Ara. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus? Bel. O, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of that filthy, awkward, two-legg'd creature, man- -you don't know what you've said, your fever has transported you. Ara. If love be the fever which you mean, kind Heaven avert the cure: let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be extinct, 'till I myself am ashes. Bel. There was a whine!-O, gad, I hate your horrid fancy-this love is the devil; and sure to be in love, is to be possess'd-'Tis in the head, the heart, the blood, the-all over-0, gad, you are quite spoil'd-I shall loath the sight of mankind for your sake. Ara. Fy! this is gross affectation A little of Bellmour's company would change the scene. Bel. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin Ara. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don't perceive you love him. Bel. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha ! love a man! Ara. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast. Bel. Of all beasts, not an ass-which is so like your Vainlove-Lard, I have seen an ass look so chagrin, ha, ha, ha! (you must pardon me, I can't help laughing) that an absolute lover would have concluded the poor creature to have had darts, and flames, and altars, and all that, in his breast. Araminta, come, I'll talk seriously to you now; could you but see, with my eyes, the buffoonry of one scene of address, D a lover, set out with all his equipage and appurtenances; O, gad! sure you would—But you play the game, and consequently can't see the miscarriages obvious to every stander by. Ara. Yes, yes, I can see something near it, when you and Bellmour meet. You don't know that you dreamt of Bellmour last night, and call'd him aloud in your sleep. Bel. Pish! I can't help dreaming of the devil sometimes; would you from thence infer I love him? Ara. But that's not all; you caught me in your arms when you named him, and press'd me to your bosom---Sure, if I had not pinch'd you till you wak'd, you had stiffled me with kisses. Bel. O, barbarous aspersion! Ara. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone---Nay I can tell you more. Bel. I deny it all, Ara. What, before you hear it? Bel. My denial is premeditated, like your malice--Lard, cousin, you talk oddly—Whatever the matter is, o`my soul, I'm afraid you'll follow evil courses. Ara. Ha, ha, ha! this is pleasant. Bel. You may laugh, but Ara. Ha, ha, ha! Bel. You think the malicious grin becomes you The devil take Bellmour-Why do you tell me of him? Ara. Oh, is it come out-now you are angry, I am sure you love him. I tell nobody else, cousin-I have not betray'd you yet. Bel. Pr'ythee, tell it all the world; it's false. Bel. Pish. Ara. Pr'ythee don't be so peevish. Bel. Pr'ythee don't be so impertinent-Betty. Ara. Ha, ha, ha! Betty. Did your ladyship call, madam ? Bel. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call a chair. [Exit Betty. Ara. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, cousin. Enter Footman. Foot. Madam, there are Bel. Is there a chair? Foot. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove, to wait upon your ladyship. Ara. Are they below? Foot. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were at home. Bel. The visit's to you, cousin, I suppose I am at my liberty. Ara. Be ready to shew 'em up. [Exit Foot. Enter BETTY, with hoods and looking-glass. I can't tell, cousin, I believe we are equally concerned; but if you continue your humour, it won't be very entertaining-I know she'd fain be persuaded to stay. [Aside. Bel. I shall oblige you in leaving you to the full and free enjoyment of that conversation you admire. Let me see; hold the glass-Lard, I look wretchedly today! Ara. Betty, why don't you help my cousin? [Putting on her boods. Bel. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair with a high roof, or a very low seat- -Stay, come back here, you, Mrs. Fidget-you are so ready to go to the footman--Here,take 'em all again, my mind's chang'd, I won't go. [Exit Betty. Ara. So, this I expected-You won't oblige me then, cousin, and let me have all the company to myself. Bel. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to trust you to yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; and in this favourable disposition of your mind, Heaven knows how far you may be tempted: I am tender of your reputation. Bel. I am oblig'd to you-But who's malicious now, Belinda? Bel. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure affection. Ara. In my conscience I believe you. Enter BELLMOUR, VAINLOVE, and Footman. Bell. So, fortune be prais'd! To find you within, ladies, is Ara. No miracle, I hope. both Bell. Not o'your side, madam, I confess-But my tyrant, there, and I, are two buckets that can never come together. Bel. Nor are ever likeand clash. -Yet we often meet, Bell. How, never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But this is to run so extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such a world of love in your service, that you think you can never be able to pay me all; so shun me, for the same reason that you would a dun. Bel. Ah, on my conscience, and the most impertinent and troublesome of duns- A dun for money will be quiet, when he sees his debtor has not wherewithal----But a dun for love is an eternal torment, that never rests. Bell. Till he has created love where there was none, and then gets it for his pains. For importunity in love, like importunity at court, first creates its own interest, and then pursues it for the favour. Ara. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, are like discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, for his ease, sometimes confesses şecrets his heart knows nothing of. Vain. I should rather think, favours, so gain'd, to be due rewards to indefatigable devotion-For as love is a deity, he must be serv'd by prayer. Bel. O, gad, would you would all pray to Love, then, and let us alone. Vain. You are the temples of Love, and 'tis through you our devotion must be convey'd. Ara. Rather, poor silly idols of your own making, which, upon the least displeasure, you forsake, and set up new- -Every man, now, changes his mistress |