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?
Dia. Yes, that Diana, Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew’st, Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.
Bel. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee! By Heav’n, I never cou’d do one, or other; All that I am is the divine Celinda’s.
Friend. He’s stark mad! [Aside.
Bel. But since she cannot pardon, I can die. [Offers to fall on his Sword.
Cel. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee. Live—and enjoy—Diana. [Turns her Face from him.
Bel. What art thou, who know’st her Heart so well?
Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom
She has given her Vows?—Live, and enjoy, Diana!
—Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I’ll kill thee.