Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  Cast. The slave is here.

  Cham. I thought ere now to have found you

  Atoning for the ills you’ve done Chamont;

  For you have wronged the dearest part of him.

  Monimia, young lord, weeps in this heart;

  And all the tears thy injuries have drawn

  From her poor eyes are drops of blood from hence.

  Cast. Then you’re Chamont?

  Cham. Yes, and I hope no stranger

  To great Castalio.

  Cast. I’ve heard of such a man,

  That has been very busy with my honour.

  I own I’m much indebted to you, sir;

  And here return the villain back again

  You sent me by my father.

  Cham. Thus I’ll thank you. [Draws.

  Acast. By this good sword, who first presumes to violence

  Makes me his foe! [Draws, and interposes.

  Young man, it once was thought [To Castalio.

  I was fit guardian of my house’s honour,

  And you might trust your share with me. — For you, [To Chamont.

  Young soldier, I must tell you, you have wronged me:

  I promised you to do Monimia right;

  And thought my word a pledge I would not forfeit:

  But you, I find, would fright us to performance.

  Cast. Sir, in my younger years with care you taught me

  That brave revenge was due to injured honour;

  Oppose not then the justice of my sword,

  Lest you should make me jealous of your love.

  Cham. Into thy father’s arms thou fliest for safety,

  Because thou know’st the place is sanctified

  With the remembrance of an ancient friendship.

  Cast. I am a villain if I will not seek thee,

  Till I may be revenged for all the wrongs

  Done me by that ungrateful fair thou plead’st for.

  Cham. She wronged thee! by the fury in my heart,

  Thy father’s honour’s not above Monimia’s!

  Nor was thy mother’s truth and virtue fairer.

  Acast. Boy, don’t disturb the ashes of the dead

  With thy capricious follies: the remembrance

  Of the loved creature that once filled these arms —

  Cham. Has not been wronged.

  Cast. It shall not.

  Cham. No, nor shall

  Monimia, though a helpless orphan, destitute

  Of friends and fortune, though the unhappy sister

  Of poor Chamont, whose sword is all his portion,

  Be oppressed by thee, thou proud, imperious traitor!

  Cast. Ha! set me free.

  Cham. Come both!

  Enter Serina.

  Ser. Alas! alas!

  The cause of these disorders, my Chamont?

  Who is’t has wronged thee?

  Cast. Now where art thou fled

  For shelter?

  Cham. Come from thine, and see what safeguard

  Shall then betray my fears.

  Ser. Cruel Castalio,

  Sheathe up thy angry sword, and don’t affright me.

  Chamont, let once Serina calm thy breast;

  If any of my friends have done thee injuries,

  I’ll be revenged, and love thee better for it.

  Cast. Sir, if you’d have me think you did not take

  This opportunity to show your vanity,

  Let’s meet some other time, when by ourselves

  We fairly may dispute our wrongs together.

  Cham. Till then, I am Castalio’s friend.

  Cast. Serina,

  Farewell; I wish much happiness attend you.

  Ser. Chamont’s the dearest thing I have on earth;

  Give me Chamont, and let the world forsake me!

  Cham. Witness the gods, how happy I’m in thee!

  No beauteous blossom of the fragrant spring,

  Though the fair child of nature newly born,

  Can be so lovely. — Angry, unkind Castalio,

  Suppose I should awhile lay by my passions,

  And be a beggar in Monimia’s cause,

  Might it be heard?

  Cast. Sir, ’twas my last request

  You would, though you I find will not be satisfied:

  So, in a word, Monimia is my scorn;

  She basely sent you here to try my fears;

  That was your business.

  No artful prostitute, in falsehoods practised,

  To make advantage of her coxcomb’s follies,

  Could have done more — disquiet vex her for’t!

  Cham. Farewell. [Exeunt Chamont and Serina.

  Cast. Farewell. — My father, you seem troubled.

  Acast. Would I’d been absent when this boisterous brave

  Came to disturb thee thus! I’m grieved I hindered

  Thy just resentment. But Monimia —

  Cast. Damn her!

  Acast. Don’t curse her.

  Cast. Did I?

  Acast. Yes.

  Cast. I’m sorry for’t.

  Acast. Methinks, if, as I guess, the fault’s but small,

  It might be pardoned.

  Cast. No.

  Acast. What has she done?

  Cast. That she’s my wife, may Heaven and you forgive me!

  Acast. Be reconciled then.

  Cast. No.

  Acast. Go see her.

  Cast. No.

  Acast. I’ll send and bring her hither.

  Cast. No.

  Acast. For my sake,

  Castalio, and the quiet of my age.

  Cast. Why will you urge a thing my nature starts at?

  Acast. Pr’ythee forgive her.

  Cast. Lightnings first shall blast me!

  I tell you, were she prostrate at my feet,

  Full of her sex’s best dissembled sorrows,

  And all that wondrous beauty of her own,

  My heart might break, but it should never soften.

  Enter Florella.

  Flor. My lord, where are you? O Castalio!

  Acast. Hark!

  Cast. What’s that?

  Flor. Oh, show me quickly, where’s Castalio?

  Acast. Why, what’s the business?

  Flor. Oh, the poor Monimia!

  Cast. Ha!

  Acast. What’s the matter?

  Flor. Hurried by despair,

  She flies with fury over all the house,

  Through every room of each apartment, crying,

  “Where’s my Castalio? give me my Castalio!”

  Except she sees you, sure she’ll grow distracted.

  Cast. Ha! will she? does she name Castalio?

  And with such tenderness? Conduct me quickly

  To the poor lovely mourner. O my father!

  Acast. Then wilt thou go? Blessings attend thy purpose.

  Cast. I cannot hear Monimia’s soul in sadness,

  And be a man; my heart will not forget her.

  But do not tell the world you saw this of me.

  Acast. Delay not then, but haste and cheer thy love.

  Cast. Oh! I will throw my impatient arms about her,

  In her soft bosom sigh my soul to peace:

  Till through the panting breast she finds the way

  To mould my heart, and make it what she will.

  Monimia! Oh! [Exeunt.

  SCENE II. — A Room in Acasto’s House.

  Enter Monimia.

  Mon. Stand off, and give me room!

  I will not rest till I have found Castalio,

  My wishes’ lord, comely as rising day,

  Amidst ten thousand eminently known.

  Flowers spring up where’er he treads; his eyes,

  Fountains of brightness, cheering all about him —

  When will they shine on me? — O stay, my soul!

  I cannot die in peace till I have seen him.

  Enter Castalio.

  Cast. Who talks of dying, with a voice so swee
t

  That life’s in love with’t?

  Mon. Hark! ’tis he that answers;

  So in a camp, though at the dead of night,

  If but the trumpet’s cheerful noise is heard,

  All at the signal leap from downy rest,

  And every heart awakes, as mine does now.

  Where art thou?

  Cast. Here, my love.

  Mon. No nearer, lest I vanish.

  Cast. Have I been in a dream then all this while?

  And art thou but the shadow of Monimia?

  Why dost thou fly me thus?

  Mon. Oh! were it possible that we could drown

  In dark oblivion but a few past hours,

  We might be happy.

  Cast. Is’t then so hard, Monimia, to forgive

  A fault, where humble love, like mine, implores thee?

  For I must love thee, though it prove my ruin.

  Which way shall I court thee?

  What shall I do to be enough thy slave,

  And satisfy the lovely pride that’s in thee?

  I’ll kneel to thee, and weep a flood before thee:

  Yet pr’ythee, tyrant, break not quite my heart;

  But when my task of penitence is done,

  Heal it again, and comfort me with love.

  Mon. If I am dumb, Castalio, and want words

  To pay thee back this mighty tenderness,

  It is because I look on thee with horror,

  And cannot see the man I so have wronged.

  Cast. Thou hast not wronged me.

  Mon. Ah! alas, thou talk’st

  Just as thy poor heart thinks. Have not I wronged thee?

  Cast. No.

  Mon. Still thou wander’st in the dark, Castalio;

  But wilt ere long stumble on horrid danger.

  Cast. What means my love?

  Mon. Couldst thou but forgive me!

  Cast. What?

  Mon. For my fault last night: alas, thou canst not!

  Cast. I can, and do.

  Mon. Thus crawling on the earth [Kneels.

  Would I that pardon meet; the only thing

  Can make me view the face of Heaven with hope.

  Cast. Then let’s draw near. [Raises her.

  Mon. Ah me!

  Cast. So in the fields,

  When the destroyer has been out for prey,

  The scattered lovers of the feathered kind,

  Seeking, when danger’s past, to meet again,

  Make moan and call, by such degrees approach,

  Till joining thus they bill, and spread their wings,

  Murmuring love, and joy their fears are over.

  Mon. Yet have a care, be not too fond of peace,

  Lest, in pursuance of the goodly quarry,

  Thou meet a disappointment that distracts thee.

  Cast. My better angel, then, do thou inform me

  What danger threatens me, and where it lies:

  Why didst thou, — pr’ythee smile and tell me why, —

  When I stood waiting underneath the window,

  Quaking with fierce and violent desires

  (The dropping dews fell cold upon my head,

  Darkness enclosed, and the winds whistled round me,

  Which with my mournful sighs made such sad music

  As might have moved the hardest heart); why wert thou

  Deaf to my cries, and senseless of my pains?

  Mon. Did I not beg thee to forbear inquiry?

  Read’st thou not something in my face, that speaks

  Wonderful change and horror from within me?

  Cast. Then there is something yet which I’ve not known:

  What dost thou mean by horror, and forbearance

  Of more inquiry? Tell me, I beg thee tell me;

  And don’t betray me to a second madness.

  Mon. Must I?

  Cast. If, labouring in the pangs of death,

  Thou wouldst do anything to give me ease,

  Unfold this riddle ere my thoughts grow wild,

  And let in fears of ugly form upon me.

  Mon. My heart won’t let me speak it; but remember,

  Monimia, poor Monimia tells you this,

  We ne’er must meet again.

  Cast. What means my destiny?

  For all my good or evil fate dwells in thee.

  Ne’er meet again!

  Mon. No, never.

  Cast. Where’s the power

  On earth, that dares not look like thee, and say so?

  Thou art my heart’s inheritance; I served

  A long and painful, faithful slavery for thee,

  And who shall rob me of the dear-bought blessing?

  Mon. Time will clear all, but now let this content you:

  Heaven has decreed, and therefore I’ve resolved, —

  With torment I must tell it thee, Castalio, —

  Ever to be a stranger to thy love;

  In some far-distant country waste my life,

  And from this day to see thy face no more.

  Cast. Where am I? Sure I wander ‘midst enchantment,

  And never more shall find the way to rest.

  But, O Monimia! art thou indeed resolved

  To punish me with everlasting absence?

  Why turn’st thou from me? I’m alone already.

  Methinks I stand upon a naked beach,

  Sighing to winds, and to the seas complaining,

  Whilst afar off the vessel sails away,

  Where all the treasure of my soul’s embarked.

  Wilt thou not turn? — Oh! could those eyes but speak,

  I should know all, for love is pregnant in them;

  They swell, they press their beams upon me still.

  Wilt thou not speak? If we must part for ever,

  Give me but one kind word to think upon,

  And please myself withal, whilst my heart’s breaking!

  Mon. Ah, poor Castalio! [Exit.

  Cast. Pity! by the gods,

  She pities me! Then thou wilt go eternally?

  What means all this? why all this stir, to plague

  A single wretch? If but your word can shake

  This world to atoms, why so much ado

  With me? Think me but dead, and lay me so.

  Enter Polydore.

  Pol. To live, and live a torment to myself!

  What dog would bear’t, that knew but his condition?

  We’ve little knowledge, and that makes us cowards,

  Because it cannot tell us what’s to come.

  Cast. Who’s there?

  Pol. Why, what art thou?

  Cast. My brother Polydore?

  Pol. My name is Polydore.

  Cast. Canst thou inform me —

  Pol. Of what?

  Cast. Of my Monimia?

  Pol. No. Good-day.

  Cast. In haste?

  Methinks my Polydore appears in sadness.

  Pol. Indeed, and so to me does my Castalio.

  Cast. Do I?

  Pol. Thou dost.

  Cast. Alas! I’ve wondrous reason;

  I’m strangely altered, brother, since I saw thee.

  Pol. Why?

  Cast. Oh! to tell thee would but put thy heart

  To pain. Let me embrace thee but a little,

  And weep upon thy neck; I would repose

  Within thy friendly bosom all my follies;

  For thou wilt pardon them, because they’re mine.

  Pol. Be not too credulous; consider first;

  Friends may be false. Is there no friendship false?

  Cast. Why dost thou ask me that? does this appear

  Like a false friendship, when with open arms

  And streaming eyes I run upon thy breast?

  Oh, ’tis in thee alone I must have comfort!

  Pol. I fear, Castalio, I have none to give thee.

  Cast. Dost thou not love me then?

  Pol. Oh, more than life:

  I never had a thought of my Cast
alio

  Might wrong the friendship we had vowed together.

  Hast thou dealt so by me?

  Cast. I hope I have.

  Pol. Then tell me why this mourning; this disorder?

  Cast. O Polydore! I know not how to tell thee;

  Shame rises in my face, and interrupts

  The story of my tongue.

  Pol. I grieve my friend

  Knows anything which he’s ashamed to tell me;

  Or didst thou e’er conceal thy thoughts from Polydore?

  Cast. Oh! much too oft; but let me here conjure thee,

  By all the kind affection of a brother, —

  For I’m ashamed to call myself thy friend, —

  Forgive me.

  Pol. Well, go on.

  Cast. Our destiny contrived

  To plague us both with one unhappy love:

  Thou, like a friend, a constant generous friend,

  In its first pangs didst trust me with thy passion;

  Whilst I still smoothed my pain with smiles before thee,

  And made a contract I ne’er meant to keep.

  Pol. How!

  Cast. Still new ways I studied to abuse thee,

  And kept thee as a stranger to my passion,

  Till yesterday I wedded with Monimia.

  Pol. Ah, Castalio,

  Was that well done?

  Cast. No; to conceal’t from thee

  Was much a fault.

  Pol. A fault! When thou hast heard

  The tale I’ll tell, what wilt thou call it then?

  Cast. How my heart throbs!

  Pol. First, for thy friendship, traitor,

  I cancel it thus; after this day I’ll ne’er

  Hold trust or converse with the false Castalio:

  This witness Heaven!

  Cast. What will my fate do with me?

  I’ve lost all happiness, and know not why.

  What means this, brother?

  Pol. Perjured, treacherous wretch,

  Farewell!

  Cast. I’ll be thy slave; and thou shalt use me

  Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me.

  Pol. Never.

  Cast. Oh! think a little what thy heart is doing;

  How from our infancy we hand in hand

  Have trod the path of life in love together;

  One bed has held us, and the same desires,

  The same aversions, still employed our thoughts;

  Whene’er had I a friend that was not Polydore’s,

  Or Polydore a foe that was not mine?

  Even in the womb we embraced; and wilt thou now,

  For the first fault, abandon and forsake me,

  Leave me amidst afflictions to myself,

  Plunged in the gulf of grief, and none to help me?

  Pol. Go to Monimia; in her arms thou’lt find

  Repose; she has the art of healing sorrows.

  Cast. What arts?

  Pol. Blind wretch, thou husband! there’s a question!

  Go to her fulsome bed, and wallow there,

  Till some hot ruffian, full of lust and wine,