lorinda._

_Belv._ Love _Florinda_!
Does Heaven love Adoration, Pray'r, or Penitence?
Love her! here Sir,-- your Sword again.
[Snatches up the Sword, and gives it him.
Upon this Truth I'll fight my Life away.

_Pedro._ No, you've redeem'd my Sister, and my Friendship.

_Belv._ Don _Pedro_!
[He gives him _Flor._ and pulls off his Vizard to shew his Face,
and puts it on again.

_Pedro._ Can you resign your Claims to other Women,
And give your Heart intirely to _Florinda_?

_Belv._ Intire, as dying Saints Confessions are.
I can delay my happiness no longer.
This minute let me make _Florinda_ mine:

_Pedro._ This minute let it be-- no time so proper,
This Night my Father will arrive from _Rome_,
And possibly may hinder what we propose.

_Flor._ Oh Heavens! this Minute! [Enter Masqueraders, and pass over.

_Belv._ Oh, do not ruin me!

_Pedro._ The place begins to fill; and that we may not be observ'd,
do you walk off to St. _Peter's_ Church, where I will meet you, and
conclude your Happiness.

_Belv._ I'll meet you there-- if there be no more Saints Churches in
_Naples_.
[Aside.

_Flor._ Oh stay, Sir, and recall your hasty Doom:
Alas I have not yet prepar'd my Heart
To entertain so strange a Guest.

_Pedro._ Away, this silly Modesty is assum'd too late.

_Belv._ Heaven, Madam! what do you do?

_Flor._ Do! despise the Man that lays a Tyrant's Claim
To what he ought to conquer by Submission.

_Belv._ You do not know me-- move a little this way.
[Draws her aside.

_Flor._ Yes, you may even force me to the Altar,
But not the holy Man that offers there
Shall force me to be thine. [_Pedro_ talks to _Callis_ this while.

_Belv._ Oh do not lose so blest an opportunity!
See-- 'tis your _Belvile_-- not _Antonio_,
Whom your mistaken Scorn and Anger ruins. [Pulls off his Vizard.

_Flor._ _Belvile!_
Where was my Soul it cou'd not meet thy Voice,
And take this knowledge in?
[As they are talking, enter _Willmore_ finely drest, and
_Frederick_.

_Will._ No Intelligence! no News of _Belvile_ yet-- well I am the most
unlucky Rascal in Nature-- ha!-- am I deceiv'd-- or is it he-- look,
_Fred_.-- 'tis he-- my dear _Belvile_.

[Runs and embraces him. _Belv._ Vizard falls out on's Hand.

_Belv._ Hell and Confusion seize thee!

_Pedro._ Ha! _Belvile!_ I beg your Pardon, Sir.
[Takes _Flor._ from him.

_Belv._ Nay, touch her not, she