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.