_Bel_. I can endure no more--How, Sir--You marry fair _Celinda!_ Sir _Tim_. Ay, _Frank_, ay--is she not a pretty little plump white Rogue, hah? _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_.