_Cel_. Oh, I can hear no more--by Heav’n, I cannot. --Here--stab me to the Heart--let out my Life, I cannot live, and hear what follow’d next. _Dia_. Pray hear me, Sir-- _Cel_. Oh, you will tell me he was kind-- Yes, yes--oh God--were not his balmy Kisses Sweeter than Incense offer’d up to Heaven? Did not his Arms, softer and whiter far Than those of _Jove’s_ transform’d to Wings of Swans, Greedily clasp thee round?--Oh, quickly speak, Whilst thy fair rising Bosom met with his; And then--Oh--then-- _Dia_. Alas, Sir! What’s the matter?--sit down a while. _Cel_. Now--I am well--pardon me, lovely Creature, If I betray a Passion, I’m too young To’ve learnt the Art of hiding; --I cannot hear you say that he was kind. _Dia_. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow’rs, or early Fruit; All gay I met him full of youthful Heat: But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame, And all his Reason was--he lov’d another, A Maid he call’d _Celinda_. _Cel_. Oh blessed Man! _Dia_. How, Sir? _Cel_. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin. _Dia_. Yes, I have vow’d he never shall possess me. _Cel_. Oh, how you bless me--but you still are married, And whilst you are so--I must languish-- _Dia_. Oh, how his Softness moves me! [_Aside_. --But can all this Disorder spring from Love? _Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched. _Dia_. And can you think there are no ways For me to gratify that Love? What ways am I constrain’d to use to work out my Revenge! [_Aside_. _Cel_. How mean you, Madam? _Dia_. Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes-- And Beauty--which you say can kindle Fires; --She that can give, may too retain Desires. _Cel_. She’ll ravish me--let me not understand you. _Dia_. Look on my Wrongs-- Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity, That a religious Vow had made to Heaven: --And next survey thy own Perfections. _Cel_. Hah-- _Dia_. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me? Fair bashful Boy, hast thou the Power to move, And yet not know the Bus’ness of thy Love? _Cel_. How in an instant thou hast chill’d my Blood, And made me know no Woman can be good? ’.is Sin enough to yield--but thus to sue Heav’n--’tis my Business--and not meant for you. _Dia_. How little Love is understood by thee, ’.is Custom, and not Passion you pursue; Because Enjoyment first was nam’d by me, It does destroy what shou’d your Flame renew: My easy yielding does your Fire abate, And mine as much your tedious Courtship hate. Tell Heaven--you will hereafter sacrifice, --And see how that will please the Deities. The ready Victim is the noblest way, Your Zeal and Obligations too to pay. _Cel_. I think the Gods wou’d hardly be ador’d, If they their Blessings shou’d, unask’d, afford; And I that Beauty can no more admire, Who ere I sue, can yield to my Desire. _Dia_. Dull Youth, farewel: For since ‘tis my Revenge that I pursue Less Beauty and more Man as well may do. [_Offers to go_. _Enter_ Friendlove _disguised, as one from a Camp_.