ng Night,
All Day I'll purchase new and fresh Delight_.

[_Exit_.

SCENE II. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_.

_Enter_ Leticia, _pursu'd by_ Phillis.

_Phil_. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden,
For this retreat to Melancholy?

_Let_. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour;
And even thy Presence wou'd afflict me now.

_Phil_. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady _Fulbank_ has challeng'd
Sir _Feeble_ at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his
new Chariot.

_Let_. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing,
But in his Love to me--
Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.

[_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Bellmour _at a distance behind her_.

--Blest be this kind Retreat, this 'lone Occasion,
That lends a short Cessation to my Torments,
And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love,
That give me this dear Opportunity.

_Let_. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love?
That once seem'd pleas'd at _Bellmour's_ Flame and mine,
And smiling join'd our Hearts, our sacred Vows,
And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.

_Bel_. Oh--
[_She starts, and pauses_.

_Let_. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage
Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from _Bellmour_;
Your Wings were flag'd, your Torches bent to Earth,
And all your little Bonnets veil'd your Eyes;
You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. Hah, 'tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour's_:
Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade?
For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me.
--What art thou?--speak!
[_Not looking behind her yet for fear_.

_Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer,
Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee
To ease his tortur'd Soul. [_Approaching nearer_.

_Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice,
But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee.
[_Speaking with signs of fear_.

_Bel_. Is it because thou'st broken all thy Vows?
--Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.

_Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou'd blast me, I wou'd view it. [_Turns_.
--'Tis he--'tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like--
I cannot doubt but thou deserv'st this Welcome. [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. I'm sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom:
Thy Arms return not empty