Chapter 9

_Enter_ Celinda, _drest as before_.

_Cel_. Not one kind Wound to send me to my Grave, And yet between their angry Swords I ran, Expecting it from _Bellmour_, or my Brother’s: Oh, my hard Fate! that gave me so much Misery, And dealt no Courage to prevent the shock. --Why came I off alive, that fatal Place Where I beheld my _Bellmour_, in th’embrace Of my extremely fair, and lovely Rival? --With what kind Care she did prevent my Arm, Which (greedy of the last sad-parting twine) I wou’d have thrown about him, as if she knew To what intent I made the passionate Offer? --What have I next to do, but seek a Death Wherever I can meet it--Who comes here? [_Goes aside_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, Sham _and_ Sharp, _with Fidlers and Boy_.

Sir _Tim_. I believe this is the Bed-chamber Window where the Bride and Bridegroom lies.

_Sham_. Well, and what do you intend to do, if it be, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Why, first sing a Baudy Song, and then break the Windows, in revenge for the Affront was put upon me to night.

_Sharp_. Faith, Sir, that’s but a poor Revenge, and which every Footman may take of his Lady, who has turn’d him away for filching--You know, Sir, Windows are frail, and will yield to the lusty Brickbats; ‘tis an Act below a Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. That’s all one, ‘tis my Recreation; I serv’d a Woman so the other night, to whom my Mistress had a Pique.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, ‘tis a Revenge fit only for a Whore to take--And the Affront you receiv’d to Night, was by mistake.

Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, did you not mind, that he that drew upon _Bellmour_, was in the same Dress with you.

Sir _Tim_. How shou’d his be like mine?

_Sham_. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his--I suppose sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the Windows.

_Sharp_. Then, Sir, you shew’d so much Courage, that you may bless the Minute that forc’d you to fight.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but between you and I, ‘twas well he kick’d me first, and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing’d, by Fortune--But thanks to my Spleen, that sav’d my Bones that bout--But then I did well--hah, came briskly off, and the rest.

_Sham_. With Honour, Sir, I protest.

Sir _Tim_. Come then, we’ll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes, and sing.

_Boy_. What shall I sing, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place.

SONG.

I.

_The happy Minute’s come, the Nymph is laid, Who means no more to rise a Maid. Blushing, and panting, she expects th’.pproach Of Joys that kill with every touch: Nor can her native Modesty and Shame Conceal the Ardour of her Virgin Flame_.

II.

_And now the amorous Youth is all undrest, Just ready for Love’s mighty Feast; With vigorous haste the Veil aside he throws, That doth all Heaven at once disclose. Swift as Desire, into her naked Arms Himself he throws, and rifles all her Charms_.

Good morrow, Mr. _Bellmour_, and to your lovely Bride, long may you live and love.

_Enter_ Bellmour _above_.

_Bel_. Who is’t has sent that Curse?

Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, is that _Bellmour_? The Rogue’s in choler, the Bride has not pleas’d him.

_Bel_. Dogs! Do you upbraid me? I’ll be with you presently.

Sir _Tim_. Will you so?--but I’ll not stay your coming.

_Cel_. But you shall, Sir.

_Bel_. Turn, Villains!

[_Sir_ Tim. _&c. offers to go off_, Celinda _steps forth, and draws, they draw, and set upon her. Enter_ Bellmour _behind them: They turn, and_ Celinda _sides with_ Bellmour, _and fights. Enter_ Diana, Bellmour _fights ‘em out, and leaves_ Celinda _breathless, leaning on her Sword_.

_Dia_. I’ll ne’er demand the cause of this disorder, But take this opportunity to fly To the next hands will take me up--who’s here?

_Cel_. Not yet, my sullen Heart!

_Dia_. Who’s here? one wounded--alas--

_Cel_. ‘Tis not so lucky--but who art thou That dost with so much pity ask?

_Dia_. He seems a Gentleman--handsome and young-- [_Aside_. Pray ask no Questions, Sir; but if you are what you seem, Give a Protection to an unhappy Maid. --Do not reply, but let us haste away.

_Cel_. Hah--What do I hear! sure, ‘tis _Diana_. --Madam, with haste, and joy, I’ll serve you. --I’ll carry her to my own Lodgings. Fortune, in this, has done my Sufferings right, My Rival’s in my Power, upon her Wedding-Night. [_Aside_.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Bellmour, _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, that you should not know your Friend and humble Servant, _Tim. Tawdrey_--But thou look’st as if thou hadst not been a-bed yet.

_Bel_. No more I have.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then thou losest precious time, I’ll not detain thee. [_Offers to go_.

_Bel_. Thou art mistaken, I hate all Woman-kind--

Sir _Tim_. How, how!

_Bel_, Above an Hour--hark ye, Knight--I am as leud, and as debaucht as thou art.

Sir _Tim_. What do you mean, _Frank_?

_Bel_. To tell a Truth, which yet I never did. --I whore, drink, game, swear, lye, cheat, rob, pimp, hector, all, all I do that’s vitious.

Sir _Tim_. Bless me!

_Bel_. From such a Villian, hah!

Sir _Tim_. No, but that thou should’st hide it all this while.

_Bel_. Till I was married only, and now I can dissemble it no longer-- come--let’s to a Baudy-House.

Sir _Tim_. A Baudy-house! What, already! This is the very quintessence of Leudness. --Why, I thought that I was wicked, but, by Fortune, This dashes mine quite out of Countenance.

_Bel_. Oh, thou’rt a puny Sinner!--I’ll teach thee Arts (so rare) of Sin, the least of them shall damn thee.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, _Frank_, I do not like these Arts.

_Bel_. Then thou’rt a Fool--I’ll teach thee to be rich too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that I like.

_Bel_. Look here, my Boys! [_Hold up his Writings, which he takes out of his Pockets_. The Writings of 3000 pounds a Year: --All this I got by Perjury.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, a thriving Sin.

_Bel_. And we will live in Sin while this holds out. _And then to my cold Home--Come let’s be gone: Oh, that I ne’er might see the rising Sun_.

[_Exeunt_.