Chapter V: Act III

SCENE I. _A Room in Lord_ Plotwell’s _House_.

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Bellmour _leading in_ Diana, _follow’d by
_Charles Bellmour, Phillis, _and other Ladies and Gentlemen_.
[_Musick plays, till they are all seated_.

_Lord_. Here, Nephew, I resign that Trust, which was repos’d in me by your dead Father; which was, that on your Wedding-Day I should thus-- make you Master of your whole Fortune, you being married to my liking-- And now, _Charles_, and you, my Niece _Phillis_, you may demand your Portions to morrow, if you please, for he is oblig’d to pay you the Day after that of his Marriage.

_Phil_. There’s time enough, my Lord.

_Lord_. Come, come, Ladies, in troth you must take but little Rest to Night, in complaisance to the Bride and Bridegroom, who, I believe, will take but little--_Frank_--why, _Frank_--what, hast thou chang’d thy Humour with thy Condition? Thou wert not wont to hear the Musick play in vain.

_Bel_. My Lord, I cannot dance.

_Dia_. Indeed, you’re wondrous sad, And I, methinks, do bear thee Company, I know not why; and yet excess of Joy Have had the same Effects with equal Grief.

_Bel_. ‘Tis true, and I have now felt the Extremes of both.

_Lord_. Why, Nephew _Charles_--has your Breeding at the Academy instructed your Heels in no Motion?

_Char_. My Lord, I’ll make one.

_Phil_. And I another, for Joy that my Brother’s made happy in so fair a Bride.

_Bel_. Hell take your Ignorance, for thinking I am happy,-- Wou’d Heaven wou’d strike me dead, That by the loss of a poor wretched Life I might preserve my Soul--But Oh, my Error! That has already damn’d it self, when it consented To break a Sacred Vow, and Marry here.

_Lord_. Come, come, begin, begin, Musick to your Office.

[_Soft Musick_.

_Bel_. Why does not this hard Heart, this stubborn Fugitive, Break with this Load of Griefs? but like ill Spirits It promis’d fair, till it had drawn me in, And then betray’d me to Damnation.

_Dia_. There’s something of disorder in his Soul, Which I’m on fire to know the meaning of.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp, _in Masquerade_.

Sir _Tim_. The Rogue is married, and I am so pleas’d, I can forgive him our last Night’s Quarrel. Prithee, _Sharp_, if thou canst learn that young Thing’s Name, ‘tis a pretty airy Rogue, whilst I go talk to her.

_Sharp_. I will, Sir, I will.

[_One goes to take out a Lady_.

_Char_. Nay, Madam, you must dance. [_Dance_.

_Bel_. I hope you will not call it Rudeness, Madam, if I refuse you here.

[_The Lady that danced goes to take out the Bridegroom. After the
Dance she takes out Sir_ Timothy, _they walk to a Courant_.

Am I still tame and patient with my Ills? Gods! what is Man, that he can live and bear, Yet know his Power to rid himself of Grief? I will not live; or if my Destiny Compel me to’t, it shall be worse than dying.

_Enter_ Page _with a Table-Book_.

_Bel_. What’s this?

_Page_. The Answer of a Letter, Sir, you sent the divine _Celinda_; for so it was directed.

_Bel_.--Hah--_Celinda_--in my Croud of Thoughts I had forgot I sent--come nearer, Boy-- What did she say to thee?--Did she not smile? And use thee with Contempt and Scorn?--tell me.

_Page_. How scorn, Sir!

_Bel_. Or she was angry--call’d me perjur’d Villain, False, and forsworn--nay, tell me truth.

_Page_. How, Sir?

_Bel_. Thou dost delay me--say she did, and please me.

_Page_. Sir!

_Bel_. Again--tell me, what answer, Rascal, did she send me?

_Page_. You have it, Sir, there in the Table-Book.

_Bel_. Oh, I am mad, and know not what I do. --Prithee forgive me, Boy--take breath, my Soul, Before thou do’st begin; for this--perhaps, may be So cruel kind, To leave thee none when thou hast ended it. [_Opens it, and reads_.

LETTER.

_I have took in the Poison which you sent, in those few fatal
Words, “Forgive me, my_ Celinda, _I am married”--’Twas
thus you said--And I have only Life left to return, “Forgive
me my sweet_ Bellmour, _I am dead_.” CELINDA.

Can I hear this, and live?--I am a Villian! In my Creation destin’d for all Mischief, --To commit Rapes, and Murders, to break Vows, As fast as Fools do Jests. Come hither, Boy-- And said the Lady nothing to thee?

_Page_. Yes, e’er she read the Letter, ask’d your Health, And Joy dispers’d it self in Blushes through her Cheeks.

_Bel_. Her Beauty makes the very Boy adore it.

_Page_. And having read it, She drew her Tablets from her Pocket, And trembling, writ what I have brought you, Sir.

_Bel_. Though I before had loaded up my Soul With Sins, that wou’d have weigh’d down any other, Yet this one more it bears, this Sin of Murder; And holds out still--What have I more to do, But being plung’d in Blood, to wade it through?

_Enter_ Friendlove _in Masquerade. A Jigg_.

_Friend_. There stands the Traitor, with a guilty Look, That Traitor, who the easier to deceive me, Betray’d my Sister; yet till I came and saw The Perjury, I could not give a Faith to’t. By Heaven, _Diana_ loves him, nay, dotes on him, I find it in her Eyes; all languishing, They feed the Fire in his: arm’d with a double Rage, I know I shall go through with my Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. Fair Maid--

_Phil_. How do you know that, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. I see y’are fair, and I guess you’re a Maid.

_Phil_. Your Guess is better than your Eye-sight, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Whate’er you are, by Fortune, I wish you would permit me to love you with all your Faults.

_Phil_. You? Pray who are you?

Sir _Tim_. A Man, a Gentleman--and more, a Knight too, by Fortune.

_Phil_. Then ‘twas not by Merit, Sir--But how shall I know you are either of these?

Sir _Tim_. That I’m a Man, the Effects of my vigorous Flame shall prove --a Gentleman, my Coat of Arms shall testify; and I have the King’s Patent for my Title.

_Phil_. For the first you may thank your Youth, for the next your Father, and the last your Money.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, I love thee for thy Pertness.

_Phil_. Is it possible you can love at all?

Sir _Tim_. As much as I dare.

_Phil_. How do you mean?

Sir _Tim_. Not to be laught at; ‘tis not the Mode to love much; A Platonick Fop I have heard of, but this is an Age of sheer Enjoyment, and little Love goes to that; we have found it incommode, and loss of time, to make long Addresses.

_Enter_ Celinda _like a Boy_.

_Phil_. I find, Sir, you and I shall never agree upon this matter; But see, Sir, here’s more Company.

_Cel_. Oh Heaven! ‘tis true, these Eyes confirm my Fate. Yonder he is--and that fair splendid Thing, That gazes on him with such kind Desire, Is my blest Rival--Oh, he is married! --Gods! And yet you let him live; Live too with all his Charms, as fine and gay, As if you meant he shou’d undo all easy Maids, And kill ‘em for their Sin of loving him. Wretched _Celinda_! But I must turn my Eyes from looking on The fatal Triumphs of my Death--Which of all these Is my Brother? Oh, that is he: I know him By the Habit he sent for to the Play-House. [Points to Sir Tim. And hither he’s come in Masquerade, I know with some Design against my _Bellmour_, Whom though he kill me, I must still preserve: Whilst I, lost in despair, thus as a Boy Will seek a Death from any welcome Hand, Since I want Courage to perform the Sacrifice.

_Enter one and dances an Entry, and a Jig at the end on’t_.

_Lord_. Enough, enough at this time, let’s see the Bride to bed, the Bridegroom thinks it long.

_Friend_. Hell! Can I endure to hear all this with Patience? Shall he depart with Life to enjoy my Right, And to deprive my Sister of her due? --Stay, stay, and resign That Virgin.

_Bel_. Who art thou that dar’st lay a Claim to ought that’s here?

_Friend_. This Sword shall answer ye.
[_Draws_.

_Bel_. Though I could spare my Life, I’ll not be robb’d of it.
[_Draws_.

_Dia_. Oh, my dear _Bellmour_!

[_All draw on_ Bellmour’s side_--Diana _holds_ Bellmour,
Celinda _runs between their Swords, and defends_ Bellmour;
_Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp _draw, and run into several
Corners, with signs of Fear_.

_Friend_. Who art thou, that thus fondly guard’st his Heart? [_To_ Celinda. --Be gone, and let me meet it.

_Cel_. That thou mayst do through mine, but no way else.

_Friend_. Here are too many to encounter, and I’ll defer my Vengeance.

_Char_. Stay, Sir, we must not part so.

[_Ex. Drawing at the same Door, that Sir_ Tim. _is sneaking out at_.

Come back I say. [_Pulls in Sir_ Tim. Slave! Dost thou tremble?--

Sir _Tim_. Sir, I’m not the Man you look for-- By Fortune, _Sham_, we’re all undone: He has mistook me for the fighting Fellow.

_Char_. Villain, defend thy Life.

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? I have no quarrel to you, nor no man breathing, not I, by Fortune.

_Cel_. This Coward cannot be my Brother. [_Aside_.

_Char_. What made thee draw upon my Brother?

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? by Fortune, I love him--I draw upon him!

_Char_. I do not wonder thou canst lye, for thou’rt a Coward! Didst not thou draw upon him? Is not thy Sword yet out? Did I not see thee fierce, and active too, as if thou hadst dar’d?

Sir _Tim_. Why, he’s gone, Sir; a Pox of all Mistakes and Masqueradings I say--this was your Plot, _Sham_.

_Char_. Coward! Shew then thy Face.

Sir _Tim_. I’ll be hang’d first, by Fortune; for then ‘twill be plain ’.was I, because I challeng’d _Bellmour_ last Night, and broke my Assignation this Morning. [_Aside_.

_Char_. Shew thy Face without delay, or--

Sir _Tim_. My Face, Sir! I protest, by Fortune, ‘tis not worth seeing.

_Char_. Then, Sirrah, you are worth a kicking--take that--and that--
[_Kicks him_.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir? how?

_Char_. So, Sir, so.
[_Kicks him again_.

Sir _Tim_. Have a care, Sir--by Fortune, I shall fight with a little more.

_Char_. Take that to raise you.
[_Strikes him_.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then I am angry, and I dare fight.

[_They fight out_.

_Lord_. Go, Ladies, see the Bride to her Chamber.

[_Ex. Women_.

_Bel_. The Knight, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_; --The Rascal mist me at the appointed place, And comes to attack me here-- [_Turns to_ Cel. --Brave Youth, I know not how I came to merit this Relief from thee: Sure thou art a Stranger to me, thou’rt so kind.

_Cel_. Sir, I believe those happy ones that know you Had been far kinder, but I’m indeed a Stranger.

_Bel_. Mayst thou be ever so to one so wretched; I will not ask thy Name, lest knowing it, (I’m such a Monster) I should ruin thee.

_Cel_. Oh, how he melts my Soul! I cannot stay, Lest Grief, my Sex, my Bus’ness shou’d betray. [_Aside_. --Farewel, Sir-- May you be happy in the Maid you love. [_Exit_ Cel.

_Bel_. O, dost thou mock my Griefs? by Heaven, he did. --Stay, Sir, he’s gone.

_Enter_ Charles Bellmour.

_Char_. The Rogue took Courage, when he saw there was no Remedy; but there’s no hurt done on either side.

_Lord_. ‘Tis fit such as he shou’d be chastis’d, that do abuse Hospitality. Come, come, to Bed; the Lady, Sir, expects you.

_Bel_. Gentlemen, good Night.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II_. A Bed Chamber_.

_Enter_ Diana.

_Dia_. I long to know the Cause of _Bellmour’s_ Disorder to Night, and here he comes.

_Enter_ Bellmour, Lord, Charles, _and the rest_.

_Char_. Shan’t we see you laid, Brother?

_Bel_. Yes, in my Grave, dear _Charles_; But I’ll excuse that Ceremony here.

_Char_. Good Night, and no Rest to you, Brother.

[_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana.

_Dia_. Till now, my _Bellmour_, I wanted Opportunity To ask the Cause, why on a joyful Day, When Heav’n has join’d us by a sacred Tie, Thou droop’st like early Flowers with Winter-storms.

_Bel_. Thou art that Winter-storm that nips my Bud; All my young springing Hopes, my gay Desires, The prospect of approaching Joys of Love, Thou in a hapless Minute hast took from me, And in its room, Hast given me an eternal Desperation.

_Dia_. Have you then given me Vows ye can repent of?

_Bel_. I given ye Vows! be witness, ye just Pow’rs, How far I was from giving any Vows: No, no, _Diana_, I had none to give.

_Dia_. No Vows to give! What were they which unto the Holy Man Thou didst repeat, when I was made all thine?

_Bel_. The Effects of low Submission, such as Slaves Condemn’d to die, yield to the angry Judge.

_Dia_. Dost thou not love me then?

_Bel_. Love thee! No, by Heaven: yet wish I were so happy, For thou art wondrous fair and wondrous good.

_Dia_. Oh, what a Defeat is here! The only Man, who from all Nature’s store I found most charming, fit for my Desires; And now after a thousand Expectations, Such as all Maids that love like me do hope, Just ready for the highest Joys of Love! Then to be met thus cold--nay, worse, with scorn. [_Aside_. --Why, since you could not love me, did you marry me?

_Bel_. Because I was a Beast, a very Villain! That stak’d a wretched Fortune to all my Joys of Life, And like a prodigal Gamester lost that all.

_Dia_. How durst you, Sir, knowing my Quality, Return me this false Pay, for Love so true? Was this a Beauty, Sir, to be neglected?

_Bel_. Fair angry Maid, frown on, frown till you kill, And I shall dying bless those Eyes that did so. For shou’d I live, I shou’d deprive the happier World Of Treasures, I’m too wretched to possess. And were’t not pity that vast store of Beauty Shou’d, like rich Fruit, die on the yielding Boughs?

_Dia_. And are you then resolved to be a Stranger to me?

_Bel_. For ever! for a long Eternity!

_Dia_. O thou’st undone me then; hast thou found out A Maid more fair, more worthy of thy Love? Look on me well.

_Bel_. I have consider’d thee, And find no Blemish in thy Soul, or Form; Thou art all o’er Divine, yet I must hate thee, Since thou hast drawn me to a mortal Sin, That cannot be forgiven by Men, or Heaven. --Oh, thou hast made me break a Vow, _Diana_, A sacred solemn Vow; And made me wrong the sweetest Innocence, That ever blest the Earth.

_Dia_. Instead of cooling this augments my Fire; No Pain is like defeated new Desire. [_Aside_. ’.is false, or but to try my Constancy. Your Mistress is not so divine as I, And shou’d I, ‘gainst himself, believe the Man Who first inspir’d my Heart with Love’s soft Flame?

_Bel_. What Bliss on me insensibly you throw! I’d rather hear thee swear, thou art my Foe, And like some noble and romantick Maid With Poniards wou’d my stubborn Heart invade; And whilst thou dost the faithful Relique tear, In every Vein thoud’st find _Celinda_ there.

_Dia_. Come, Sir, you must forget _Celinda’s_ Charms, And reap Delights within my circling Arms, Delights that may your Errors undeceive, When you find Joys as great as she can give.

_Bel_. What do I hear?--is this the kind Relief Thou dost allow to my Despair and Grief? Is this the Comfort that thou dost impart To my all-wounded, bleeding, dying Heart? Were I so brutal, cou’d thy Love comply To serve it self with base Adultery? For cou’d I love thee, cou’d I love again, Our Lives wou’d be but one continu’d Sin: A Sin of that black dye, a Sin so foul, ’.wou’d leave no Hopes of Heav’n for either’s Soul.

_Dia_. Dull Man! Dost think a feeble vain Excuse Shall satisfy me for this Night’s abuse? No, since my Passion thou’st defeated thus, And robb’d me of my long-wish’d Happiness, I’ll make thee know what a wrong’d Maid can do, Divided ‘twixt her Love and Injuries too.

_Bel_. I dare thy worst; Shou’d Hell assist thy Aims, thou cou’dst not find, New Plagues, unless thou shou’dst continue kind, Hard Fate, _Diana_, when thy Love must be The greatest Curse that can arrive to me. --That Friendship which our Infant Years begun, And till this Day has still continued on, I will preserve; and my Respects shall be Profound, as what was ever paid by me: But for my Love, ‘tis to _Celinda_ due, And I can pay you none that’s just and true.

_Dia_. The rest I’d have thee know I do despise, I better understand my conquering Eyes; Those Eyes that shall revenge my Love and Shame, I’ll kill thy Reputation and thy Name. [_Exit_.

_Bel_. My Honour! and my Reputation, now! They both were forfeit, when I broke my Vow, Nor cou’d my Honour with thy Fame decline; Whoe’er profanes thee, injures nought of mine. This Night upon the Couch my self I’ll lay, And like _Franciscans_, let th’ensuing Day Take care for all the Toils it brings with it; Whatever Fate arrives, I can submit.

[_Exit_.

SCENE III. _A Street_.

_Enter_ Celinda, _drest as before_.

_Cel_. Not one kind Wound to send me to my Grave, And yet between their angry Swords I ran, Expecting it from _Bellmour_, or my Brother’s: Oh, my hard Fate! that gave me so much Misery, And dealt no Courage to prevent the shock. --Why came I off alive, that fatal Place Where I beheld my _Bellmour_, in th’embrace Of my extremely fair, and lovely Rival? --With what kind Care she did prevent my Arm, Which (greedy of the last sad-parting twine) I wou’d have thrown about him, as if she knew To what intent I made the passionate Offer? --What have I next to do, but seek a Death Wherever I can meet it--Who comes here? [_Goes aside_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp, _with Fidlers and Boy_.

Sir _Tim_. I believe this is the Bed-chamber Window where the Bride and Bridegroom lies.

_Sham_. Well, and what do you intend to do, if it be, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Why, first sing a Baudy Song, and then break the Windows, in revenge for the Affront was put upon me to night.

_Sharp_. Faith, Sir, that’s but a poor Revenge, and which every Footman may take of his Lady, who has turn’d him away for filching--You know, Sir, Windows are frail, and will yield to the lusty Brickbats; ‘tis an Act below a Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. That’s all one, ‘tis my Recreation; I serv’d a Woman so the other night, to whom my Mistress had a Pique.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, ‘tis a Revenge fit only for a Whore to take--And the Affront you receiv’d to Night, was by mistake.

Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, did you not mind, that he that drew upon _Bellmour_, was in the same Dress with you.

Sir _Tim_. How shou’d his be like mine?

_Sham_. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his--I suppose sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the Windows.

_Sharp_. Then, Sir, you shew’d so much Courage, that you may bless the Minute that forc’d you to fight.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but between you and I, ‘twas well he kick’d me first, and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing’d, by Fortune--But thanks to my Spleen, that sav’d my Bones that bout--But then I did well--hah, came briskly off, and the rest.

_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest.

Sir _Tim_. Come then, we’ll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes, and sing.

_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place.

SONG.

I.

_The happy Minute’s come, the Nymph is laid,
Who means no more to rise a Maid.
Blushing, and panting, she expects th’.pproach
Of Joys that kill with every touch:
Nor can her native Modesty and Shame
Conceal the Ardour of her Virgin Flame_.

II.

_And now the amorous Youth is all undrest,
Just ready for Love’s mighty Feast;
With vigorous haste the Veil aside he throws,
That doth all Heaven at once disclose.
Swift as Desire, into her naked Arms
Himself he throws, and rifles all her Charms_.

Good morrow, Mr. _Bellmour_, and to your lovely Bride, long may you live and love.

_Enter_ Bellmour _above_.

_Bel_. Who is’t has sent that Curse?

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, is that _Bellmour_? The Rogue’s in choler, the Bride has not pleas’d him.

_Bel_. Dogs! Do you upbraid me? I’ll be with you presently.

Sir _Tim_. Will you so?--but I’ll not stay your coming.

_Cel_. But you shall, Sir.

_Bel_. Turn, Villains!

[_Sir_ Tim. _&c. offers to go off_, Celinda _steps forth, and
draws, they draw, and set upon her. Enter_ Bellmour _behind them:
They turn, and_ Celinda _sides with_ Bellmour, _and fights. Enter_
Diana, Bellmour _fights ‘em out, and leaves_ Celinda _breathless,
leaning on her Sword_.

_Dia_. I’ll ne’er demand the cause of this disorder, But take this opportunity to fly To the next hands will take me up--who’s here?

_Cel_. Not yet, my sullen Heart!

_Dia_. Who’s here? one wounded--alas--

_Cel_. ‘Tis not so lucky--but who art thou That dost with so much pity ask?

_Dia_. He seems a Gentleman--handsome and young-- [_Aside_. Pray ask no Questions, Sir; but if you are what you seem, Give a Protection to an unhappy Maid. --Do not reply, but let us haste away.

_Cel_. Hah--What do I hear! sure, ‘tis _Diana_. --Madam, with haste, and joy, I’ll serve you. --I’ll carry her to my own Lodgings. Fortune, in this, has done my Sufferings right, My Rival’s in my Power, upon her Wedding-Night. [_Aside_.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, that you should not know your Friend and humble Servant, _Tim. Tawdrey_--But thou look’st as if thou hadst not been a-bed yet.

_Bel_. No more I have.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then thou losest precious time, I’ll not detain thee.
[_Offers to go_.

_Bel_. Thou art mistaken, I hate all Woman-kind--

Sir _Tim_. How, how!

_Bel_, Above an Hour--hark ye, Knight--I am as leud, and as debaucht as thou art.

Sir _Tim_. What do you mean, _Frank_?

_Bel_. To tell a Truth, which yet I never did. --I whore, drink, game, swear, lye, cheat, rob, pimp, hector, all, all I do that’s vitious.

Sir _Tim_. Bless me!

_Bel_. From such a Villian, hah!

Sir _Tim_. No, but that thou should’st hide it all this while.

_Bel_. Till I was married only, and now I can dissemble it no longer-- come--let’s to a Baudy-House.

Sir _Tim_. A Baudy-house! What, already! This is the very quintessence of Leudness. --Why, I thought that I was wicked, but, by Fortune, This dashes mine quite out of Countenance.

_Bel_. Oh, thou’rt a puny Sinner!--I’ll teach thee Arts (so rare) of Sin, the least of them shall damn thee.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, _Frank_, I do not like these Arts.

_Bel_. Then thou’rt a Fool--I’ll teach thee to be rich too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that I like.

_Bel_. Look here, my Boys! [_Hold up his Writings, which he takes out of his Pockets_. The Writings of 3000 pounds a Year: --All this I got by Perjury.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, a thriving Sin.

_Bel_. And we will live in Sin while this holds out. _And then to my cold Home--Come let’s be gone: Oh, that I ne’er might see the rising Sun_.

[_Exeunt_.