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.