The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 25

_Friend_. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too; And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

_Bel_. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

_Friend_. Sh'has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee; And every Wound my lucky Sword shou'd make, She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

_Bel_. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man, That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

_Friend_. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another, And has took back the Vows she made to thee, And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em.

_Bel_. Alas! I credit thee--yet--then, by Heav'n, she's false!

And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd. [_Offers to go_.

--Nay, now--nor Heaven, nor h.e.l.l, shall hinder me.

--Stand off, or to the number I'll add one Sin more, And make my Pa.s.sage to it through thy Heart.

_Friend_. And so you shall, Sir.

[_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

--Disarm'd! by Heav'n, you shall not so escape A Rage that is too just here to give o'er.

SCENE IV. _Changes to the Inside of_ Friendlove's _Lodgings_.

_Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse.

_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here's Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master, who deny'd him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage demands his Wife.

_Cel_. Oh Heav'n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her?

_Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_.

_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what's your business?

_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence; And must I meet with nought but Opposition?

[_Pushes her roughly away_.

_Cel_. Let him come in.

_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover'd o'er with Horror?

_Bel_. One sent from h.e.l.l to punish Perjury!

--Where's this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid, That has by my Example broke her Vows?

A Precedent that Fiends wou'd shame to follow.

_Cel_. Who is't you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad; One who so lately gave her self to me, And now is flown into another's Arms: One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too.

--Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur'd: Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her, Though she be false as I, yet I'll forgive it.

[_Throws by the Swords_.

_Cel_. Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her, And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die.

And that I may be sure of Death-- [_Aside_.

Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you.

[_Ex_. Cel.

_Bel_. G.o.ds! Happy!--whilst I am wretched.

--Oh, what an Ague chills my s.h.i.+vering Limbs, Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame!

Were I not here to die--here at her Feet, I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches.

--But yet she need not speak, a Look's sufficient To call up all my Sins to my undoing-- She comes--Oh Heav'n! she comes--

_Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana.

--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin'd, I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow.

[_Stands bow'd_.

_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands, I've brought the Lady.

_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_!

The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity-- [_Kneels_.

Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom, Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven, I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought My self more blest, Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

_Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana's_ Feet!

The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice!

--Turn, turn, from what thou lov'st, and meet my Justice.

_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

[Bellmour _rises, and turns about_.

_Bel_. Nay, now I'm ready for the welcome Sword, Since my _Celinda's_ false, and cannot pardon.

_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion.

_Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee!

_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_?