_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_.

_Bel_. I ask not thine, but mine lies only this way.
[_Offers to go in again_.

_Friend_. By Heav'n, you shall not enter here.

_Bel_. I know thou lov'st her.
And 'tis with Reason thou deny'st an Entrance
To one so much unworthy to approach her.

_Friend_. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too;
And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

_Friend_. Sh'has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee;
And every Wound my lucky Sword shou'd make,
She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

_Bel_. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man,
That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another,
And has took back the Vows she made to thee,
And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em.

_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav'n, she's false!
And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd. [_