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 me to love you with all your Faults.

Phil.  You?  Pray who are you?

Sir Tim.  A Man, a Gentleman—­and more, a Knight too, by Fortune.

Phil.  Then ’twas not by Merit, Sir—­But how shall I know you are either of these?

Sir Tim.  That I’m a Man, the Effects of my vigorous Flame shall prove —­a Gentleman, my Coat of Arms shall testify; and I have the King’s Patent for my Title.

Phil.  For the first you may thank your Youth, for the next your Father, and the last your Money.

Sir Tim.  By Fortune, I love thee for thy Pertness.

Phil.  Is it possible you can love at all?

Sir Tim.  As much as I dare.

Phil.  How do you mean?

Sir Tim.  Not to be laught at; ’tis not the Mode to love much; A Platonick Fop I have heard of, but this is an Age of sheer Enjoyment, and little Love goes to that; we have found it incommode, and loss of time, to make long Addresses.

    Enter Celinda like a Boy.

Phil.  I find, Sir, you and I shall never agree upon this matter; But see, Sir, here’s more Company.

Cel.  Oh Heaven! ’tis true, these Eyes confirm my Fate. 
Yonder he is—­and that fair splendid Thing,
That gazes on him with such kind Desire,
Is my blest Rival—­Oh, he is married! 
—­Gods!  And yet you let him live;
Live too with all his Charms, as fine and gay,
As if you meant he shou’d undo all easy Maids,
And kill ’em for their Sin of loving him. 
Wretched Celinda! 
But I must turn my Eyes from looking on
The fatal Triumphs of my Death—­Which of all these
Is my Brother?  Oh, that is he:  I know him