_Cel_. But since my Brother came from _Italy_, And brought young _Bellmour_ to our House, How very little thou hadst said of him! How much above thy Praise, I found the Youth! _Nur_. Very pretty! You are grown a notable Proficient in Love--And you are resolv’d (if he please) to marry him? _Cel_. Or I must die. _Nur_. Ay, but you know the Lord _Plotwell_ has the Possession of all his Estate, and if he marry without his liking, has Power to take away all his Fortune, and then I think it were not so good marrying him. _Cel_. Not marrying him! Oh, canst thou think so poorly of me? Yes, I would marry him, though our scanty Fortune Cou’d only purchase us A lonely Cottage, in some silent Place, All cover’d o’er with Thatch, Defended from the Outrages of Storms By leafless Trees, in Winter; and from Heat, With Shades, which their kind Boughs wou’d bear anew; Under whose Covert we’d feed our gentle Flock, That shou’d in gratitude repay us Food, And mean and humble Clothing. _Nur_. Very fine! _Cel_. There we wou’d practise such degrees of Love, Such lasting, innocent, unheard of Joys, As all the busy World should wonder at, And, amidst all their Glories, find none such. _Nur_. Good lack! how prettily Love teaches his Scholars to prattle.-- But hear ye, fair Mrs. _Celinda_, you have forgot to what end and purpose you came to Town; not to marry Mr. _Bellmour_, as I take it--but Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, that Spark of Men. _Cel_. Oh, name him not--Let me not in one Moment Descend from Heaven to Hell-- How came that wretched thing into thy Noddle? _Nur_. Faith, Mistress, I took pity of thee, I saw you so elevated with Thoughts of Mr. _Bellmour_, I found it necessary to take you down a degree lower. _Cel_. Why did not Heaven make all Men like lo _Bellmour_? So strangely sweet and charming! _Nur_. Marry come up, you speak well for your self; Oh intolerable loving Creature! But here comes the utmost of your Wishes. _Cel_. My Brother, and _Bellmour_! with strange Men! _Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp. _Friend_. Sister, I’ve brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy Person you have heard of, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_. Sir _Tim_. Yes, faith, Madam, I am Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, at your Service--Pray are not you Mrs. _Celinda Dresswell_? _Cel_. The same, but cannot return your Compliment. Sir _Tim_. Oh Lord, oh Lord, not return a Compliment. Faith, _Ned_, thy Sister’s quite spoil’d, for want of Town-Education; ‘tis pity, for she’s devilish pretty. _Friend_. She’s modest, Sir, before Company; therefore these Gentlemen and I will withdraw into the next Room. _Cel_. Inhuman Brother! Will you leave me alone with this Sot? _Friend_. Yes, and if you would be rid of the trouble of him, be not coy, nor witty; two things he hates. _Bel_. ‘Sdeath! Must she be blown upon by that Fool? _Friend_. Patience, dear _Frank_, a little while. [_Exeunt_ Friend. Bell. Sham _and_ Sharp.