Bel.  I know thou lov’st her.  And ’tis with Reason thou deny’st an Entrance To one so much unworthy to approach her.

Friend.  Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too; And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

Bel.  Who dares deny thy Reasons?

Friend.  Sh’has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee; And every Wound my lucky Sword shou’d make, She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

Bel.  Oh, I believe thee:  prithee tell on, young Man, That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

Friend.  To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another, And has took back the Vows she made to thee, And given ’em to a Man more worthy of ’em.

Bel.  Alas!  I credit thee—­yet—­then, by Heav’n, she’s false!  And I will know, why ’tis she is thus perjur’d. [Offers to go.  —­Nay, now—­nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me.  —­Stand off, or to the number I’ll add one Sin more, And make my Passage to it through thy Heart.

Friend.  And so you shall, Sir.

        [They fight, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

—­Disarm’d! by Heav’n, you shall not so escape
A Rage that is too just here to give o’er.

SCENE IV. Changes to the Inside of Friendlove’s Lodgings.

    Enter Celinda, as before, met by Nurse.

Nur.  Oh, Madam, here’s Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master, who deny’d him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage demands his Wife.

Cel.  Oh Heav’n!  Demands his Wife!  Is that sad Curse Added to all the rest?—­Does he then love her?

Enter Bellmour with two Swords.

Nur.  Whither do you press, Sir? and what’s your business?

Bel.  To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence;
And must I meet with nought but Opposition?
                                    [Pushes her roughly away.

Cel.  Let him come in.

Nur.  Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

Cel.  What Man art thou thus cover’d o’er with Horror?

Bel.  One sent from Hell to punish Perjury! 
—­Where’s this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid,
That has by my Example broke her Vows? 
A Precedent that Fiends wou’d shame to follow.

Cel.  Who is’t you mean, Sir?

Bel.  A thing that has no Name, she is so bad;
One who so lately gave her self to me,
And now is flown into another’s Arms: 
One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins
Which she her self commits—­and thinks to live too. 
—­Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur’d: 
Till when, she was a Saint—­come, lead me to her,
Though she be false as I, yet I’ll forgive it.
                                [Throws by the Swords.