us the very Day after his Marriage.

_Trusty_. I shall be glad to see you all dispos'd of well; but I was
half afraid, your Brother would have married Mrs. _Celinda Friendlove_,
to whom he made notable Love in _Yorkshire_ I thought: not but she's a
fine Lady; but her Fortune is below that of my young Master's, as much
as my Lady _Diana's_ is above his--But see, they come; let us retire,
to give 'em leave to talk alone.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ _Lord_ Plotwell, _and_ Bellmour.

_Lord_. And well, _Frank_, how dost thou find thy self inclin'd? thou
should'st begin to think of something more than Books. Do'st thou not
wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, _Frank_? I well
remember at thy Age I fancy'd a thousand fine things of that kind.

_Bel_. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found.

_Lord_. Not so; but I confess, _Frank_, unless the Lady be fair, and
there be some Love too, 'tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who
am still busy for thy good, have fix'd upon a Lady--

_Bel_. Ha!--

_Lord_. What, dost start? Nay, I'll warrant thee she'll please; A Lady
rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, _Frank_.

_Bel_. Marry her, my Lord--

_Lord_. Why, yes, marry her--I hope you are none of the fashionable
Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think
themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife--
But, _Frank_, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the
Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great
Fortune, _Frank_.

_Bel_. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, we are made for one another; and ought, by the
Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings.

_Bel_. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those
Laws; nor do I think them made for every one.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, you do not know what a Wife I have provided
for you.

_Bel_. 'Tis enough I know she's a Woman, Sir.

_Lord_. A Woman! why, what should she be else?

_Bel_. An Angel, Sir, e'er she can be my Wife.

_Lord_. In good time: but this is a Mortal, Sir--and must serve your
turn--but, _Frank_, she is the finest Mortal--

_Bel_. I humbly beg your Pardon, if I tell you,
That had she Beauty such as Heav'n ne'er made,
Nor meant again t'inrich a Woman with,
It cou'd not take my Heart.

_Lord_. But, Sir, perhaps you do not guess the Lady.