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.

[Sir Timothy _walks about the Room, expecting when_
Celinda _should speak_.

_Cel_. Oh, dear Nurse, what shall I do?

_Nur_. I that ever help you at a dead Lift, will not fail you now.

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, not a Word?

_Cel_. Sure this Fellow believes I'll begin.

Sir _Tim_. Not yet--sure she has spoke her last--

_Nur_. The Gentleman's good-natur'd, and has took pity on you, and will
not trouble you, I think.

Sir _Tim_.--Hey day, here's Wooing indeed--Will she never begin, trow?
--This some would call an excellent Quality in her Sex--But a pox on't,
I do not like it--Well, I see I must break Silence at last--Madam--not
answer me--'shaw, this is mere ill breeding--by Fortune--it can be
nothing else--O' my Conscience, if I should kiss her, she would bid me
stand off--I'll try--

_Nur_. Hold, Sir, you mistake your Mark.

Sir _Tim_. So I should, if I were to look in thy mouldy Chaps, good
Matron--Can your Lady speak?

_Nur_. Try, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Which way?

_Nur_. Why, speak to her first.

Sir _Tim_. I never knew a Woman want a Cue for that; but all