_Cel_. Madam, you must not go with this Mistake. [_Holds her_. _Friend_. _Celinda_ has inform’d me true--’tis she-- Good morrow, Brother, what, so early at your Devotions? _Cel_. O, my Brother’s come, and luckily relieves me. [_Aside_. _Friend_. Your Orizons are made to a fair Saint. --Pray, Sir, what Lady’s that? --Or is it blasphemy to repeat her Name? --By my bright Arms, she’s fair--With what a charming Fierceness, she charges through my Body to my Heart. --Death! how her glittering Eyes give Fire, and wound! And have already pierc’d my very Soul! --May I approach her, Brother? _Cel_. Yes, if you dare, there’s danger in it though, She has Charms that will bewitch you: --I dare not stand their Mischief. [_Exit_. _Friend_. Lady, I am a Soldier--yet in my gentlest Terms I humbly beg to kiss your lovely Hands-- Death! there’s Magick in the Touch. By Heaven, you carry an Artillery in every part. _Dia_. This is a Man indeed fit for my purpose. [_Aside_. _Friend_. Nay, do not view me, I am no lovely Object; I am a Man bred up to Noise and War, And know not how to dress my Looks in Smiles; Yet trust me, fair one, I can love and serve As well as an _Endymion_, or _Adonis_. Wou’d you were willing to permit that Service! _Dia_. Why, Sir?--What cou’d you do? _Friend_. Why--I cou’d die for you. _Dia_. I need the Service of the living, Sir. But do you love me, Sir? _Friend_. Or let me perish, flying from a single Enemy. I am a Gentleman, and may pretend to love you; And what you can command, I can perform. _Dia_. Take heed, Sir, what you say, for I’m in earnest. _Friend_. Command me any thing that’s just and brave; And, by my Eyes, ‘tis done. _Dia_. I know not what you call just or brave; But those whom I do the Honour to command, Must not capitulate. _Friend_. Let him be blasted with the Name of Coward, That dares dispute your Orders. _Dia_. Dare you fight for me? _Friend_. With a whole Army; ‘tis my Trade to fight. _Dia_. Nay, ‘tis but a single Man. _Friend_. Name him. _Dia_. _Bellmour_. _Friend_. Of _Yorkshire_? Companion to young _Friendlove_, that came lately from _Italy_? _Dia_. Yes, do you know him? _Friend_. I do, who has oft spoke of _Bellmour_; We travel’d into _Italy_ together--But since, I hear, He fell in love with a fair cruel Maid, For whom he languishes. _Dia_. Heard you her Name? _Friend_. _Diana_, rich in Beauty, as in Fortune. --Wou’d she had less of both, and more of Pity; And that I knew not how to wish, till now That I became a Lover, perhaps as unsuccessful. [_Aside_. _Dia_. I knew my Beauty had a thousand Darts, But knew not they cou’d strike so quick and home. [_Aside_. Let your good Wishes for your Friend alone, Lest he being happy, you shou’d be undone. For he and you cannot be blest at once. _Friend_. How, Madam! _Dia_. I am that Maid he loves, and who hates him. _Friend_. Hate him! _Dia_. To Death.