_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_?