.
And are my Expectations fall'n to this?
Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee,
And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!

_Char_. My Lord, I hope, 'tis not his natural Temper;
For e'er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness,
He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate.
He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin,
And dying at the Feet of a wrong'd Maid;
I know not what he meant.

_Lord_. Ay, there's his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn
him in; but I'll revenge my self on both.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord _reads_.

My LORD,

_As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I
humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you
can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye
between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you
knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my
dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin'd in
Your_ Diana.

[_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.

_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it--
some Joy yet that thou art well.

_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.

_Lord_. Yes, for she lov'd him passionately; when I first told her of
my Designs to marry 'em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was
one Motive, I urg'd it to him with such Violence.

_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.

_Lord_. However 'tis, I now think fit to unmarry 'em;
And as for him, I'll use him with what Rigor
The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.

_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--

_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the
Villain! that has abus'd the best of all my Hopes!--No,
I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.

_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me;
you are his Brother, and that's an Offence to me.

_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I'll have it so; and let me tell you,
you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at
my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your
Brother has refus'd you your Portions, and I'll have as little Mercy
As he, and so farewel to you--But where's the Messenger that brought
the Letter?

_Page_. Without, my Lord.