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. --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; ’.is 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?