_She wou’d have spoke, but Shame deny’d, And bad her first consult her Pride; But soon she found that Aid was gone, For Love, alas, had left her none. Oh, how she burns, but ‘tis too late, For in his Eyes she reads her Fate_. _Cel_. Oh, how numerous are her Charms --How shall I pay this generous Condescension? Fair lovely Maid-- _Dia_. Why do you flatter, Sir? _Cel_. To say you’re lovely, by your self I do not, I’m young, and have not much convers’d with Beauty: Yet I’ll esteem my Judgment, since it knows Where my Devotions shou’d be justly paid. --But, Madam, may I not yet expect To hear the Story, you so lately promis’d me? _Dia_. I owe much to your Goodness, Sir--but-- _Cel_. I am too young, you think, to hear a Secret; Can I want Sense to pity your Misfortunes, Or Passion to incite me to revenge ‘em? _Dia_. Oh, would he were in earnest! _Cel_. She’s fond of me, and I must blow that flame, Do any thing to make her hate my _Bellmour_. [_Aside_. --But, Madam, I’m impatient for your Story, That after that, you may expect my Service. _Dia_. The Treatment you this night have given a distressed Maid, enough obliges me; nor need I tell you, I’m nobly born; something about my Dress, my Looks and Mien, will doubtless do me reason. _Cel_. Sufficiently-- _Dia_. But in the Family where I was educated, a Youth of my own Age, a Kinsman too, I chanc’d to fall in love with, but with a Passion my Pride still got the better of; and he, I thought, repaid my young Desires. But Bashfulness on his part, did what Pride had done on mine, And kept his too conceal’d--At last my Uncle, who had the absolute Dominion of us both, thought good to marry us together. _Cel_. Punish him, Heaven, for a Sin so great. --And are you married then? _Dia_. Why is there Terror in that Word? _Cel_. By all that’s Sacred, ‘tis a Word that kills me. Oh, say thou art not; And I thus low will fall, and pay thee Thanks. [_Kneels_. _Dia_. You’ll wish indeed I were not, when you know How very, very wretched it has made me. _Cel_. Shou’d you be telling me a Tale all day, Such as would melt a Heart that ne’er could love, ’.would not increase my Reason for the wish That I had dy’d e’er known you had been married. _Dia_. So many soft Words from my _Bellmour’s_ mouth Had made me mad with Joy, and next to that I wish to hear ‘em from this Youth; If they be real, how I shall be reveng’d! [_Aside_. --But why at my being married should you sigh? _Cel_. Because I love, is that a Wonder, Madam? Have you not Charms sufficient at first sight To wound a Heart tender and young as mine? Are you not heavenly fair? Oh, there’s my Grief-- Since you must be another’s. _Dia_. Pray hear me out; and if you love me after, Perhaps you may not think your self unhappy. When Night was come, the long’d for Night, and all Retir’d to give us silent Room for Joy--