Sir _Tim_. I’ll be hang’d first, by Fortune; for then ‘twill be plain ’.was I, because I challeng’d _Bellmour_ last Night, and broke my Assignation this Morning. [_Aside_. _Char_. Shew thy Face without delay, or-- Sir _Tim_. My Face, Sir! I protest, by Fortune, ‘tis not worth seeing. _Char_. Then, Sirrah, you are worth a kicking--take that--and that-- [_Kicks him_. Sir _Tim_. How, Sir? how? _Char_. So, Sir, so. [_Kicks him again_. Sir _Tim_. Have a care, Sir--by Fortune, I shall fight with a little more. _Char_. Take that to raise you. [_Strikes him_. Sir _Tim_. Nay, then I am angry, and I dare fight. [_They fight out_. _Lord_. Go, Ladies, see the Bride to her Chamber. [_Ex. Women_. _Bel_. The Knight, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_; --The Rascal mist me at the appointed place, And comes to attack me here-- [_Turns to_ Cel. --Brave Youth, I know not how I came to merit this Relief from thee: Sure thou art a Stranger to me, thou’rt so kind. _Cel_. Sir, I believe those happy ones that know you Had been far kinder, but I’m indeed a Stranger. _Bel_. Mayst thou be ever so to one so wretched; I will not ask thy Name, lest knowing it, (I’m such a Monster) I should ruin thee. _Cel_. Oh, how he melts my Soul! I cannot stay, Lest Grief, my Sex, my Bus’ness shou’d betray. [_Aside_. --Farewel, Sir-- May you be happy in the Maid you love. [_Exit_ Cel. _Bel_. O, dost thou mock my Griefs? by Heaven, he did. --Stay, Sir, he’s gone. _Enter_ Charles Bellmour. _Char_. The Rogue took Courage, when he saw there was no Remedy; but there’s no hurt done on either side. _Lord_. ‘Tis fit such as he shou’d be chastis’d, that do abuse Hospitality. Come, come, to Bed; the Lady, Sir, expects you. _Bel_. Gentlemen, good Night. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II_. A Bed Chamber_. _Enter_ Diana. _Dia_. I long to know the Cause of _Bellmour’s_ Disorder to Night, and here he comes. _Enter_ Bellmour, Lord, Charles, _and the rest_. _Char_. Shan’t we see you laid, Brother? _Bel_. Yes, in my Grave, dear _Charles_; But I’ll excuse that Ceremony here. _Char_. Good Night, and no Rest to you, Brother. [_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana. _Dia_. Till now, my _Bellmour_, I wanted Opportunity To ask the Cause, why on a joyful Day, When Heav’n has join’d us by a sacred Tie, Thou droop’st like early Flowers with Winter-storms. _Bel_. Thou art that Winter-storm that nips my Bud; All my young springing Hopes, my gay Desires, The prospect of approaching Joys of Love, Thou in a hapless Minute hast took from me, And in its room, Hast given me an eternal Desperation. _Dia_. Have you then given me Vows ye can repent of?