The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 12

_Phil_. I find, Sir, you and I shall never agree upon this matter; But see, Sir, here's more Company.

_Cel_. Oh Heaven! 'tis true, these Eyes confirm my Fate.

Yonder he is--and that fair splendid Thing, That gazes on him with such kind Desire, Is my blest Rival--Oh, he is married!

--G.o.ds! And yet you let him live; Live too with all his Charms, as fine and gay, As if you meant he shou'd undo all easy Maids, And kill 'em for their Sin of loving him.

Wretched _Celinda_!

But I must turn my Eyes from looking on The fatal Triumphs of my Death--Which of all these Is my Brother? Oh, that is he: I know him By the Habit he sent for to the Play-House.

[Points to Sir Tim.

And hither he's come in Masquerade, I know with some Design against my _Bellmour_, Whom though he kill me, I must still preserve: Whilst I, lost in despair, thus as a Boy Will seek a Death from any welcome Hand, Since I want Courage to perform the Sacrifice.

_Enter one and dances an Entry, and a Jig at the end on't_.

_Lord_. Enough, enough at this time, let's see the Bride to bed, the Bridegroom thinks it long.

_Friend_. h.e.l.l! Can I endure to hear all this with Patience?

Shall he depart with Life to enjoy my Right, And to deprive my Sister of her due?

--Stay, stay, and resign That Virgin.

_Bel_. Who art thou that dar'st lay a Claim to ought that's here?

_Friend_. This Sword shall answer ye.

[_Draws_.

_Bel_. Though I could spare my Life, I'll not be robb'd of it.

[_Draws_.

_Dia_. Oh, my dear _Bellmour_!

[_All draw on_ Bellmour's side_--Diana _holds_ Bellmour, Celinda _runs between their Swords, and defends_ Bellmour; _Sir_ Tim. Sham, _and_ Sharp _draw, and run into several Corners, with signs of Fear_.

_Friend_. Who art thou, that thus fondly guard'st his Heart?

[_To_ Celinda.

--Be gone, and let me meet it.

_Cel_. That thou mayst do through mine, but no way else.

_Friend_. Here are too many to encounter, and I'll defer my Vengeance.

_Char_. Stay, Sir, we must not part so.

[_Ex. Drawing at the same Door, that Sir_ Tim. _is sneaking out at_.

Come back I say. [_Pulls in Sir_ Tim.

Slave! Dost thou tremble?--

Sir _Tim_. Sir, I'm not the Man you look for-- By Fortune, _Sham_, we're all undone: He has mistook me for the fighting Fellow.

_Char_. Villain, defend thy Life.

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? I have no quarrel to you, nor no man breathing, not I, by Fortune.

_Cel_. This Coward cannot be my Brother. [_Aside_.

_Char_. What made thee draw upon my Brother?

Sir _Tim_. Who, I, Sir? by Fortune, I love him--I draw upon him!

_Char_. I do not wonder thou canst lye, for thou'rt a Coward!

Didst not thou draw upon him? Is not thy Sword yet out?

Did I not see thee fierce, and active too, as if thou hadst dar'd?

Sir _Tim_. Why, he's gone, Sir; a Pox of all Mistakes and Masqueradings I say--this was your Plot, _Sham_.

_Char_. Coward! Shew then thy Face.

Sir _Tim_. I'll be hang'd first, by Fortune; for then 'twill be plain 'twas I, because I challeng'd _Bellmour_ last Night, and broke my a.s.signation this Morning. [_Aside_.

_Char_. Shew thy Face without delay, or--

Sir _Tim_. My Face, Sir! I protest, by Fortune, 'tis not worth seeing.

_Char_. Then, Sirrah, you are worth a kicking--take that--and that-- [_Kicks him_.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir? how?

_Char_. So, Sir, so.

[_Kicks him again_.

Sir _Tim_. Have a care, Sir--by Fortune, I shall fight with a little more.

_Char_. Take that to raise you.

[_Strikes him_.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then I am angry, and I dare fight.

[_They fight out_.

_Lord_. Go, Ladies, see the Bride to her Chamber.

[_Ex. Women_.

_Bel_. The Knight, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_; --The Rascal mist me at the appointed place, And comes to attack me here-- [_Turns to_ Cel.

--Brave Youth, I know not how I came to merit this Relief from thee: Sure thou art a Stranger to me, thou'rt so kind.

_Cel_. Sir, I believe those happy ones that know you Had been far kinder, but I'm indeed a Stranger.

_Bel_. Mayst thou be ever so to one so wretched; I will not ask thy Name, lest knowing it, (I'm such a Monster) I should ruin thee.

_Cel_. Oh, how he melts my Soul! I cannot stay, Lest Grief, my s.e.x, my Bus'ness shou'd betray. [_Aside_.

--Farewel, Sir-- May you be happy in the Maid you love.