Sir Tim.  Why, Sir, you know what I mean.

Friend.  Not I, Sir.

Sir Tim.  What, not that I am to marry your Sister Celinda?

Friend.  Not at all.

Bel.  O, this insufferable Sot! [Aside.

Friend.  My Sister, Sir, is very nice.

Sir Tim.  That’s all one, Sir, the old People have adjusted the matter, and they are the most proper for a Negotiation of that kind, which saves us the trouble of a tedious Courtship.

Friend.  That the old People have agreed the matter, is more than I know.

Sir Tim.  Why, Lord, Sir, will you persuade me to that?  Don’t you know that your Father (according to the Method in such Cases, being certain of my Estate) came to me thus—­Sir Timothy Tawdrey,—­you are a young Gentleman, and a Knight, I knew your Father well, and my right worshipful Neighbour, our Estates lie together; therefore, Sir, I have a desire to have a near Relation with you—­At which, I interrupted him, and cry’d—­Oh Lord, Sir, I vow to Fortune, you do me the greatest Honour, Sir, and the rest—­

Bel.  I can endure no more; he marry fair Celinda!

Friend.  Prithee let him alone. [Aside.

Sir Tim.  To which he answer’d—­I have a good Fortune—­have but my Son Ned, and this Girl, call’d Celinda, whom I will make a Fortune, sutable to yours; your honoured Mother, the Lady Tawdrey, and I, have as good as concluded the Match already.  To which I (who, though I say it, am well enough bred for a Knight) answered the Civility thus—­I vow to Fortune, Sir—­I did not swear, but cry’d—­I protest, Sir, Celinda, deserves—­no, no, I lye again, ’twas merits—­Ay, Celinda—­merits a much better Husband than I.

Friend.  You speak more Truth than you are aware of. [Aside.] Well, Sir, I’ll bring you to my Sister; and if she likes you, as well as My Father does, she’s yours; otherwise, I have so much Tenderness for her, as to leave her Choice free.

Sir Tim.  Oh, Sir, you compliment. Alons, Entrons.

[Exeunt_.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Celinda, and Nurse.

Cel.  I wonder my Brother stays so long:  sure Mr. Bellmour is not yet arriv’d, yet he sent us word he would be here to day.  Lord, how impatient I grow!

Nur.  Ay, so methinks; if I had the hopes of enjoying so sweet a Gentleman as Mr. Bellmour, I shou’d be so too—­But I am past it—­Well, I have had my Pantings, and Heavings, my Impatience, and Qualms, my Heats, and my Colds, and my I know not whats—­But I thank my Stars, I have done with all those Fooleries.

Cel.  Fooleries!—­
Is there any thing in Life but Love? 
Wou’dst thou praise Heaven for thy Being,
Without that grateful part of it? 
For I confess I love.