--What else, my lovely Maid, can give a freedom To that same talking, idle, knighted Fop?
_Cel_. Oh, if I am so wretched to be his, Surely I cannot live; For, Sir, I must confess I cannot love him.
_Bel_. But thou may'st do as bad, and marry him, And that's a Sin I cannot over-live; --No, hear my Vows--
_Cel_. But are you, Sir, in earnest?
_Bel_. In earnest? Yes, by all that's good, I am; I love you more than I do Life, or Heaven!
_Cel_. Oh, what a pleasure 'tis to hear him say so! [_Aside_.
--But pray, how long, Sir, have you lov'd me so?
_Bel_. From the first moment that I saw your Eyes, Your charming killing Eyes, I did adore 'em; And ever since have languisht Day and Night.
_Nur_. Come, come, ne'er stand asking of Questions, But follow your Inclinations, and take him at his Word.
_Bel_. Celinda, take her Counsel, Perhaps this is the last opportunity; Nay, and, by Heaven, the last of all my Life, If you refuse me now-- Say, will you never marry Man but me?
_Cel_. Pray give me till to morrow, Sir, to answer you; For I have yet some Fears about my Soul, That take away my Rest.
_Bel_. To morrow! You must then marry--Oh fatal Word!
Another! a Beast, a Fool, that knows not how to value you.
_Cel_. Is't possible my Fate shou'd be so near?
_Nur_. Nay, then dispose of your self, I say, and leave dissembling; 'tis high time.
_Bel_. This Night the Letter came, the dreadful News Of thy being married, and to morrow too.
Oh, answer me, or I shall die with Fear.
_Cel_. I must confess it, Sir, without a blush, (For 'tis no Sin to love) that I cou'd wish-- Heaven and my Father were inclin'd my way: But I am all Obedience to their Wills.
_Bel_. That Sigh was kind, But e'er to morrow this time, You'll want this pitying Sense, and feel no Pantings, But those which Joys and Pleasures do create.
_Cel_. Alas, Sir! what is't you'd have me do?
_Bel_. Why--I wou'd have you love, and after that You need not be instructed what to do.
Give me your Faith, give me your solemn Vow To be my Wife, and I shall be at Peace.
_Cel_. Have you consider'd, Sir, your own Condition?
'Tis in your Uncle's Power to take your Fortune, If in your Choice you disobey his Will.
--And, Sir, you know that mine is much below you.
_Bel_. Oh, I shall calm his Rage, By urging so much Reason as thy Beauty, And my own Flame, on which my Life depends.
--He now has kindly sent for me to _London_, I fear his Bus'ness-- Yet if you'll yield to marry me, We'll keep it secret, till our kinder Stars Have made provision for the blest Discovery.
Come, give me your Vows, or we must part for ever.
_Cel_. Part! Oh, 'tis a fatal Word!
I will do any thing to save that Life, To which my own so nearly is ally'd.
_Enter_ Friendlove.
_Friend_. So, forward Sister!
_Bel_. Ha, _Friendlove!_
_Friend_. Was it so kindly done, to gain my Sister Without my knowledge?
_Bel_. Ah, Friend! 'Twas from her self alone That I wou'd take the Blessing which I ask.
_Friend_. And I'll assist her, Sir, to give it you.
Here, take him as an Honour, and be thankful.
_Bel_. I as a Blessing sent from Heaven receive her, And e'er I sleep will justify my Claim, And make her mine.
_Friend_. Be not so hasty, Friend: Endeavour first to reconcile your Uncle to't.
_Bel_. By such Delays we're lost: Hast thou forgot?
To morrow she's design'd another's Bride!
_Friend_. For that let me alone t'evade.
_Bel_. If you must yet delay me, Give me leave not to interest such Wealth without Security.
And I, _Celinda_, will instruct you how to satisfy my Fears.
[_Kneels, and takes her by the Hand_.
Bear witness to my Vows-- May every Plague that Heaven inflicts on Sin, Fall down in Thunder on my Head, If e'er I marry any but _Celinda_ Or if I do not marry thee, fair Maid.
_Nur_. Heartily sworn, as I vow.
_Cel_. And here I wish as solemnly the same: --May all arrive to me, If e'er I marry any Man but _Bellmour_!
_Nur_. We are Witnesses, as good as a thousand.
_Friend_. But now, my Friend, I'd have you take your leave; the day comes on apace, and you've not seen your Uncle since your Arrival.
_Bel_. 'Tis Death to part with thee, my fair Celinda; But our hard Fates impose this Separation: --Farewel--Remember thou'rt all mine.
_Cel_. What have I else of Joy to think upon?
--Go--go--depart.
_Bel_. I will--but 'tis as Misers part with Gold, Or People full of Health depart from Life.
_Friend_. Go, Sister, to your Bed, and dream of him.
[_Ex_. Cel. _and_ Nurse.
_Bel_. Whilst I prepare to meet this Fop to fight him.
_Friend_. Hang him, he'll ne'er meet thee; to beat a Watch, or kick a Drawer, or batter Windows, is the highest pitch of Valour he e'er arriv'd to.