Nur. Faith, Mistress, I took pity of thee, I saw you so elevated with Thoughts of Mr. Bellmour, I found it necessary to take you down a degree lower.
Cel. Why did not Heaven make all Men like lo Bellmour? So strangely sweet and charming!
Nur. Marry come up, you speak well for your self; Oh intolerable loving Creature! But here comes the utmost of your Wishes.
Cel. My Brother, and Bellmour! with strange Men!
Enter Friendlove, Bellmour, Sir Timothy, Sham, and Sharp.
Friend. Sister, I’ve brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy Person you have heard of, Sir Timothy Tawdrey.
Sir Tim. Yes, faith, Madam, I am Sir Timothy Tawdrey, at your
Service—Pray are not you Mrs. Celinda Dresswell?
Cel. The same, but cannot return your Compliment.
Sir Tim. Oh Lord, oh Lord, not return a Compliment. Faith, Ned, thy Sister’s quite spoil’d, for want of Town-Education; ‘tis pity, for she’s devilish pretty.
Friend. She’s modest, Sir, before Company; therefore these Gentlemen and I will withdraw into the next Room.