Belv. By her I love! See—I obey—and at your Feet resign The useless Trophy of my Victory. [Lays his sword at her Feet. Pedro. _Antonio_, you’ve done enough to prove you love _Florinda._ Belv. Love _Florinda!_ Does Heaven love Adoration, Pray’r, or Penitence? Love her! here Sir,—your Sword again. [Snatches up the Sword, and gives it him. Upon this Truth I’ll fight my Life away. Pedro. No, you’ve redeem’d my Sister, and my Friendship. Belv. Don _Pedro!_ [He gives him _Flor._ and pulls off his Vizard to shew his Face, and puts it on again. Pedro. Can you resign your Claims to other Women, And give your Heart intirely to _Florinda?_ Belv. Intire, as dying Saints Confessions are. I can delay my happiness no longer. This minute let me make _Florinda_ mine: Pedro. This minute let it be—no time so proper, 67 This Night my Father will arrive from _Rome_, And possibly may hinder what we propose. Flor. Oh Heavens! this Minute! [Enter Masqueraders, and pass over. Belv. Oh, do not ruin me! Pedro. The place begins to fill; and that we may not be observ’d, do you walk off to St. _Peter’s_ Church, where I will meet you, and conclude your Happiness. Belv. I’ll meet you there—if there be no more Saints Churches in _Naples_. [Aside. Flor. Oh stay, Sir, and recall your hasty Doom: Alas I have not yet prepar’d my Heart To entertain so strange a Guest. Pedro. Away, this silly Modesty is assum’d too late. Belv. Heaven, Madam! what do you do? Flor. Do! despise the Man that lays a Tyrant’s Claim To what he ought to conquer by Submission. Belv. You do not know me—move a little this way. [Draws her aside. Flor. Yes, you may even force me to the Altar, But not the holy Man that offers there Shall force me to be thine. [_Pedro_ talks to _Callis_ this while. Belv. Oh do not lose so blest an opportunity! See—’tis your _Belvile_—not _Antonio_, Whom your mistaken Scorn and Anger ruins. [Pulls off his Vizard. Flor. _Belvile!_ Where was my Soul it cou’d not meet thy Voice, And take this knowledge in? [As they are talking, enter _Willmore_ finely drest, and _Frederick_. Will. No Intelligence! no News of _Belvile_ yet—well I am the most unlucky Rascal in Nature—ha!—am I deceiv’d—or is it he—look, _Fred_.—’tis he—my dear _Belvile_. 68 [Runs and embraces him. _Belv._ Vizard falls out on’s Hand. Belv. Hell and Confusion seize thee! Pedro. Ha! _Belvile!_ I beg your Pardon, Sir. [Takes _Flor._ from him. Belv. Nay, touch her not, she’s mine by Conquest, Sir. I won her by my Sword. Will. Did’st thou so—and egad, Child, we’ll keep her by the Sword. [Draws on _Pedro_, _Belv._ goes between. Belv. Stand off. Thou’rt so profanely leud, so curst by Heaven, All Quarrels thou espousest must be fatal. Will. Nay, an you be so hot, my Valour’s coy, And shall be courted when you want it next. [Puts up his Sword.