_Bel_. Yes.
Sir _Tim_. Oh, I had forgot thou art a modest Rogue, and to thy eternal Shame, hadst never the Reputation of a Mistress--Lord, Lord, that I could see thee address thy self to a Lady--I fancy thee a very ridiculous Figure in that Posture, by Fortune.
_Bel_. Why, Sir, I can court a Lady--
Sir _Tim_. No, no, thou'rt modest; that is to say, a Country Gentleman; that is to say, ill-bred; that is to say, a Fool, by Fortune, as the World goes.
_Bel_. Neither, Sir--I can love--and tell it too--and that you may believe me--look on this Lady, Sir.
Sir _Tim_. Look on this Lady, Sir--Ha, ha, ha,--Well, Sir--Well, Sir-- And what then?
_Bel_. Nay, view her well, Sir--
Sir. _Tim_. Pleasant this--Well, _Frank_, I do--And what then?
_Bel_. Is she not charming fair--fair to a wonder!
Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, 'tis granted--
_Bel_. And canst thou think this Beauty meant for thee, for thee, dull common Man?
Sir _Tim_. Very well, what will he say next?
_Bel_. I say, let me no more see thee approach this Lady.
Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, how?
_Bel_. Not speak to her, not look on her--by Heaven--not think of her.
Sir _Tim_. How, _Frank_, art in earnest?
_Bel_. Try, if thou dar'st.
Sir _Tim_. Not think of her!--
_Bel_. No, not so much as in a Dream, could I divine it.
Sir _Tim_. Is he in earnest, Mr. _Friendlove_?
_Friend_. I doubt so, Sir _Timothy_.
Sir _Tim_. What, does he then pretend to your Sister?
_Bel_. Yes, and no Man else shall dare do so.
Sir _Tim_. Take notice I am affronted in your Lodgings--for you, _Bellmour_--You take me for an Ass--therefore meet me to morrow Morning about five, with your Sword in your Hand, behind _Southampton_ House.
_Bel_. 'Tis well--there we will dispute our Title to _Celinda_.
[_Exit Sir_ Tim.
_Dull Animal! The Gods cou'd ne'er decree So bright a Maid shou'd be possest by thee_.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. _A Palace_.
_Enter_ Nurse _with a Light_.
_Nur_. Well, 'tis an endless trouble to have the Tuition of a Maid in love, here is such Wishing and Longing.--And yet one must force them to what they most desire, before they will admit of it--Here am I sent out a Scout of the Forlorn Hope, to discover the Approach of the Enemy--Well --Mr. _Bellmour_, you are not to know, 'tis with the Consent of _Celinda_, that you come--I must bear all the blame, what Mischief soever comes of these Night-Works.
_Enter_ Bellmour.
Oh, are you come--Your Hour was Twelve, and now 'tis almost Two.
_Bel_. I could not get from _Friendlove_--Thou hast not told _Celinda_ of my coming?
_Nur_. No, no, e'en make Peace for me, and your self too.
_Bel_. I warrant thee, Nurse--Oh, how I hope and fear this Night's Success!
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II. _A Chamber_.
Celinda _in her Night-Attire, leaning on a Table.
Enter to her_ Bellmour _and_ Nurse.
_Cel_. Oh Heavens! Mr. _Bellmour_ at this late Hour in my Chamber!
_Bel_. Yes, Madam; but will approach no nearer till you permit me; And sure you know my Soul too well to fear.
_Cel_. I do, Sir, and you may approach yet nearer, And let me know your Business.
_Bel_. Love is my bus'ness, that of all the World; Only my Flame as much surmounts the rest, As is the Object's Beauty I adore.
_Cel_. If this be all, to tell me of your Love, To morrow might have done as well.
_Bel_. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late, Too late to make returns to all my Pain.
--What disagreeing thing offends your Eyes?
I've no Deformity about my Person; I'm young, and have a Fortune great as any That do pretend to serve you; And yet I find my Interest in your Heart, Below those happy ones that are my Rivals.
Nay, every Fool that can but plead his Title, And the poor Interest that a Parent gives him, Can merit more than I.