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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. Dia. You'll wish indeed I were not, when you know How very, very wretched it has made me. Cel.

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. Enter Friendlove disguised, as one from a Camp. Cel. Friend.

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.

No more, Mistress, than he'll have on you, if Heaven had so abandon'd you, to put you into his Power Mercy quoth ye no , no more than his Mistress will have, when all his Money's gone. Sir Tim. Will she never end? Cel. Prithee forbear. Nur. No more than the Usurer would, to whom he has mortgag'd the best part of his Estate, would forbear a Day after the promis'd Payment of the Money. Forbear!

Love is my bus'ness, that of all the World; Only my Flame as much surmounts the rest, As is the Object's Beauty I adore. Cel. If this be all, to tell me of your Love, To morrow might have done as well. Bel. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late, Too late to make returns to all my Pain. What disagreeing thing offends your Eyes?

Methinks I feel a Joy spread o'er my Heart, The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness. Cel. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy, Mine takes new Fire and Hope. Dia. Bel. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage, Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee. Cel.

Why, who art thou Diana? Dia. Yes, that Diana, Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew'st, Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her. Bel. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee! By Heav'n, I never cou'd do one, or other; All that I am is the divine Celinda's. Friend. Bel. Cel. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee. Bel. What art thou, who know'st her Heart so well?

Why, Madam, what do you take me to be? a Sot? a Fool? or a dull Italian of the Humour of your Brother? No, no, I can assure you, she that marries me, shall have Franchise But, my pretty Miss, you must learn to talk a little more Cel. I have not Wit, and Sense enough, for that. Sir Tim. Wit!

Chipperton, "she'll get herself into some sort of a predicament before she comes back." I found that in such a case as this Mrs. Chipperton was generally right. FOOTNOTES: [B] "Voyez-vous cet homme et ces deux femmes cel

Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her, And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die. Cel. Bel. Gods! Happy! whilst I am wretched. Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs, Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame! Were I not here to die here at her Feet, I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches.