May every Morn begin
Like this: And with our Days our Loves renew.
Now I may hope y'are satisfy'd—
[Looking languishingly on him.
Cast.
I am
Well satisfy'd, that thou art—Oh—
Mon.
What? speak:
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Upon my Breasts, and tell me where's thy pain.
Cast.
'Tis here! 'tis in my Head; 'tis in my Heart,
'Tis every where; It rages like a madness;
And, I most wonder how my reason holds;
Nay, wonder not, Monimia; the Slave
You thought you had secur'd within my Breast,
Is grown a Rebel, and has broke his Chain,
And now he walks there like a Lord at large.
Mon.
Am I not then your VVife, your Lov'd Monimia?
I once was so, or I've most strangely dreamt.
VVhat ayles my Love?
Cast.
VVhat e're thy Dreams have been,
Thy waking thoughts ne're meant Castalio well.
No more, Monimia, of your Sexes Arts,
They are useless all: I'm not that pliant Tool,
That necessary Utensil you'd make me,
I know my Charter better—I am Man,
Obstinate Man; and will not be enslav'd.
Mon.
You shall not fear't: Indeed my Nature's easie;
I'll ever live your most obedient VVife,
Nor ever any priviledge pretend
Beyond your will; for that shall be my Law;
Indeed I will not.
Cast.
Nay, you shall not, Madam,
By yon bright Heav'n, you shall not; all the day
I'll play the Tyrant, and at Night forsake thee;
Till by afflictions and continued Cares,
I've worn thee to a homely household Drudge;
Nay, if I've any too, thou shalt be made
Subservient to all my looser pleasures,
For thou hast wrong'd Castalio.
Mon.
No more:
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 th'are worn bare,
And hang upon you like a drowning Creature.
Castalio.—
Cast.
Away, Last night, last night.
Mon.
It was our wedding Night.
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No more, forget it.
Mon.
VVhy? do you then repent?
Cast.
I do.
Mon.
Oh Heav'n!
And, will you leave me thus? help, help, Florella.
[He draggs her to the Door and breaks from her.
Help me to hold this yet lov'd cruel Man.
Oh my heart breaks—I'm dying, Oh—stand off,
I'll not indulge this womans weakness; still
Chaft, and Fomented, let my Heart swell on,
Till with its injuries it burst, and shake
VVith the Dire blow, this Prison to the Earth.
Maid.
VVhat sad mistake has been the cause of this?
Mon.
Castalio: Oh! how often has he swore,
Nature should change, the Sun and Stars grow dark,
E're 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—
Maid.
Unhappy Day!
Mon.
False as the VVind, the VVater, or the VVeather.
Cruel as Tygers o're 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?
Enter Chamont.
Cha.
In tears Monimia!
Mon.
VVho e're 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 VVrongs; and then
See if my soul has rest till thou hast justice.
Mon.
My Brother!
Cham.
Yes, Monimia, if thou thinkst
That I deserve the Name, I am Brother.
Mon.
Oh Castalio!
Cham.
Hah!
Name me that Name again! My Souls on fire,
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I know he is thy Husband: Therefore trust me,
VVith all 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 am 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 wou'd not do so: wou'd you?
Cham.
Not, if I'd cause to think it was a Friend.
Mon.
VVhy do you then call this unfaithful dealing?
I ne're conceal'd my soul from you before:
Bear with me now, and search my wounds no farther,
For every probing pains me to the heart.
Cham.
'Tis sign there's danger in't, and must be prevented.
Where's your new Husband? Still that thought disturbs you.
VVhat, onely answer me with tears? Castalio!
Nay, now they stream.
Cruel unkind Castalio! is't not so?
Mon.
I cannot speak, grief flows so fast upon me,
It choaks and will not let me tell the cause.
Oh!
Cham.
My Monimia, to my Soul thou'rt dear,
As honour to my name: Dear as the light
To eyes but just restor'd, and heald of blindness.
VVhy wilt thou not repose within my breast
The anguish that torments thee?
Mon.
Oh! I dare not.
Cham.
I have no friend but thee: we must confide
In one another: Two unhappy Orphans,
Alas, we are; and when I see thee grieve,
Methinks it is a part of me that suffers.
Mon.
Oh shouldst thou know the cause of my lamenting,
I am satisfy'd, Chamont, that thou wouldst scorn me;
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No more would'st praise this Beauty: but
When in some Cell distracted, as I shall be,
Thou seest me lye; these unregarded Locks,
Matted like Furies Tresses; my poor Limbs
Chain'd to the Ground, and 'stead of the delights
Which happy Lovers taste, my Keeper's stripes,
A Bed of Straw, and a course wooden dish
Of wretched sustenance. When thus thou see'st me,
Prithee have Charity and pity for me.
Let me enjoy this thought.
Cham.
Why wilt thou rack
My Soul so long, Monimia? Ease me quickly;
Or thou wilt run me into madness first.
Mon.
Could you be secret?
Cham.
Secret as the Grave.
Mon.
But when I've told you, will you keep your fury
Within its bounds? will you not do some rash
And horrid mischief? for indeed, Chamont,
You would not think how hardly I've been us'd
From near Friend; from one that has my Soul
A Slave; and therefore treats it like a Tyrant.
Cham.
I will be calm, but has Castalio wrong'd thee?
Has he already wasted all his Love?
What has he done? quickly; for I'am all trembling
With expectation of a horrid Tale.
Mon.
Oh! could you think it!
Cham.
What?
Mon.
I fear he'll kill me.
Cham.
Hah!
Mon.
Indeed I do, he's strangely cruel to me,
Which if it lasts, I'm sure must break my heart.
Cham.
What has he done?
Mon.
Most barbarously us'd me,
Nothing so kind as he, when in my Arms,
In thousand kisses, tender sighs and joys,
Not to be thought again, the night was wasted,
At dawn of day, he rose and left his Conquest,
But when we met, and I with open Arms
Ran to embrace the Lord of all my wishes,
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Cham.
Go on!
Mon.
He threw me from his Breast,
Like a detested sin.
Cham.
How!
Mon.
As I hung too
Upon his Knees, and begg'd to know the cause
He dragg'd me like a Slave upon the Earth,
And had no pity on my Cries.
Cham.
How! did he
Dash thee disdainfully a way with scorn!
Mon.
He did; And more I fear, will ner'e be friends,
Though I still love him with unbated Passion.
Cham.
VVhat, throw thee from him!
Mon.
Yes, indeed he did.
Cham.
So may this Arm
Throw him to the Earth, like a dead Dog despised;
Lameness and Leprosie, Blindness and Lunacy,
Poverty, Shame, Pride, and the name of Villain
Light on me, if, Castalio, I forgive thee:
Mon.
Nay, now Chamont, art thou unkind as he is?
Didst thou not promise me thou would'st be calm?
Keep my disgrace conceal'd? why should'st thou kill him?
By all my Love this Arm should do him Vengeance.
Alas, I love him still; and though I ne're
Clasp him again within these longing Arms,
Yet bless him, bless him (Gods) where e're he goes.
Enter Acasto.
Acast.
Sure some ill Fate is towards me; in my house
I only meet with oddness and disorder;
Each Vassal has a wild distracted face;
And looks as full of business as a block-head
In times of danger: Just this very moment
I met Castalio too—
Cham.
Then you met a Villain.
Acast.
Hah!
Cham.
Yes, a Villain.
Acast.
Have a care, young Souldier,
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I have a Sword my Arms good old Acquaintance.
Villain, to thee—
Cham.
Curse on thy scandalous Age
Which hinders me to rush upon thy Throat,
And tear the Root up of that Cursed Bramble!
Acast.
Ungrateful Ruffian! sure my good old Friend
Was ne're thy Father; nothing of him's in thee:
What have I done in my unhappy Age,
To be thus us'd? I scorn to upbraid thee, Boy,
But I could put thee in remembrance—
Cham.
Do.
Acast.
I scorn it—
Cham.
No, I'll calmly hear the story,
For I would fain know all, to see which Scale
Weighs most—Hah, is not that good old Acasto?
What have I done? can you forgive this folly?
Acast.
Why dost thou ask it?
Cham.
'Twas the rude over-flowing
Of too much passion; pray, my Lord, forgive me.
[kneels.
Acast.
Mock me not, Youth, I can revenge a wrong.
Cham.
I know it well, but for this thought of mine
Pity a mad man's frenzy and forget it.
Acast.
I will, but henceforth, prithee, be more kind.
[Raises him.
Whence came the Cause?
Cham.
Indeed I've been to blame,
But I'll learn better; for you've been my Father:
You've been her Father too—
[Takes Mon by the hand.
Acast.
Forbear the Prologue—
And let me know the substance of thy Tale.
Cham.
You took her up a little tender Flower,
Just sprouted on a Bank, which the next Frost
Had nipt; and with a careful loving hand
Transplanted her into your own fair Garden,
Where the Sun always shines; there long she flourish'd,
Grew Sweet to sense, and Lovely to the eye,
Till at the last a Cruel Spoiler came,
Cropt this fair Rose, and rifled all its Sweetness;
Then cast it like a loathsome Weed away.
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You talk to me in Parables, Chamont,
You may have known that I'm no wordy man,
Fine Speeches are the Instruments of Knaves
Or Fools, that use 'em, when they want good sense;
But honesty
Needs no Disguise nor Ornament: Be plain.
Cham.
Your Son—
Acast.
Iv'e two, and both I hope have honour.
Cham.
I hope so too—but—
Acast.
Speak.
Cham.
I must inform you,
Once more Castalio—
Acast.
Still Castalio!
Cham.
Yes,
Your Son Castalio has wrong'd Monimia.
Acast.
Hah! wrong'd her?
Cham.
Marry'd her.
Acast.
I'm sorry for't.
Cham.
Why sorry?
By yon blest Heaven there's not a Lord
But might be proud to take her to his heart.
Acast.
I'll not deny't.
Cham.
You dare not, by the Gods,
You dare not; all your Family combin'd
In one damn'd False-hood to out-do Castalio,
Dare not deny't.
Acast.
How has Castalio wrong'd her?
Cham.
Ask that of him: I say my Sister's wrong'd;
Monimia my sister born as high
And noble as Castalio—Do her Justice,
Or by the Gods I'll lay a Scene of Blood,
Shall make this Dwelling horrible to Nature.
I'll do't: heark you, my Lord, your Son Castalio
Take him to your Closet, and there teach him manners.
Acast.
You shall have Justice.
Cham.
Nay—I will have Justice.
VVho'll sleep in safety that has done me wrong?
My Lord, I'll not disturb you to repeat
The Cause of this; I beg you (to preserve
Your Houses Honour) ask it of Castalio.
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I will.
Cham.
Till then farewell—
[Ex. Cham.
Acast.
Farewel, proud Boy.
Monimia!
Mon.
My Lord.
Acast.
You are my Daughter.
Mon,
I am, my Lord, if you'll vouchsafe to own me.
Acast.
When you'll complain to me, I'll prove a Father.
[Ex. Acasto.
Mon.
Now, I'm undone for ever: Who on Earth
Is there so wretched as Monimia?
First by Castalio cruelly forsaken;
I've lost Acasto: his parting frowns
May well instruct me, rage is in his heart;
I shall be next abandon'd to my Fortune,
Thrust out a naked Wanderer to the World,
And branded for the mischievous Monimia;
What will become of me? My cruel Brother
Is framing mischiefs too, for ought I know,
That may produce bloodshed, and horrid Murder:
I would not be the Cause of one mans Death,
To reign the Empress of the Earth; nay, more,
I'd rather lose for ever my Castalio,
My dear unkind Castalio.
Enter Polydore.
Pol.
Monimia, weeping!
So morning Dews on new blown Roses Lodge,
By the Suns amorous heat to be exhal'd.
I come my Love, to kiss, all sorrow from thee.
What mean these sighs? and why thus beats thy Heart?
Mon.
Let me alone to sorrow: 'Tis a cause
None e're shall know; but it shall with me dye.
Pol.
Happy, Monimia, he, to whom these sighs,
These tears, and all these languishings are paid!
I am no stranger to your dearest secret;
I know your heart was never meant for me,
That Jewel's for an Elder Brother's price.
Mon.
My Lord.
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Nay, wonder not, last Night I heard
His Oaths, your Vows, and to my torment saw
Your wild Embraces: heard th' appointment made:
I did, Monimia, and I curst the sound.
Wilt thou be sworn, my Love? wilt thou be ne're
Unkind again?
Mon.
Banish such fruitless hopes!
Have you sworn constancy to my undoing?
Will you be ne're my Friend again?
Pol.
What means my Love?
Mon.
Away; what meant my Lord
Last Night?
Pol.
Is that a question now to be demanded?
I hope, Monimia, was not much displeased.
Mon.
Was it well done to treat me like a Prostitute,
T'assault my Lodging at the dead of night,
And threaten me if I deny'd admittance?—
You said you were Castalio.—
Pol.
By those eyes,
It was the same, I spent my time much better,
I tell thee, ill natur'd Fair One, I was posted
To more advantage on a pleasant hill
Of springing Joy, and everlasting sweetness.
Mon,
Hah—have a care.—
Pol.
Where is the danger near me?
Mon.
I fear y'are on a Rock will wreck your Quiet,
And drown your soul in wretchedness for ever;
A thousand horrid thoughts crow'd on my memory.
Will you be kind and answer me one question?
Pol.
I'd trust thee with my life on those soft Breasts;
Breath out the Choicest secrets of my heart;
Till I had nothing in it left but Love.
Mon.
Nay, I'll Conjure you by the Gods, and Angels,
By the honour of your name, that's most concern'd,
To tell me, Polydore, and tell me truly,
Where did you rest last Night?
Pol.
Within thy arms
I triumpht: Rest had been my Foe.
Mon.
'Tis done—
[She faints.
Pol.
She faints: no help, who waits? a curse
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The secret of my happiness in silence.
Confusion! we shall be surpriz'd anon,
And consequently all must be betray'd,
Monimia! she breaths—Monimia.—
Mon,
Well,—
Let mischiefs multiply! Let every hour
Of my loath'd life yield me increase of horror!
Oh let the Sun to these unhappy eyes
Ne're shine again, but be eclips'd for ever!
May every thing I look on seem a prodigy,
To fill my Soul with terrors; till I quite
Forget I ever had Humanity,
And grow a Curser of the works of Nature!
Pol.
What means all this?
Mon.
Oh, Polydore, if all
The friendship e're you vow'd to good Castalio
Be not a falsehood, if you ever lov'd
Your Brother, you've undone your self and me.
Pol.
Which way? can Ruin reach the man that's Rich,
As I am in possession of thy Sweetness?
Mon.
Oh I'm his Wife:
Pol.
What says Monimia! hah!
Speak that again.
Mon.
I am Castalio's Wife.
Pol.
His marry'd wedded Wife?
Mon.
Yester-dayes Sun
Saw it perform'd.
Pol.
And then have I enjoy'd
My Brothers Wife.
Mon.
As surely as we both,
Must taste of misery that guilt is thine.
Pol.
Must we be miserable then?
Mon.
Oh!
Pol.
Oh! thou may'st yet be happy.
Mon.
Couldst thou be
Happy with such a weight upon thy Soul?
Pol.
It may be yet a secret: I'll go try
To reconcile and bring Castalio to thee,
Whilst from the VVorld I take my self away,
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Mon.
Then thou wouldst more undo me: heap a load
Of added Sins upon my wretched head:
Wouldst thou again have me betray thy Brother,
And bring pollution to his Arms? curst thought!
Oh when shall I be mad indeed!
Pol.
Nay, then,
Let us embrace, and from this very Moment
Vow an Eternal misery together.
Mon.
And wilt thou be a very faithful wretch?
Never grow fond of chearful peace again?
Wilt with me study to be unhappy,
And find out ways how to encrease affliction?
Pol.
We'll institute new Arts unknown before,
To vary plagues and make 'em look like new ones:
First if the Fruit of our detested Joy,
A Child be born, it shall be murder'd.—
Mon.
No.
Sure, that may live.
Pol.
Why?
Mon.
To become a thing
More wretched than its Parents, to be branded
With all our Infamy, and Curse its Birth.
Pol.
That's well contriv'd! then thus let's go together
Full of our guilt, distracted where to roam,
Like the first Wretched Pair expell'd their Paradise.
Let's find some place where Adders nest in VVinter,
Loathsome and Venemous; VVhere poisons hang
Like Gums against the VValls; where VVitches meet
By night and feed upon some pamper'd Imp,
Fat with the Blood of Babes: There we'll inhabit,
And live up to the height of desperation,
Desire shall languish like a withering Flower,
And no distinction of the Sex be thought of,
Horrors shall fright me from those pleasing harms,
And I'll no more be caught with Beauties Charms,
But when I'm dying take me in thy Armes.
[Ex.
| The Orphan : or, The Unhappy-Marriage | |