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.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Celinda’s Chamber.

Discovers Celinda as before sitting in a Chair,
Diana by her in another, who sings.

  SONG.

  I.

  Celinda, who did Love disdain,
  For whom had languished many a Swain,
  Leading her bleating Flocks to drink,
  She spy’d upon the River’s brink
  A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare
  How much he lov’d, but lov’d not her.

  II.

At first she laugh’d, but gaz’d the while, And soon it lessen’d to a Smile; Thence to surprize and wonder came, Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame; Then cry’d she out, Ah, now I prove Thou art a God, Almighty Love.

  III.

She wou’d have spoke, but Shame deny’d, And bad her first consult her Pride; But soon she found that Aid was gone, For Love, alas, had left her none.  Oh, how she burns, but ’tis too late, For in his Eyes she reads her Fate.

Cel.  Oh, how numerous are her Charms —­How shall I pay this generous Condescension?  Fair lovely Maid—­

Dia.  Why do you flatter, Sir?

Cel.  To say you’re lovely, by your self I do not,
I’m young, and have not much convers’d with Beauty: 
Yet I’ll esteem my Judgment, since it knows
Where my Devotions shou’d be justly paid. 
—­But, Madam, may I not yet expect
To hear the Story, you so lately promis’d me?

Dia.  I owe much to your Goodness, Sir—­but—­

Cel.  I am too young, you think, to hear a Secret; Can I want Sense to pity your Misfortunes, Or Passion to incite me to revenge ’em?

Dia.  Oh, would he were in earnest!

Cel.  She’s fond of me, and I must blow that flame, Do any thing to make her hate my Bellmour. [Aside.  —­But, Madam, I’m impatient for your Story, That after that, you may expect my Service.

Dia.  The Treatment you this night have given a distressed Maid, enough obliges me; nor need I tell you, I’m nobly born; something about my Dress, my Looks and Mien, will doubtless do me reason.