_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 'twas 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.