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.