Lord_. Come, come, Ladies, in troth you must take but little Rest to
Night, in complaisance to the Bride and Bridegroom, who, I believe, will
take but little--_Frank_--why, _Frank_--what, hast thou chang'd thy
Humour with thy Condition? Thou wert not wont to hear the Musick play
in vain.

_Bel_. My Lord, I cannot dance.

_Dia_. Indeed, you're wondrous sad,
And I, methinks, do bear thee Company,
I know not why; and yet excess of Joy
Have had the same Effects with equal Grief.

_Bel_. 'Tis true, and I have now felt the Extremes of both.

_Lord_. Why, Nephew _Charles_--has your Breeding at the Academy
instructed your Heels in no Motion?

_Char_. My Lord, I'll make one.

_Phil_. And I another, for Joy that my Brother's made happy in so fair
a Bride.

_Bel_. Hell take your Ignorance, for thinking I am happy,--
Wou'd Heaven wou'd strike me dead,
That by the loss of a poor wretched Life
I might preserve my Soul--But Oh, my Error!
That has already damn'd it self, when it consented
To break a Sacred Vow, and Marry here.

_Lord_. Come, come, begin, begin, Musick to your Office.

[_Soft Musick_.

_Bel_. Why does not this hard Heart, this stubborn Fugitive,
Break with this Load of Griefs? but like ill Spirits
It promis'd fair, till it had drawn me in,
And then betray'd me to Damnation.

_Dia_. There's something of disorder in his Soul,
Which I'm on fire to know the meaning of.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp, _in Masquerade_.

Sir _Tim_. The Rogue is married, and I am so pleas'd, I can forgive him
our last Night's Quarrel. Prithee, _Sharp_, if thou canst learn that
young Thing's Name, 'tis a pretty airy Rogue, whilst I go talk to her.

_Sharp_. I will, Sir, I will.

[_One goes to take out a Lady_.

_Char_. Nay, Madam, you must dance. [_Dance_.

_Bel_. I hope you will not call it Rudeness, Madam, if I refuse you here.

[_The Lady that danced goes to take out the Bridegroom. After the
Dance she takes out Sir_ Timothy, _they walk to a Courant_.

Am I still tame and patient with my Ills?
Gods! what is Man, that he can live and bear,
Yet know his Power to rid himself of Grief?
I will not live; or if my Destiny
Compel me to't, it shall be worse than dying.

_Enter_ Page _with a Table-Book_.

_Bel_. What's this?

_Page_. The Answer of a Letter, Sir, you sent the divine _Celinda_;
for so it was direct