_Bel_. No, no, there’s no need of that--Good-morrow, my best Friend. _Friend_. But e’er you go, my dearest Friend and Brother, Now you are sure of all the Joys you wish From Heaven, do not forgetful grow of that great Trust I gave you of all mine; but, like a Friend, Assist me in my great Concern of Love With fair Diana, your lovely Cousin. You know how long I have ador’d that Maid; But still her haughty Pride repell’d my Flame, And all its fierce Efforts. _Bel_. She has a Spirit equal to her Beauty, As mighty and tyrannick; yet she has Goodness, And I believe enough inclin’d to Love, When once her Pride’s o’ercome. I have the Honour To be the Confident of all her Thoughts: And to augment thy Hopes, ‘tis not long since She did with Sighs confess to me, she lov’d A Man, she said, scarce equal to her Fortune: But all my Interest could not learn the Object; But it must needs be you, by what she said. This I’ll improve, and so to your Advantage-- _Friend_. I neither doubt thy Industry, nor Love; Go, and be careful of my Interest there, Whilst I preserve thine as intirely here. [_Ex. severally_. SCENE III. _Sir_ Timothy’s _House_. _Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, Sharp, _and_ Boy. _Sharp_. Good morrow, Sir _Timothy_; what, not yet ready, and to meet Mr. _Bellmour_ at Five? the time’s past. Sir _Tim_.--Ay, Pox on’t--I han’t slept to Night for thinking on’t. _Sham_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, I have most excellent News for you, that will do as well; I have found out-- Sir _Tim_. A new Wench, I warrant--But prithee, _Sham_, I have other matters in hand; ‘Sheart, I am so mortify’d with this same thought of Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again. _Sharp_. And you were so forward, Sir Timothy-- Sir _Tim_. Ay, _Sharp_, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but A little more provok’d then, that we might have gone to’t when the heat was brisk, I had done well--but a Pox on’t, this fighting in cool Blood I hate. _Sham_. ‘Shaw, Sir, ‘tis nothing, a Man wou’d do’t for Exercise in a Morning. Sir _Tim_. Ay, if there were no more in’t than Exercise; if a Man cou’d take a Breathing without breathing a Vein--but, _Sham_, this Wounds, and Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say’st ‘tis nothing, prithee do thou meet _Bellmour_ in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and ’.is no matter if the World were well rid of thee. _Sham_. I wou’d do’t with all my Soul--but your Honour, Sir-- Sir _Tim_.--My Honour! ‘tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight Duels--I warrant you the wise _Italian_ thinks himself a Man of Honour; and yet when did you hear of an _Italian_, that ever fought a Duel? Is’t not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my Face, hear my self call’d, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the rest?--But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he can--And this is your damn’d Honourable _English_ way of shewing a Man’s Courage.