_Lord_. Not so; but I confess, _Frank_, unless the Lady be fair, and there be some Love too, ‘tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who am still busy for thy good, have fix’d upon a Lady-- _Bel_. Ha!-- _Lord_. What, dost start? Nay, I’ll warrant thee she’ll please; A Lady rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, _Frank_. _Bel_. Marry her, my Lord-- _Lord_. Why, yes, marry her--I hope you are none of the fashionable Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife-- But, _Frank_, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great Fortune, _Frank_. _Bel_. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave. _Lord_. But, _Frank_, we are made for one another; and ought, by the Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings. _Bel_. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those Laws; nor do I think them made for every one. _Lord_. But, _Frank_, you do not know what a Wife I have provided for you. _Bel_. ‘Tis enough I know she’s a Woman, Sir. _Lord_. A Woman! why, what should she be else? _Bel_. An Angel, Sir, e’er she can be my Wife. _Lord_. In good time: but this is a Mortal, Sir--and must serve your turn--but, _Frank_, she is the finest Mortal-- _Bel_. I humbly beg your Pardon, if I tell you, That had she Beauty such as Heav’n ne’er made, Nor meant again t’inrich a Woman with, It cou’d not take my Heart. _Lord_. But, Sir, perhaps you do not guess the Lady. _Bel_. Or cou’d I, Sir, it cou’d not change my Nature. _Lord_. But, Sir, suppose it be my Niece _Diana_. _Bel_. How, Sir, the fair _Diana_! _Lord_. I thought thou’dst come about again; What think you now of Woman-kind, and Wedlock? _Bel_. As I did before, my Lord. _Lord_. What, thou canst not think I am in earnest; I confess, _Frank_, she is above thee in point of Fortune, she being my only Heir--but suppose ‘tis she. _Bel_. Oh, I’m undone!--Sir, I dare not suppose so greatly in favour of my self. _Lord_. But, _Frank_, you must needs suppose-- _Bel_. Oh, I am ruin’d, lost, for ever lost. _Lord_. What do you mean, Sir? _Bel_. I mean, I cannot marry fair _Diana_. _Lord_. Death! how’s this? _Bel_. She is a thing above my humble wishes-- _Lord_. Is that all? Take you no care for that; for she loves you already, and I have resolv’d it, which is better yet. _Bel_. Love me, Sir! I know she cannot, And Heav’n forbid that I should injure her. _Lord_. Sir, this is a Put-off: resolve quickly, or I’ll compel you. _Bel_. You wou’d not use Extremity; What is the Forfeit of my Disobedience? _Lord_. The loss of all your Fortune, If you refuse the Wife I have provided-- Especially a handsom Lady, as she is, _Frank_. _Bel_. Oh me, unhappy! What cursed Laws provided this Severity?