by Thomas Otway
As wildness and most rude neglect could make me,
So I might still enjoy my honour safe
From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [Exit.
Pol. Who’d be that sordid foolish thing called man,
To cringe thus, fawn, and flatter for a pleasure,
Which beasts enjoy so very much above him?
The lusty bull ranges through all the field,
And, from the herd singling his female out,
Enjoys her, and abandons her at will.
It shall be so; I’ll yet possess my love,
Wait on, and watch her loose unguarded hours;
Then, when her roving thoughts have been abroad,
And brought in wanton wishes to her heart,
In the very minute when her virtue nods,
I’ll rush upon her in a storm of love,
Beat down her guard of honour all before me,
Surfeit on joys, till even desire grow sick;
Then by long absence liberty regain,
And quite forget the pleasure and the pain. [Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I. — A Room in Acasto’s House.
Enter Acasto, Castalio, Polydore, and Attendants.
Acast. To-day has been a day of glorious sport.
When you, Castalio, and your brother left me,
Forth from the thickets rushed another boar,
So large, he seemed the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles raised up high,
They seemed a grove of spears upon his back;
Foaming he came at me, where I was posted,
Best to observe which way he’d lead the chase,
Whetting his huge long tusks, and gaping wide,
As if he already had me for his prey;
Till, brandishing my well-poised javelin high,
With this bold executing arm, I struck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.
Cast. The actions of your life were always wondrous.
Acast. No flattery, boy! an honest man can’t live by’t:
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal;
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with’t,
Or send it to a court; for there ‘twill thrive.
Pol. Why there?
Acast. ’Tis, next to money, current there;
To be seen daily in as many forms
As there are sorts of vanities, and men:
The supercilious statesman has his sneer
To smooth a poor man off with, that can’t bribe him;
The grave dull fellow of small business soothes
The humourist, and will needs admire his wit.
Who without spleen could see a hot-brained atheist
Thanking a surly doctor for his sermon?
Or a grave counsellor meet a smooth young lord,
Squeeze him by the hand, and praise his good complexion?
Pol. Courts are the places where best manners flourish;
Where the deserving ought to rise, and fools
Make show. Why should I vex and chafe my spleen,
To see a gaudy coxcomb shine, when I
Have seen enough to soothe him in his follies,
And ride him to advantage as I please?
Acast. Who merit ought indeed to rise i’ the world;
But no wise man that’s honest should expect.
What man of sense would rack his generous mind,
To practise all the base formalities
And forms of business, force a grave starched face,
When he’s a very libertine in’s heart?
Seem not to know this or that man in public,
When privately perhaps they meet together,
And lay the scene of some brave fellow’s ruin?
Such things are done —
Cast. Your lordship’s wrongs have been
So great, that you with justice may complain;
But suffer us, whose younger minds ne’er felt
Fortune’s deceits, to court her as she’s fair.
Were she a common mistress, kind to all,
Her worth would cease, and half the world grow idle.
Acast. Go to, you’re fools, and know me not; I’ve learnt
Long since to bear revenge, or scorn my wrongs,
According to the value of the doer.
You both would fain be great, and to that end
Desire to do things worthy your ambition:
Go to the camp, preferment’s noblest mart,
Where honour ought to have the fairest play,
You’ll find
Corruption, envy, discontent, and faction,
Almost in every band: how many men
Have spent their blood in their dear country’s service,
Yet now pine under want, while selfish slaves,
That even would cut their throats whom now they fawn on,
Like deadly locusts, eat the honey up,
Which those industrious bees so hardly toiled for!
Cast. These precepts suit not with my active mind:
Methinks I would be busy.
Pol. So would I.
Not loiter out my life at home, and know
No farther than one prospect gives me leave.
Acast. Busy your minds then, study arts and men:
Learn how to value merit though in rags,
And scorn a proud ill-mannered knave in office.
Enter Serina, Monimia, and Florella.
Ser. My lord, my father!
Acast. Blessings on my child,
My little cherub! what hast thou to ask me?
Ser. I bring you, sir, most glad and welcome news:
The young Chamont, whom you’ve so often wished for,
Is just arrived and entering.
Acast. By my soul,
And all my honours, he’s most dearly welcome;
Let me receive him like his father’s friend.
Enter Chamont.
Welcome, thou relict of the best-loved man!
Welcome from all the turmoils, and the hazards
Of certain danger, and uncertain fortune!
Welcome as happy tidings after fears!
Cham. Words would but wrong the gratitude I owe you.
Should I begin to speak, my soul’s so full
That I should talk of nothing else all day.
Mon. My brother!
Cham. Oh my sister! let me hold thee
Long in my arms. I’ve not beheld thy face
These many days; by night I’ve often seen thee
In gentle dreams, and satisfied my soul
With fancied joy, till morning cares awaked me. —
Another sister! sure it must be so;
Though, I remember well, I had but one:
But I feel something in my heart that prompts
And tells me she has claim and interest there.
Acast. Young soldier, you’ve not only studied war;
Courtship, I see, has been your practice too,
And may not prove unwelcome to my daughter.
Cham. Is she your daughter? then my heart told true!
And I’m at least her brother by adoption;
For you have made yourself to me a father,
And by that patent I have leave to love her.
Ser. Monimia, thou hast told me men are false,
Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love:
Is Chamont so? No, sure he’s more than man,
Something that’s near divine, and truth dwells in him.
Acast. Thus happy, who would envy pompous power,
The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
Let there be joy through all the house this day;
In every room let plenty flow at large;
It is the birth-day of my royal master.
You have not visited the court, Chamont,
Since your retur
n?
Cham. I have no business there;
I have not slavish temperance enough
To attend a favourite’s heels, and watch his smiles;
Bear an ill office done me to my face,
And thank the lord that wronged me for his favour.
Acast. This you could do.
[To Castalio and Polydore.
Cast. I’d serve my prince.
Acast. Who’d serve him?
Cast. I would, my lord.
Pol. And I; both would.
Acast. Away!
He needs not any servants such as you.
Serve him! he merits more than man can do:
He is so good, praise cannot speak his worth;
So merciful, sure he ne’er slept in wrath;
So just, that were he but a private man,
He could not do a wrong. How would you serve him?
Cast. I’d serve him with my fortune here at home,
And serve him with my person in his wars;
Watch for him, fight for him, bleed for him.
Pol. Die for him,
As every true-born loyal subject ought.
Acast. Let me embrace you both. Now, by the souls
Of my brave ancestors, I’m truly happy;
For this be ever blest my marriage-day,
Blest be your mother’s memory that bore you,
And doubly blest be that auspicious hour
That gave ye birth! Yes, my aspiring boys,
Ye shall have business, when your master wants you:
You cannot serve a nobler: I have served him;
In this old body yet the marks remain
Of many wounds. I’ve with this tongue proclaimed
His right, even in the face of rank rebellion;
And when a foul-mouthed traitor once profaned
His sacred name, with my good sabre drawn,
Even at the head of all his giddy rout,
I rushed, and clove the rebel to the chine.
Enter Servant.
Ser. My lord, the expected guests are just arrived.
Acast. Go you, and give them welcome and reception.
[Exeunt Castalio, Polydore, Serina, Florella, and Servant.
Cham. My lord, I stand in need of your assistance
In something that concerns my peace and honour.
Acast. Spoke like the son of that brave man I loved;
So freely, friendly we conversed together.
Whate’er it be, with confidence impart it;
Thou shalt command my fortune and my sword.
Cham. I dare not doubt your friendship nor your justice.
Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear,
My orphan sister, must not be forgotten.
Acast. Pr’ythee, no more of that: it grates my nature.
Cham. When our dear parents died, they died together,
One fate surprised them, and one grave received them:
My father with his dying breath bequeathed
Her to my love: my mother, as she lay
Languishing by him, called me to her side,
Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and embraced me;
Then pressed me close, and as she observed my tears,
Kissed them away: said she, “Chamont, my son,
By this, and all the love I ever showed thee,
Be careful of Monimia; watch her youth;
Let not her wants betray her to dishonour;
Perhaps kind Heaven may raise some friend”: then sighed,
Kissed me again, so blessed us, and expired.
Pardon my grief.
Acast. It speaks an honest nature.
Cham. The friend Heaven raised was you; you took her up,
An infant, to the desert world exposed,
And proved another parent.
Acast. I’ve not wronged her!
Cham. Far be it from my fears.
Acast. Then why this argument?
Cham. My lord, my nature’s jealous, and you’ll bear it.
Acast. Go on.
Cham. Great spirits bear misfortunes hardly:
Good offices claim gratitude; and pride,
Where power is wanting, will usurp a little,
And make us, rather than be thought behind-hand,
Pay over-price.
Acast. I cannot guess your drift:
Distrust you me?
Cham. No, but I fear her weakness
May make her pay a debt at any rate;
And, to deal freely with your lordship’s goodness,
I’ve heard a story lately much disturbs me.
Acast. Then first charge her; and if the offence be found
Within my reach, though it should touch my nature,
In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance
Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoiced in,
I’d prosecute it with severest vengeance. [Exit.
Cham. I thank you from my soul.
Mon. Alas! my brother,
What have I done? and why do you abuse me?
My heart quakes in me; in your settled face
And clouded brow, methinks I see my fate:
You will not kill me!
Cham. Pr’ythee, why dost talk so?
Mon. Look kindly on me, then: I cannot bear
Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me:
My heart’s so tender, should you charge me rough,
I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing.
But use me gently, like a loving brother,
And search through all the secrets of my soul.
Cham. Fear nothing, I will show myself a brother,
A tender, honest, and a loving brother.
You’ve not forgot our father?
Mon. I shall never.
Cham. Then you’ll remember too, he was a man
That lived up to the standard of his honour,
And prized that jewel more than mines of wealth:
He’d not have done a shameful thing but once;
Though kept in darkness from the world, and hidden,
He could not have forgiven it to himself.
This was the only portion that he left us;
And I more glory in’t than if possessed
Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
’Twas a large trust, and must be managed nicely.
Now if, by any chance, Monimia,
You’ve soiled this gem, and taken from its value,
How will you account with me?
Mon. I challenge envy,
Malice, and all the practices of hell,
To censure all the actions of my past
Unhappy life, and taint me if they can!
Cham. I’ll tell thee then: three nights ago, as I
Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dewed all my face, and trembling seized my limbs:
My bed shook under me, the curtains started,
And to my tortured fancy there appeared
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art;
Thy garments flowing loose, and in each hand
A wanton lover, which by turns caressed thee
With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure:
I snatched my sword, and in the very moment
Darted it at the phantom; straight it left me;
Then rose and called for lights; when, O dire omen!
I found my weapon had the arras pierced,
Just where that famous tale was interwoven,
How the unhappy Theban slew his father.
Mon. And for this cause my virtue is suspected!
Because in dreams your fancy has been ridden,
I must be tortured waking!
Cham. Have a care;
Labour not to be justified too fast:
Hear all, and then let Justice hold the scale.
What followed was the riddle that confounds me:
Through a close lane as I pursued my journey,
And meditated on the last night’s vision,
I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double,
Picking dry sticks and mumbling to herself;
Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red;
Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seemed withered,
And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped
The tattered remnant of an old striped hanging,
Which served to keep her carcass from the cold;
So there was nothing of a piece about her:
Her lower weeds were all o’er coarsely patched
With different-coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow,
And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness.
I asked her of my way, which she informed me;
Then craved my charity, and bade me hasten
To save a sister: — at that word I started.
Mon. The common cheat of beggars every day;
They flock about our doors, pretend to gifts
Of prophecy, and telling fools their fortunes.
Cham. Oh! but she told me such a tale, Monimia,
As in it bore great circumstance of truth: —
Castalio and Polydore, my sister —
Mon. Ha!
Cham. What, altered! does your courage fail you?
Now, by my father’s soul, the witch was honest;
Answer me, if thou hast not lost to them
Thy honour at a sordid game?
Mon. I will,
I must; so hardly my misfortune loads me.
That both have offered me their loves, most true.
Cham. And ’tis as true too, they have both undone thee.
Mon. Though they both with earnest vows
Have pressed my heart, if e’er in thought I yielded
To any but Castalio —
Cham. But Castalio?
Mon. Still will you cross the line of my discourse?
Yes, I confess that he has won my soul
By generous love, and honourable vows:
Which he this day appointed to complete,
And make himself by holy marriage mine.
Cham. Art thou then spotless? hast thou still preserved
Thy virtue white, without a blot, untainted?
Mon. When I’m unchaste, may Heaven reject my prayers!
Or, more to make me wretched, may you know it!
Cham. Oh, then, Monimia, art thou dearer to me
Than all the comforts ever yet blessed man.
But let not marriage bait thee to thy ruin.
Trust not a man; we are by nature false,
Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant:
When a man talks of love, with caution trust him;
But if he swears, he’ll certainly deceive thee.
I charge thee let no more Castalio soothe thee:
Avoid it as thou wouldst preserve the peace