Pol. To what?

Cas. To leave this peevish beauty to herself.

Pol. What, quit my love? as soon I'd quit my post

Cas. But I have wond'rous reasons on my side,

Pol. Then speak 'em:

Cas. To-morrow I may tell you.

Pol. Why not now?

Cas. It is a matter of such consequence,

Pol. When you, Castalio, cease

Cas. It seems you've watch'd me, then?

Pol. I scorn the office.

Cas. Pr'ythee avoid a thing thou may'st repent.

Pol. That is, henceforward making league with you.

Cas. Nay, if ye're angry, Polydore, good night.

[exit.

Pol. Good night, Castalio, if ye're in such haste.

Page. My lord!

Pol. Come hither, boy!

Page. My lord, I could do any thing for you,

Pol. 'Tis pity then thou shouldst not be employ'd.

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