_Lord_. Even those of your Father’s Disposal, who seeing so many Examples in this leud Age, of the ruin of whole Families by imprudent Marriages, provided otherwise for you. _Bel_. But, Sir, admit _Diana_ be inclin’d, And I (by my unhappy Stars so curs’d) Should be unable to accept the Honour. _Lord_. How, Sir! admit!--I can no more admit, Than you can suppose--therefore give me your final Answer. _Bel_. Sir, can you think a Blessing e’er can fall Upon that Pair, whom Interest joins, not Love? _Lord_. Why, what’s in _Diana_, that you shou’d not love her? _Bel_. I must confess she has a thousand Virtues, The least of which wou’d bless another Man; But, Sir, I hope, if I am so unhappy As not to love that Lady, you will pardon me. _Lord_. Indeed, Sir, but I will not; love me this Lady, and marry me this Lady, or I will teach you what it is to refuse such a Lady. _Bel_. Sir, ‘tis not in my power to obey you. _Lord_. How! not in your pow’r? _Bel_. No, Sir, I see my fatal Ruin in your Eyes, And know too well your Force, and my own Misery. --But, Sir--when I shall tell you who I’ve married-- _Lord_. Who you’ve married;--By all that’s sacred, if that be true, thou art undone for ever. _Bel_. O hear me, Sir! I came with Hopes to have found you merciful. _Lord_. Expect none from me; no, thou shalt not have So much of thy Estate, as will afford thee Bread: By Heav’n, thou shalt not. _Bel_. Oh, pity me, my Lord, pity my Youth; It is no Beggar, nor one basely born, That I have given my Heart to, but a Maid, Whose Birth, whose Beauty, and whose Education Merits the best of Men. _Lord_. Very fine! where is the Priest that durst dispose of you without my Order? Sirrah, you are my Slave--at least your whole Estate is at my mercy--and besides, I’ll charge you with an Action of 5000 pounds. For your ten Years Maintenance: Do you know that this in my power too? _Bel_. Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death. _Lord_. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation! _Bel_. Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall To beg your mercy. _Lord_. Yes, Sir, I will have mercy; I’ll give you Lodging--but in a Dungeon, Sir, Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by. _Bel_. All this, I know, you have the Pow’r to do; But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage Would give me Cause to execute it. I wear a Sword, and I dare right my self; And Heaven wou’d pardon it, if I should kill you: But Heav’n forbid I shou’d correct that Law, Which gives you Power, and orders me Obedience. _Lord_. Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that Harlot, whoe’er she be, that has seduc’d ye. _Bel_. How, Harlot, Sir!--Death, such another Word, And through all Laws and Reason I will rush, And reach thy Soul, if mortal like thy Body. --No, Sir, she’s chaste, as are the new-made Vows I breath’d upon her Lips, when last we parted. _Lord_. Who waits there? Enter Trusty and Servants.