Belv. You know I ought to claim a Victor’s Right, [To Pedro. But you’re the Brother to divine _Florinda_, To whom I’m such a Slave—to purchase her, I durst not hurt the Man she holds so dear. Pedro. ’Twas by _Antonio’s_, not by _Belvile’s_ Sword, This Question should have been decided, Sir: I must confess much to your Bravery’s due, Both now, and when I met you last in Arms. But I am nicely punctual in my word, As Men of Honour ought, and beg your Pardon. —For this Mistake another Time shall clear. —This was some Plot between you and Belvile: But I’ll prevent you. [Aside to _Flor._ as they are going out. [_Belv._ looks after her, and begins to walk up and down in a Rage. Will. Do not be modest now, and lose the Woman: but if we shall fetch her back, so— Belv. Do not speak to me. Will. Not speak to you!—Egad, I’ll speak to you, and will be answered too. 69 Belv. Will you, Sir? Will. I know I’ve done some mischief, but I’m so dull a Puppy, that I am the Son of a Whore, if I know how, or where—prithee inform my Understanding.— Belv. Leave me I say, and leave me instantly. Will. I will not leave you in this humour, nor till I know my Crime. Belv. Death, I’ll tell you, Sir— [Draws and runs at _Will._ he runs out; _Belv._ after him, _Fred._ interposes. Enter _Angelica_, _Moretta_, and _Sebastian_. Ang. Ha—_Sebastian_—Is not that _Willmore?_ haste, haste, and bring him back. Fred. The Colonel’s mad—I never saw him thus before; I’ll after ’em, lest he do some mischief, for I am sure _Willmore_ will not draw on him. [Exit. Ang. I am all Rage! my first desires defeated For one, for ought he knows, that has no Other Merit than her Quality,— Her being Don _Pedro’s_ Sister—He loves her: I know ’tis so—dull, dull, insensible— He will not see me now tho oft invited; And broke his Word last night—false perjur’d Man! —He that but yesterday fought for my Favours, And would have made his Life a Sacrifice To’ve gain’d one Night with me, Must now be hired and courted to my Arms. Moret. I told you what wou’d come on’t, but _Moretta’s_ an old doating Fool—Why did you give him five hundred Crowns, but to set himself out for other Lovers? You shou’d have kept him poor, if you had meant to have had any good from him. Ang. Oh, name not such mean Trifles.—Had I given him all My Youth has earn’d from Sin, 70 I had not lost a Thought nor Sigh upon’t. But I have given him my eternal Rest, My whole Repose, my future Joys, my Heart; My Virgin Heart. _Moretta!_ oh ’tis gone! Moret. Curse on him, here he comes; How fine she has made him too! Enter _Willmore_ and _Sebast._ _Ang._ turns and walks away. Will. How now, turn’d Shadow? Fly when I pursue, and follow when I fly! Stay gentle Shadow of my Dove, [Sings. And tell me e’er I go, Whether the Substance may not prove A fleeting Thing like you. There’s a soft kind Look remaining yet. [As she turns she looks on him.