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.