_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her. Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou’d not enter into my Coxcomb before! haste then and get one--I’ll have it done immediately, whilst I go after her to keep up my flame. [_Ex. Sir_ Tim. _Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently. [_Ex_. SCENE III. _A Street_. _Enter_ Friendlove _disguis’d as before_. _Friend_. I find _Diana_ knows me not; and this Year’s absence, since I first made my Addresses to her, has alter’d me much, or she has lost the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem’d till in this lucky Dress: the price of her Favour is _Bellmour’s_ Life. I need not have been brib’d for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self, enough incites me to Revenge--He has not yet enjoy’d her, that Blessing is reserv’d for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn’d ‘em, that Marriage may be disannull’d, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse her other Faults. _Enter_ Bellmour _sad_. --Hah! the Man I seek--so near my Lodgings too--Sir! _Bel_. Sir! _Friend_. Traitor! thou know’st me, and my bus’ness.-- Look on this Face, if thou dar’st look on him Whom thou hast doubly wrong’d--and draw thy Sword. _Bel_. Thou should’st be _Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_. _Friend_. And Lover of _Diana_ too--Oh, quickly draw, Or I shall leave thee, like a Coward, dead. _Bel_. No, rather like a Sacrifice, [_Offers to embrace him_. And thou should’st be the Priest should offer it; But that I have yet, For some few moments, business for my Life. _Friend_. I can allow no time for business now, My Injuries are in haste, and so am I. _Bel_. Shou’dst thou stab here a thousand gaping Wounds, Upon this false, this perjur’d Heart of mine, It wou’d not part with Life, unless ‘twere laid Near to the Sacred Altar of my Vows, Low at the Feet of my fair injur’d Wife. _Friend_. Ha!--means he his Wife? [_Aside_. Canst thou repent thy Injuries to her, And leave the rest of all thy Sins neglected? _Bel_. Those I have done to thee, though foul and barbarous, May plead the Excuse of Force--but those to her, Not thou, nor I, nor she, or Heav’n can pardon. _Friend_. Heav’ns! My Sister’s Wrongs, and mine, may plead Excuse, But those to her alone can ne’er be pardon’d. --This place, Sir, is too open--come with me, For I’ve desir’d, and now resolve to kill thee. _Bel_. And so thou shalt; defenceless, I will yield, And leave my Bosom open to thy Sword. --But first conduct me to my Wife; For I will see her--nor can I die unpardon’d. _Friend_. See his Wife!--Of whom do you demand her. _Bel_. Of thee!--dar’st thou detain me? [_Offers to go in_. _Friend_. Death! how shou’d he know she’s here? [_Aside_. --Stay, Sir, this way our Business lies. [_Pulls him back_.