es my sister?

_Chap._ Love your sister?

_Cham._ Ay, love her.

_Chap._ Either he loves her, or he much has wrong'd her.

_Cham._ How wrong'd her? have a care; for this may lay
A scene of mischief to undo us all.
But tell me, wrong'd her, saidst thou?

_Chap._ Ay, sir, wrong'd her.

_Cham._ This is a secret worth a monarch's fortune:
What shall I give thee for't? thou dear physician
Of sickly wounds, unfold this riddle to me,
And comfort mine----

_Chap._ I would hide nothing from you willingly.

_Cham._ By the reverenc'd soul
Of that great honest man that gave me being,
Tell me but what thou know'st concerns my honour,
And, if I e'er reveal it to thy wrong,
May this good sword ne'er do me right in battle!
May I ne'er know that blessed peace of mind,
That dwells in good and pious men like thee!

_Chap._ I see your temper's mov'd and I will trust you.

_Cham._ Wilt thou?

_Chap._ I will; but if it ever 'scape you----

_Cham._ It never shall.

_Chap._ Then, this good day, when all the house was busy,
When mirth and kind rejoicing fill'd each room,
As I was walking in the grove I met them.

_Cham._ What, met them in the grove together?

_Chap._ I, by their own appointment, met them there,
Receiv'd their marriage vows, and join'd their hands.

_Cham._ How! married?

_Chap._ Yes, sir.

_Cham._ Then my soul's at peace:
But why would you so long delay to give it?

_Chap._ Not knowing what reception it may find
With old Acasto; may be, I was too cautious
To trust the secret from me.

_Cham._ What's the cause
I cannot guess, though 'tis my sister's honour,
I do not like this marriage,
Huddled i'the dark, and done at too much venture;
The business looks with an unlucky face.
Keep still the secret: for it ne'er shall 'scape me,
Not e'en to them, the new-match'd pair. Farewel!
Believe the truth, and know me for thy friend. [_exeunt._

_Re-enter Castalio, with Monimia._

_Cas._ Young Chamont and the chaplain! sure 'tis they!
No matter what's contriv'd, or who consulted,
Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look
Seems no good boding omen to our bliss;
Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down,
Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart was breaking?

_Mon._ Castalio, I am thinking what we've done;
The heavenly powers were sure displeas'd to-day;
For, at the ceremony as we stood,
And as your hand was kindly join'd with mine,
As the good priest pronounc'd the sacred words,
Passion grew