Nur.  You need not, your Sighs, and daily (nay, and nightly too) Disorders, plainly enough betray the Truth.

Cel.  Thou speak’st as if it were a Sin:  But if it be so, you your self help’d to make me wicked.  For e’er I saw Mr. Bellmour, you spoke the kindest things of him, As would have mov’d the dullest Maid to love; And e’er I saw him, I was quite undone.

Nur.  Quite undone!  Now God forbid it; what, for loving?  You said but now there was no Life without it.

Cel.  But since my Brother came from Italy,
And brought young Bellmour to our House,
How very little thou hadst said of him! 
How much above thy Praise, I found the Youth!

Nur.  Very pretty!  You are grown a notable Proficient in Love—­And you are resolv’d (if he please) to marry him?

Cel.  Or I must die.

Nur.  Ay, but you know the Lord Plotwell has the Possession of all his Estate, and if he marry without his liking, has Power to take away all his Fortune, and then I think it were not so good marrying him.

Cel.  Not marrying him!  Oh, canst thou think so poorly of me? 
Yes, I would marry him, though our scanty Fortune
Cou’d only purchase us
A lonely Cottage, in some silent Place,
All cover’d o’er with Thatch,
Defended from the Outrages of Storms
By leafless Trees, in Winter; and from Heat,
With Shades, which their kind Boughs wou’d bear anew;
Under whose Covert we’d feed our gentle Flock,
That shou’d in gratitude repay us Food,
And mean and humble Clothing.

Nur.  Very fine!

Cel.  There we wou’d practise such degrees of Love,
Such lasting, innocent, unheard of Joys,
As all the busy World should wonder at,
And, amidst all their Glories, find none such.

Nur.  Good lack! how prettily Love teaches his Scholars to prattle.—­ But hear ye, fair Mrs. Celinda, you have forgot to what end and purpose you came to Town; not to marry Mr. Bellmour, as I take it—­but Sir Timothy Tawdrey, that Spark of Men.

Cel.  Oh, name him not—­Let me not in one Moment
Descend from Heaven to Hell—­
How came that wretched thing into thy Noddle?

Nur.  Faith, Mistress, I took pity of thee, I saw you so elevated with Thoughts of Mr. Bellmour, I found it necessary to take you down a degree lower.

Cel.  Why did not Heaven make all Men like lo Bellmour?  So strangely sweet and charming!

Nur.  Marry come up, you speak well for your self; Oh intolerable loving Creature!  But here comes the utmost of your Wishes.

Cel.  My Brother, and Bellmour! with strange Men!

    Enter Friendlove, Bellmour, Sir Timothy, Sham, and Sharp.

Friend.  Sister, I’ve brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy Person you have heard of, Sir Timothy Tawdrey.