d; but how
to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere--

_Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I'll try all ways, and the Devil's in it, if I don't hit
upon the right at last. [_Aside_.
All the soft things I've said--

_Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say.

Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel'd--and cry'd, and swore--and--

_Phil_. And damn'd your self five hundred times.

Sir _Tim_. Yet still y'are impregnable--I'll make another Proposition to
you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I'll marry
you--the Devil's in't, if that be not fair.

_Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you.
[_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Sham.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done
what Man can do (without doing what I wou'd do) and still she's Flint;
nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou
know'st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.

_Sham_. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical
Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, that this shou'd not enter into my Coxcomb before!
haste then and get one--I'll have it done immediately, whilst I go after
her to keep up my flame.
[_Ex. Sir_ Tim.

_Sham_. And I will fit you with a Parson presently.

[_Ex_.

SCENE III. _A Street_.

_Enter_ Friendlove _disguis'd as before_.

_Friend_. I find _Diana_ knows me not; and this Year's absence, since I
first made my Addresses to her, has alter'd me much, or she has lost
the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem'd till in this lucky
Dress: the price of her Favour is _Bellmour's_ Life. I need not have
been brib'd for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self,
enough incites me to Revenge--He has not yet enjoy'd her, that Blessing
is reserv'd for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn'd 'em, that
Marriage may be disannull'd, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse
her other Faults.

_Enter_ Bellmour _sad_.

--Hah! the Man I seek--so near my Lodgings too--Sir!

_Bel_. Sir!

_Friend_. Traitor! thou know'st me, and my bus'ness.--
Look on this Face, if thou dar'st look on him
Whom thou hast doubly wrong'd--and draw thy Sword.

_Bel_. Thou should'st be _Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_.

_Friend_. And Lover of