—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.