Bel.  Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death.

Lord.  Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation!

Bel.  Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall To beg your mercy.

Lord.  Yes, Sir, I will have mercy; I’ll give you Lodging—­but in a Dungeon, Sir, Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by.

Bel.  All this, I know, you have the Pow’r to do;
But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage
Would give me Cause to execute it. 
I wear a Sword, and I dare right my self;
And Heaven wou’d pardon it, if I should kill you: 
But Heav’n forbid I shou’d correct that Law,
Which gives you Power, and orders me Obedience.

Lord.  Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that Harlot, whoe’er she be, that has seduc’d ye.

Bel.  How, Harlot, Sir!—­Death, such another Word,
And through all Laws and Reason I will rush,
And reach thy Soul, if mortal like thy Body. 
—­No, Sir, she’s chaste, as are the new-made Vows
I breath’d upon her Lips, when last we parted.

Lord.  Who waits there?

    Enter Trusty and Servants.

—­Shall I be murder’d in my own House? 
’Tis time you were remov’d—­
Go, get an Action of 5000 pounds, enter’d against him,
With Officers to arrest him.

Trusty.  My Lord, ’tis my young Master Bellmour.

Lord.  Ye all doat upon him, but he’s not the Man you take him for.

Trusty.  How, my Lord! not this Mr. Bellmour!

Lord.  Dogs, obey me.
                          [Offers to go.

Bel.  Stay, Sir—­oh, stay—­what will become of me? 
’Twere better that my Life were lost, than Fortune—­
For that being gone, Celinda must not love me. 
—­But to die wretchedly—­
Poorly in Prison—­whilst I can manage this—­
Is below him, that does adore Celinda. [Draws. 
I’ll kill my self—­but then—­I kill Celinda. 
Shou’d I obey this Tyrant—­then too she dies. 
Yes, Sir—­You may be cruel—­take the Law,
And kill me quickly, ’twill become your Justice. [Weeps.

Lord.  Was I call’d back for this?  Yes, I shall take it, Sir; do not fear.
                [Offers to go.

Bel.  Yet, stay, Sir—­Have you lost all Humanity?  Have you no Sense of Honour, nor of Horrors?

Lord.  Away with him—­go, be gone.

Bel.  Stay, Sir.  Oh, God! what is’t you’d have me do? 
—­Here—­I resign my self unto your Will—­
But, Oh Celinda! what will become of thee? [Weeps. 
—­Yes, I will marry—­and Diana too.

Lord.  ’Tis well you will; had I not been good-natur’d now, You had been undone, and miss’d Diana too.

Bel.  But must I marry—­needs marry, Sir? 
Or lose my Fortune, and my Liberty,
Whilst all my Vows are given to another?