Bel.  She has a Spirit equal to her Beauty,
As mighty and tyrannick; yet she has Goodness,
And I believe enough inclin’d to Love,
When once her Pride’s o’ercome.  I have the Honour
To be the Confident of all her Thoughts: 
And to augment thy Hopes, ’tis not long since
She did with Sighs confess to me, she lov’d
A Man, she said, scarce equal to her Fortune: 
But all my Interest could not learn the Object;
But it must needs be you, by what she said. 
This I’ll improve, and so to your Advantage—­

Friend.  I neither doubt thy Industry, nor Love;
Go, and be careful of my Interest there,
Whilst I preserve thine as intirely here.

[Ex. severally.

SCENE III. Sir Timothy’s House.

Enter Sir Timothy, Sham, Sharp, and Boy.

Sharp.  Good morrow, Sir Timothy; what, not yet ready, and to meet Mr. Bellmour at Five? the time’s past.

Sir Tim.—­Ay, Pox on’t—­I han’t slept to Night for thinking on’t.

Sham.  Well, Sir Timothy, I have most excellent News for you, that will do as well; I have found out—­

Sir Tim.  A new Wench, I warrant—­But prithee, Sham, I have other matters in hand; ’Sheart, I am so mortify’d with this same thought of Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again.

Sharp.  And you were so forward, Sir Timothy—­

Sir Tim.  Ay, Sharp, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but A little more provok’d then, that we might have gone to’t when the heat was brisk, I had done well—­but a Pox on’t, this fighting in cool Blood I hate.

Sham.  ’Shaw, Sir, ’tis nothing, a Man wou’d do’t for Exercise in a Morning.

Sir Tim.  Ay, if there were no more in’t than Exercise; if a Man cou’d take a Breathing without breathing a Vein—­but, Sham, this Wounds, and Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say’st ’tis nothing, prithee do thou meet Bellmour in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and ’tis no matter if the World were well rid of thee.

Sham.  I wou’d do’t with all my Soul—­but your Honour, Sir—­

Sir Tim.—­My Honour! ’tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight Duels—­I warrant you the wise Italian thinks himself a Man of Honour; and yet when did you hear of an Italian, that ever fought a Duel?  Is’t not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my Face, hear my self call’d, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the rest?—­But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he can—­And this is your damn’d Honourable English way of shewing a Man’s Courage.

Sham.  I must confess I am of your mind, and therefore have been studying a Revenge, sutable to the Affront:  and if I can judge any thing, I have hit it.