Sir _Tim_. Oh, are you so? then it seems I was not to be believ’d--I told you I had Courage when I was angry. _Sham_. Ay, Sir, we have prov’d it, and will now swear it.--But we had an Inclination to try, Sir. Sir _Tim_. And all you did, was but to try my Courage, hah! _Sharp_. On our Honours, nothing else, Sir _Timothy_. Sir _Tim_. Though I know ye to be cursed cowardly lying Rogues, yet because I have use of ye, I must forgive ye.--Here, kiss my Hand, and be forgiven. _Sham_. ‘Tis an Honour we are proud of, Sir. Sir _Tim_. Oh, is it so, Rascallians? then I hope I am to see the Lady without Indentures. _Sharp_. Oh Lord, Sir, any thing we can serve you in. _Sham_. And I have brib’d her Maid to bring her this Morning into the _Mall_. Sir _Tim_. Well, let’s about it then; for I am for no fighting to day--D’ye hear, Boy--Let the Coach be got ready whilst I get my self drest. _Boy_. The Coach, Sir! Why, you know Mr. _Shatter_ has pawn’d the Horses. Sir _Tim_. I had forgot it--A pox on’t, this ‘tis to have a Partner in A Coach; by Fortune, I must marry and set up a whole one. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Lord Plotwell’s House. Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty. _Trusty_. Mr. _Charles_, your Brother, my young Master _Bellmour_, is come. _Char_. I’m glad on’t; my Uncle began to be impatient that he came not, you saying you left him but a day’s Journey behind you yesterday. My Uncle has something of importance to say to him, I fancy it may be about A Marriage between him and my Lady _Diana_--such a Whisper I heard-- _Trusty_. Ay, marry, Sir, that were a Match indeed, she being your Uncle’s only Heir. _Char_. Ay, but they are Sisters Children, and too near a-kin to be happy. _Trusty_. ‘Twere pity my young Master shou’d be unhappy in a Wife; for he is the sweetest-natur’d Gentleman--But one Comfort is, Mr. _Charles_, you, and your Sister Mrs. _Phillis_, will have your Portions assign’d you if he marry. _Char_. Yes, that he can’t deny us the very Day after his Marriage. _Trusty_. I shall be glad to see you all dispos’d of well; but I was half afraid, your Brother would have married Mrs. _Celinda Friendlove_, to whom he made notable Love in _Yorkshire_ I thought: not but she’s a fine Lady; but her Fortune is below that of my young Master’s, as much as my Lady _Diana’s_ is above his--But see, they come; let us retire, to give ‘em leave to talk alone. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ _Lord_ Plotwell, _and_ Bellmour. _Lord_. And well, _Frank_, how dost thou find thy self inclin’d? thou should’st begin to think of something more than Books. Do’st thou not wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, _Frank_? I well remember at thy Age I fancy’d a thousand fine things of that kind. _Bel_. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found.