Cel.  Yes, if you dare, there’s danger in it though,
She has Charms that will bewitch you: 
—­I dare not stand their Mischief.
                                      [Exit.

Friend.  Lady, I am a Soldier—­yet in my gentlest Terms
I humbly beg to kiss your lovely Hands—­
Death! there’s Magick in the Touch. 
By Heaven, you carry an Artillery in every part.

Dia.  This is a Man indeed fit for my purpose. [Aside.

Friend.  Nay, do not view me, I am no lovely Object;
I am a Man bred up to Noise and War,
And know not how to dress my Looks in Smiles;
Yet trust me, fair one, I can love and serve
As well as an Endymion, or Adonis. 
Wou’d you were willing to permit that Service!

Dia.  Why, Sir?—­What cou’d you do?

Friend.  Why—­I cou’d die for you.

Dia.  I need the Service of the living, Sir.  But do you love me, Sir?

Friend.  Or let me perish, flying from a single Enemy.  I am a Gentleman, and may pretend to love you; And what you can command, I can perform.

Dia.  Take heed, Sir, what you say, for I’m in earnest.

Friend.  Command me any thing that’s just and brave; And, by my Eyes, ’tis done.

Dia.  I know not what you call just or brave; But those whom I do the Honour to command, Must not capitulate.

Friend.  Let him be blasted with the Name of Coward, That dares dispute your Orders.

Dia.  Dare you fight for me?

Friend.  With a whole Army; ’tis my Trade to fight.

Dia.  Nay, ’tis but a single Man.

Friend.  Name him.

Dia. Bellmour.

Friend.  Of Yorkshire?  Companion to young Friendlove, that came lately from Italy?

Dia.  Yes, do you know him?

Friend.  I do, who has oft spoke of Bellmour;
We travel’d into Italy together—­But since, I hear,
He fell in love with a fair cruel Maid,
For whom he languishes.

Dia.  Heard you her Name?

Friend. Diana, rich in Beauty, as in Fortune. 
—­Wou’d she had less of both, and more of Pity;
And that I knew not how to wish, till now
That I became a Lover, perhaps as unsuccessful. [Aside.

Dia.  I knew my Beauty had a thousand Darts,
But knew not they cou’d strike so quick and home. [Aside. 
Let your good Wishes for your Friend alone,
Lest he being happy, you shou’d be undone. 
For he and you cannot be blest at once.

Friend.  How, Madam!

Dia.  I am that Maid he loves, and who hates him.

Friend.  Hate him!

Dia.  To Death.

Friend.  Oh, me unhappy! [Aside.