Chapter VII: Act V: SCENE I. Covent Garden

_Enter_ Betty Flauntit _alone_.

_Flaunt_. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such damn’d ill luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this _Bellmour_, and, as the Devil wou’d have it, to find my Knight there; then to be just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again-- anon) forc’d me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this be not ill Luck, the Devil’s in’t--But _Driver_ must bring matters about, that I may see this liberal Squire again--But here comes my Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self, thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

_Flaunt_. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you--who dares accuse me?

Sir _Tim_. E’en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. _Driver_ the Baud.

_Flaunt_. She! She’s an impudent confounded Lyar--and because she wou’d have your worshipful Custom--scandaliz’d me, to breed a difference between us.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

_Flaunt_. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by your Name, and told her my Bus’ness, our Amours are not kept so secret, nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir _Tim_. Now though I know this to be a damn’d Lye, yet the Devil has assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but forgive her.

_Flaunt_. Forgive me!--Who shall forgive you your debauch’d Whoring and Drinking?--marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if y’are every where as you are at home with me--No, Sirrah, I’ll never bed with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be seen in _Hide-Park_ in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas’d it with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches--I’ll be damn’d before I’ll endure it.

Sir _Tim_. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify’d--nay, dear _Betty_, forgive me, and I’ll be very good for the future.

_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

_Flaunt_. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won Money last Night.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that’s it that appeases her highest Storms--here, my Jewel, here’s a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

_Flaunt_. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum; let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more. [_She feels in his Pockets_.

Sir _Tim_. So, ‘twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been Made under every Rag on’t else; and what I was painfully cheating for All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans in half an Hour. --Well, are you satisfy’d I have no more?

_Flaunt_. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my _Timmy?_

Sir _Tim_. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye.
[_Aside_.

_Flaunt_. Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me.

[_Exit_ Flaunt.

Sir _Tim_. I have other Matters in hand--now have I four hundred Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of _Bellmour_, which I’ll make use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I’m damnably in love, and long for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.

_Enter_ Sham _and_ Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent, Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an avaricious _Judas_, that will betray for Gold.

Sir _Tim_. And that we’ll furnish him with--his Master’s Gold, like all other mortal things, must return from whence it came.

_Sharp_. Not all, Sir; for _Sham_ and I have dispos’d of part.

Sir _Tim_. Indeed you are a little shabby.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have Wit enough to manage ‘em.

Sir _Tim_. What--the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without demanding why?

_Sharp_. Readily, Sir--he’s a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.

_Sham_. By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool.

Sir _Tim_. But to our Business.

_Sharp_. Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have; if it be but to put this insolent Whore _Flauntit_ out of favour, who manages this Fop intirely. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize? Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest.

_Sham_. We have none of that _Italian_ Humour now-a-days, I can assure ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding Sister to the willing Gallant.

Sir _Tim_. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

_Sham_. And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard, refus’d to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue--Then because she is in The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv’d matters so, to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden.

Sir _Tim_. This is something--Oh, I’m impatient to be with her--Well, I must in, and make some Lye to _Betty_ for my Absence, and be with you presently. [_Exit Sir_ Tim.

_Sharp_. What Design hast thou in hand? for I suppose there is no such real thing as debauching of this Lady.

_Sham_. Look ye, _Sharp_, take to thee an implicit Faith, and believe Impossibilities; for thou and I must cozen this Knight.

_Sharp_. What, our Patron?

_Sham_. Ay, _Sharp_, we are bound to labour in our Callings, but mum-- here he comes.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Come, let’s away, my Lyoness begins to roar.--You, _Sharp_, go seek after _Bellmour_, watch his Motions, and give us notice.

[_Exeunt_.

_Flaunt_. He is gone, and I believe [Betty Flauntit _peeping out_.] for no Goodness; I’ll after him, and watch him.

[_Exit cross the Stage_.

SCENE II. _Lord_ Plotwell’s _House_.

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, _and two Servants_.

_Lord_. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I should be so deceiv’d in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him with the Murder of his Wife.

_Char_. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead, and kill’d by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to.

_Lord_. That shall be try’d; go to the Place where _Charles_ has directed you, and do as I command you.

[_Ex. Servants_.

--Oh, sweet _Diana_, in whom I had plac’d my absolute Delight, And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish’d thee happy. And are my Expectations fall’n to this? Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee, And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!

_Char_. My Lord, I hope, ‘tis not his natural Temper; For e’er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness, He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate. He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin, And dying at the Feet of a wrong’d Maid; I know not what he meant.

_Lord_. Ay, there’s his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn him in; but I’ll revenge my self on both.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord _reads_.

My LORD,

_As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I
humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you
can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye
between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you
knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my
dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin’d in
Your_ Diana.

[_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.

_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it-- some Joy yet that thou art well.

_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.

_Lord_. Yes, for she lov’d him passionately; when I first told her of my Designs to marry ‘em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was one Motive, I urg’d it to him with such Violence.

_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.

_Lord_. However ‘tis, I now think fit to unmarry ‘em; And as for him, I’ll use him with what Rigor The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.

_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--

_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the Villain! that has abus’d the best of all my Hopes!--No, I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.

_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me; you are his Brother, and that’s an Offence to me.

_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I’ll have it so; and let me tell you, you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your Brother has refus’d you your Portions, and I’ll have as little Mercy As he, and so farewel to you--But where’s the Messenger that brought the Letter?

_Page_. Without, my Lord.

[_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page.

_Trust_. Here’s like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [_Weeps_.

_Char_. No, _Trusty_, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune, is my dear Sister _Phillis_, she’s young; and to be left poor in this loose Town, will ruin her for ever.

_Trust_. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.

_Char_. Marry her! To whom? who is’t regards poor Virtue?

_Trust_. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my Management, I’ll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year; and if it fail, I’ll be sure to keep her Honour safe.

_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this?

_Trust_. Sir, I have serv’d your Family these thirty Years, with Faith and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I’ll never pretend to’t more.

_Char_. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou’rt honest, And I’ll resign my Sister to thy Conduct, Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother. [_Exit_ Charles.

_Enter_ Phillis.

_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother?

_Trust_. None: The Next you’ll hear is, that he’s undone, and that you must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors.

_Phil_. Alas! what shou’d I do, if he shou’d be so cruel? Wou’d I were in _Flanders_ at my Monastery again, if this be true.

_Trust_. I have better Bus’ness for you, than telling of Beads--No, Mrs. _Phillis_, you must be married.

_Phil_. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love.

_Trust_. The younger, and the less Love, the better.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. Mr. _Trusty_, here’s a Gentleman would speak with you, he says his Name’s Mr. _Sham_.

_Trust_. Gud’s me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I promis’d you.

_Enter_ Sham.

_Sham_. Well, Mr. _Trusty_, I have brought Sir _Timothy_ as I promis’d, he is at the Garden-door.

_Trust_. The best time in the World, my Lord’s out of the way.

_Sham_. But you know our Conditions.

_Trust_. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that he offers to debauch her.

_Sham_. Right.

_Trust_. Bring him in then, and I’ll civilly withdraw.
[_Exit_ Trusty.

_Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Well, _Sham_, thou hast prepar’d all things, and there needs no Ceremony.

_Sham_. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business.
[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Phillis.

Sir _Tim_. _sings_.

_Come, my_ Phillis, _let us improve
Both our Joys of equal Love;
Whilst we in yonder shady Grove,
Count Minutes by our Kisses_.

_Phil_. What sort of Courtship’s this? ‘tis very odd!

Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls, and scorn the common Road--Come, let’s enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty lasts.

_Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I’ll tell my Brother.

Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he’s so leud, that should I he so unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou’d ravish thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it.

_Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate?

Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I’ll play the _Tarquin_ with thee, if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire.

_Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man.

Sir _Tim_. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou’d be, what I must make thee.

_Phil_. What’s that, a Wench?

Sir _Tim_. Fie, fie, that’s a gross Name; no, a Miss, that’s the Word-- a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I’ll keep thee, not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine--Come, dear _Phillis_, yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour--come, say the word, ‘tis but inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh--thus--with--do--what you please --at the end on’t--and I shall take it for granted.

_Phil_. That, Sir, you’ll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband, if I must say it then.

Sir _Tim_. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man’s Appetite, the very naming on’t--By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother, some old Queen _Elizabeth_ Lady, that us’d to preach Warnings to young Maidens; but had she liv’d in this Age, she wou’d have repented her Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee--Come, let’s in, by Fortune, I’m so vigorous, I shall ravish else.

_Phil_. Unhand me, or I’ll call out. I assure you, this is not the way to gain me.

Sir _Tim_. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere--

_Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I’ll try all ways, and the Devil’s in it, if I don’t hit upon the right at last. [_Aside_. All the soft things I’ve said--

_Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say.

Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel’d--and cry’d, and swore--and--

_Phil_. And damn’d your self five hundred times.

Sir _Tim_. Yet still y’are impregnable--I’ll make another Proposition to you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I’ll marry you--the Devil’s in’t, if that be not fair.

_Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you.
[_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Sham.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done what Man can do (without doing what I wou’d do) and still she’s Flint; nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou know’st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.

_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou’d not enter into my Coxcomb before! haste then and get one--I’ll have it done immediately, whilst I go after her to keep up my flame. [_Ex. Sir_ Tim.

_Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently.

[_Ex_.

SCENE III. _A Street_.

_Enter_ Friendlove _disguis’d as before_.

_Friend_. I find _Diana_ knows me not; and this Year’s absence, since I first made my Addresses to her, has alter’d me much, or she has lost the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem’d till in this lucky Dress: the price of her Favour is _Bellmour’s_ Life. I need not have been brib’d for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self, enough incites me to Revenge--He has not yet enjoy’d her, that Blessing is reserv’d for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn’d ‘em, that Marriage may be disannull’d, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse her other Faults.

_Enter_ Bellmour _sad_.

--Hah! the Man I seek--so near my Lodgings too--Sir!

_Bel_. Sir!

_Friend_. Traitor! thou know’st me, and my bus’ness.-- Look on this Face, if thou dar’st look on him Whom thou hast doubly wrong’d--and draw thy Sword.

_Bel_. Thou should’st be _Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_.

_Friend_. And Lover of _Diana_ too--Oh, quickly draw, Or I shall leave thee, like a Coward, dead.

_Bel_. No, rather like a Sacrifice, [_Offers to embrace him_. And thou should’st be the Priest should offer it; But that I have yet, For some few moments, business for my Life.

_Friend_. I can allow no time for business now, My Injuries are in haste, and so am I.

_Bel_. Shou’dst thou stab here a thousand gaping Wounds, Upon this false, this perjur’d Heart of mine, It wou’d not part with Life, unless ‘twere laid Near to the Sacred Altar of my Vows, Low at the Feet of my fair injur’d Wife.

_Friend_. Ha!--means he his Wife? [_Aside_. Canst thou repent thy Injuries to her, And leave the rest of all thy Sins neglected?

_Bel_. Those I have done to thee, though foul and barbarous, May plead the Excuse of Force--but those to her, Not thou, nor I, nor she, or Heav’n can pardon.

_Friend_. Heav’ns! My Sister’s Wrongs, and mine, may plead Excuse, But those to her alone can ne’er be pardon’d. --This place, Sir, is too open--come with me, For I’ve desir’d, and now resolve to kill thee.

_Bel_. And so thou shalt; defenceless, I will yield, And leave my Bosom open to thy Sword. --But first conduct me to my Wife; For I will see her--nor can I die unpardon’d.

_Friend_. See his Wife!--Of whom do you demand her.

_Bel_. Of thee!--dar’st thou detain me? [_Offers to go in_.

_Friend_. Death! how shou’d he know she’s here? [_Aside_. --Stay, Sir, this way our Business lies. [_Pulls him back_.

_Bel_. I ask not thine, but mine lies only this way.
[_Offers to go in again_.

_Friend_. By Heav’n, you shall not enter here.

_Bel_. I know thou lov’st her. And ‘tis with Reason thou deny’st an Entrance To one so much unworthy to approach her.

_Friend_. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too; And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

_Friend_. Sh’has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee; And every Wound my lucky Sword shou’d make, She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

_Bel_. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man, That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another, And has took back the Vows she made to thee, And given ‘em to a Man more worthy of ‘em.

_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav’n, she’s false! And I will know, why ‘tis she is thus perjur’d. [_Offers to go_. --Nay, now--nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me. --Stand off, or to the number I’ll add one Sin more, And make my Passage to it through thy Heart.

_Friend_. And so you shall, Sir.

[_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

--Disarm’d! by Heav’n, you shall not so escape A Rage that is too just here to give o’er.

SCENE IV. _Changes to the Inside of_ Friendlove’s _Lodgings_.

_Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse.

_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here’s Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master, who deny’d him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage demands his Wife.

_Cel_. Oh Heav’n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her?

_Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_.

_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what’s your business?

_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence; And must I meet with nought but Opposition? [_Pushes her roughly away_.

_Cel_. Let him come in.

_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover’d o’er with Horror?

_Bel_. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury! --Where’s this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid, That has by my Example broke her Vows? A Precedent that Fiends wou’d shame to follow.

_Cel_. Who is’t you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad; One who so lately gave her self to me, And now is flown into another’s Arms: One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too. --Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur’d: Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her, Though she be false as I, yet I’ll forgive it. [_Throws by the Swords_.

_Cel_. Heav’ns! he repents his Cruelty to her, And never mentions me! Ah then ‘tis time to die. And that I may be sure of Death-- [_Aside_. Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you. [_Ex_. Cel.

_Bel_. Gods! Happy!--whilst I am wretched. --Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs, Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame! Were I not here to die--here at her Feet, I wou’d not stand the Shock of her Reproaches. --But yet she need not speak, a Look’s sufficient To call up all my Sins to my undoing-- She comes--Oh Heav’n! she comes--

_Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana.

--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin’d, I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow. [_Stands bow’d_.

_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands, I’ve brought the Lady.

_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_! The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity-- [_Kneels_. Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom, Like Sinners, conscious ne’er to be forgiven, I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought My self more blest, Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

_Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana’s_ Feet! The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice! --Turn, turn, from what thou lov’st, and meet my Justice.

_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

[Bellmour _rises, and turns about_.

_Bel_. Nay, now I’m ready for the welcome Sword, Since my _Celinda’s_ false, and cannot pardon.

_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion. _Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee!

_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_?

_Dia_. Yes, that _Diana_, Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew’st, Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

_Bel_. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee! By Heav’n, I never cou’d do one, or other; All that I am is the divine _Celinda’s_.

_Friend_. He’s stark mad! [_Aside_.

_Bel_. But since she cannot pardon, I can die.
[_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cel_. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee. Live--and enjoy--_Diana_. [_Turns her Face from him_.

_Bel_. What art thou, who know’st her Heart so well? Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom She has given her Vows?--Live, and enjoy, _Diana_! --Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I’ll kill thee.

_Cel_. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword.

[_Opens her Arms_, Diana _stays him; he lets fall
his Sword, and gazes_.

_Bel_, Dull--dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint. Oh, how I have profan’d! To what strange Idol Was that I kneel’d, Mistaking it for a Divinity?

_Cel_. To your fair Wife _Diana_.

_Bel_. Oh cruel Maid! Has Heav’n design’d me any but _Celinda_?

_Dia_. Maid! Bless me!--did I then love a Woman? --I am pleas’d thou should’st renounce me; make it good, And set me free from Fetters which I hate.

_Bel_. If all our Laws can do’t, I will--for here Ends all my Claim. [_To_ Celinda.

_Friend_. Was this the Wife you did demand of me?

_Bel_. Yes, I had no other.

_Dia_. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion, And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only.

_Cel_. Excellent Creature! I shou’d sue for that, Which my Deceit will never make me hope.

_Bel_. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows? Whilst I to save my Fortune, (That only which you’d make me merit thee) Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid. --Ah, _Friendlove_, when thou hear’st my Story told, Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.

_Dia_. What was’t you said, Sir? _Friendlove_!

_Friend_. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference; Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.

_Dia_. Though I’m again defeated, yet this last Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word Alter my fix’d Resolves, to love you still.

_Friend_. Then I am blest!

_Bel_. But yet the Office of the Priest has past: What Remedy for that?

_Dia_. My Uncle’s Pow’r, the Nearness of our Blood, The Contradiction of our Circumstances.

_Bel_. And above all that, my Contract with _Celinda_. --Methinks I feel a Joy spread o’er my Heart, The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.

_Cel_. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy, Mine takes new Fire and Hope.

_Dia_. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur’d me, he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours. [_To_ Friendlove.

_Bel_. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage, Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee.

_Cel_. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married, I will not tell you all the Effects it had Upon my desperate Soul; But this I know, I had resolv’d to die, But first to see you. Your Page inform’d the Nurse All that had past, and of the last Night’s Ball; And much concern’d, she got this Habit for me, And inform’d me how ‘twas I was to act, And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before. This made me haste, lest e’er I came His Rage had done the Business which it went for.

_Friend_. And so it had, hadst thou not hinder’d me; For I, Sir, was the Man who drew on you.

_Bel_. And was it thou that didst defend my Heart, That I might live to pay thy Goodness back?

_Cel_. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own.

_Dia_. Come, let’s in, and consult what’s best for us to do.

_Bel_. Come, my _Celinda_. Let us no longer doubt, the Pow’rs above Will be propitious to united Love.

[_Ex_. Cel.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv_. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach.

_Dia_. My Uncle come! Sir, we will not doubt our Fortune. But how came he to know of my being here?

_Serv_. Madam, I fear he follow’d me after I had given him the Letter.

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty.

_Lord_. _Bellmour_ and _Diana_ kneeling! [Bel. _and_ Diana _kneel_. --Rise; the Joy I have to see you thus, makes me Resolve to grant you any thing, and pardon All that’s past.

_Bel_. Be not so hasty in your Goodness, Sir, Lest you repent as fast.

_Dia_. Sir, we have an humble Suit to you.

_Lord_. What is it ye can jointly ask, I will not grant?

_Dia_. By all that Love you ever had for me, By all those Infant Charms which us’d to please you, When on your Lap you taught my Tongue that Art Which made those dear Impressions on your Heart, Which ever since to my Advantage grew, I do conjure you hear me now I sue, And grant the mighty Grace I beg of you.

_Lord_. What is it you wou’d ask?

_Bel_. Oh, dress your Face and Eyes in gentler Looks, If you wou’d have us hope for any Mercy.

_Lord_. Rise, and whate’er you ask, I’ll freely grant.

_Dia_. That you’ll undo that Knot, that ties us two.

_Lord_. How! this Request from thee! who lov’d him once, And wish’d no good beyond possessing him.

_Dia_. Heav’n has not, Sir, decreed us for each other: Something of Fate or Chance Has otherwise dispos’d those first Resolves.

_Lord_. Too virtuous Maid, I know thou dost but feign, His Wickedness has forc’d thee to this change.

_Dia_. No, Sir, were he the only Man Of kind and good, I never wou’d be his. --And if you shou’d compel me, I shou’d live The infamous Reproach of my whole Sex.

_Lord_. Well, and you, Sir, that are the cause of this, What canst thou say to move me for thy Pardon?

_Bel_. I am so guilty in your Opinion, My Prayers wou’d but make you merciless; I only say _Celinda_ is my Wife, And I shou’d injure this too generous Maid, Not to adore her equal to her Merit.

_Lord_. I see, Sir, you have found your Wits again. --Well, I see there’s no opposing Destiny; And I have still such tenderness for thee, [_To_ Dia. That hadst thou pleaded his Cause to me before, I shou’d have been less cruel to him. --Where is that Lady which you so admire, Whose Beauty does eclipse that of _Diana_?

[Bellmour _goes out, and brings in_ Celinda.

_Dia_. This, Sir, is she who merits more than I.

_Lord_. She’s fair indeed; here, _Frank_, I give thee thy _Celinda_, whose Beauty Excuses all thy Faults of Disobedience.

_Bel_. Thus low, I thank you for this Goodness, Sir. [_Kneels_.

_Lord_. There only wants the Ceremony of the Law to undo what’s between you and _Diana_, if she remain a Virgin.

_Bel_. For me, by Heav’n she is; And for the rest, I do not doubt her Virtue.

_Dia_. You may believe him, Sir; and this alone’s the Man, in whom I will, or never will be happy.

_Lord_. Mr. _Friendlove_! I give Consent to’t, he has a noble Character; and what he wants in Fortune, has in Virtue--take her, young Man.

_Friend_. ‘Tis such an Honour, Sir, that my Gratitude, without the mighty Passion I have for her, would make me ever thankful.

_Lord_. This Term, we shall make the former Marriage void; till then love on, and fear no Frowns from Fortune--but Nephew--now I hope your Brother shall have his Portion.

_Bel_. My dearest _Charles_, forgive me all that’s past, And share the Fortune Heaven has given thy Brother.

_Char_. The Joy I have, Sir, to be undeceived, Is much the greatest Blessing Heav’n can send me.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, _follow’d by_ Phillis, Sham,
Sharp, _and_ Betty Flauntit.

Sir _Tim_. I am pursu’d by two impertinent Women; prithee, _Friendlove_, tell ‘em I am gone out at the Backdoor, and send ‘em away.

_Lord_. What’s the News here?

Sir _Tim_. How, _Celinda_ here, and _Bellmour_ too! Nay, now wou’d I compound for my Life, at any rate, by Fortune.

_Phil_. Sir, this Villain here has abus’d me, and with a false Marriage has rob’d me of my Honour.

_Bel_. How!

Sir _Tim_. My Lord, I say this young Jilt would have rob’d me of my self; and courting her, and enjoying her only for a Miss, would persuade me I am married to her.

_Flaunt_. Sir, I say, I am doubly wrong’d; first by this false Knight, who has belong’d to me this three Years, which gives me a right to him, as good as if I were married to him; who has now unlawfully left my Bed, for that of this Gilflurt, who, on the other side, takes away my Knight, and consequently eats the Bread out of my Mouth.

_Bel_. What means all this? Speak some of ye that know.

_Flaunt_. Oh Lord! Who’s here? The fine Squire? [_Aside_.

_Trust_. Sir _Timothy Tawdry_, Sir, is married to Mrs. _Phillis_.

Sir _Tim_. How can that be a Marriage, when he who join’d us, was but a hired Fellow, dress’d like a Parson?

_Trust_. Sir, ‘twas Parson _Tickletext_ that marry’d ‘em.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, what a damn’d lying Pimp is this!--_Sham_, didst thou not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to marry us, that was no Parson?

_Sham_. Why, truly, Sir--I did go to hire such a one--

Sir _Tim_. Look ye there now.

_Sham_. But you’d meet with none; and because you said you shou’d die if you enjoy’d her not presently, and that she would not yield on any other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e’en brought the Parson that _Trusty_ had provided for you.

Sir _Tim_. Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward!

_Trust_. Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my young Mistress’s Looking-glass fell to his share.

Sir _Tim_. What’s my Money gone! and I am marry’d too! This ‘tis not to use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc’d to know the Parson.

_Bel_. Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon a Maid of her Quality--How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry that Rascal?

_Phil_. Sir, you deny’d me my Portion, and my Uncle design’d to turn me out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him.

_Flaunt_. Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that’s the worst part on’t--what shall I do?

_Bel_. Renounce this leud Fool, and I’ll make thee a Fortune suitable to thy Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Say you so?--Renounce me, Sir! I’d have you to know I merit her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, _Bellmour_--but only some have the Art of hiding it better than I--but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing, and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with your Sister, inspite of you.

_Lord_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, since my Niece has done amiss, ‘tis too late to mend it--and that you may not repent, I’ll take care her Fortune shall be suitable to the Jointure you’ll make her.

_Bel_. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir _Timothy_--I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you quite out of Fop-road.

_Lord_. This Day we’ll set apart for Mirth, And all must make my House their happy home.

_Bel_. To thee, _Celinda_! all my Good I owe, My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too, Since all had perish’d by a broken Vow.

_Flaunt_. What, am I like to lose my _Timmy_? Canst thou have the Heart to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you?

Sir _Tim_. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune--thou art a Fool, dost think I wou’d have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town--go--go home and expect me, thou’lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two:

Since Marriage but a larger Licence is
For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss.