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 Hell 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. Gods! Happy!—whilst I am wretched.
—Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering 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.