Cel.  Heav’ns! he repents his Cruelty to her,
And never mentions me!  Ah then ’tis time to die. 
And that I may be sure of Death—­ [Aside. 
Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you.
                                          [Ex.  Cel.

Bel.  Gods!  Happy!—­whilst I am wretched. 
—­Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs,
Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame! 
Were I not here to die—­here at her Feet,
I wou’d not stand the Shock of her Reproaches. 
—­But yet she need not speak, a Look’s sufficient
To call up all my Sins to my undoing—­
She comes—­Oh Heav’n! she comes—­

    Enter Celinda and Diana.

—­Like penitent Criminals thus—­with my Eyes declin’d,
I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow.
                                   [Stands bow’d.

Cel.  Sir, in Obedience to your Commands, I’ve brought the Lady.

Dia.  How!  The perfidious Bellmour!  The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

Bel.  Say on, my angry Deity—­ [Kneels. 
Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom,
Like Sinners, conscious ne’er to be forgiven,
I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

Cel.  Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

Dia.  Had I but two days since beheld this Youth
Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought
My self more blest,
Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

    Enter Friendlove.

Friend.  Defend me!  The Traitor here!  And at Diana’s Feet! 
The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice! 
—­Turn, turn, from what thou lov’st, and meet my Justice.

Cel.  Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

[Bellmour rises, and turns about.

Bel.  Nay, now I’m ready for the welcome Sword, Since my Celinda’s false, and cannot pardon.

Cel.  Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion. Celinda false! or cannot pardon thee!

Dia.  Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

Bel.  Thou!  Why, who art thou—­Diana?

Dia.  Yes, that Diana, Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew’st, Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

Bel.  I shew a Penitence for injuring thee!  By Heav’n, I never cou’d do one, or other; All that I am is the divine Celinda’s.

Friend.  He’s stark mad! [Aside.

Bel.  But since she cannot pardon, I can die.
                              [Offers to fall on his Sword.

Cel.  Canst thou not credit me?  She pardons thee. 
Live—­and enjoy—­Diana.
               [Turns her Face from him.

Bel.  What art thou, who know’st her Heart so well? 
Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom
She has given her Vows?—­Live, and enjoy, Diana! 
—­Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I’ll kill thee.