ed.

_Bel_.--Hah--_Celinda_--in my Croud of Thoughts
I had forgot I sent--come nearer, Boy--
What did she say to thee?--Did she not smile?
And use thee with Contempt and Scorn?--tell me.

_Page_. How scorn, Sir!

_Bel_. Or she was angry--call'd me perjur'd Villain,
False, and forsworn--nay, tell me truth.

_Page_. How, Sir?

_Bel_. Thou dost delay me--say she did, and please me.

_Page_. Sir!

_Bel_. Again--tell me, what answer, Rascal, did she send me?

_Page_. You have it, Sir, there in the Table-Book.

_Bel_. Oh, I am mad, and know not what I do.
--Prithee forgive me, Boy--take breath, my Soul,
Before thou do'st begin; for this--perhaps, may be
So cruel kind,
To leave thee none when thou hast ended it.
[_Opens it, and reads_.

LETTER.

_I have took in the Poison which you sent, in those few fatal
Words, "Forgive me, my_ Celinda, _I am married"--'Twas
thus you said--And I have only Life left to return, "Forgive
me my sweet_ Bellmour, _I am dead_." CELINDA.

Can I hear this, and live?--I am a Villian!
In my Creation destin'd for all Mischief,
--To commit Rapes, and Murders, to break Vows,
As fast as Fools do Jests.
Come hither, Boy--
And said the Lady nothing to thee?

_Page_. Yes, e'er she read the Letter, ask'd your Health,
And Joy dispers'd it self in Blushes through her Cheeks.

_Bel_. Her Beauty makes the very Boy adore it.

_Page_. And having read it,
She drew her Tablets from her Pocket,
And trembling, writ what I have brought you, Sir.

_Bel_. Though I before had loaded up my Soul
With Sins, that wou'd have weigh'd down any other,
Yet this one more it bears, this Sin of Murder;
And holds out still--What have I more to do,
But being plung'd in Blood, to wade it through?

_Enter_ Friendlove _in Masquerade. A Jigg_.

_Friend_. There stands the Traitor, with a guilty Look,
That Traitor, who the easier to deceive me,
Betray'd my Sister; yet till I came and saw
The Perjury, I could not give a Faith to't.
By Heaven, _Diana_ loves him, nay, dotes on him,
I find it in her Eyes; all languishing,
They feed the Fire in his: arm'd with a double Rage,
I know I shall go through with my Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. Fair Maid--

_Phil_. How do you know that, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. I see y'are fair, and I guess you're a Maid.

_Phil_. Your Guess is better than your Eye-sight, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Whate'er you are, by Fortune, I wish you would permit