Cel. Excellent Creature! I shou’d sue for that, Which my Deceit will never make me hope.
Bel. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows?
Whilst I to save my Fortune,
(That only which you’d make me merit thee)
Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid.
—Ah, Friendlove, when thou hear’st my Story told,
Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.
Dia. What was’t you said, Sir? Friendlove!
Friend. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference; Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.
Dia. Though I’m again defeated, yet this last Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word Alter my fix’d Resolves, to love you still.
Friend. Then I am blest!
Bel. But yet the Office of the Priest has past: What Remedy for that?
Dia. My Uncle’s Pow’r, the Nearness of our Blood, The Contradiction of our Circumstances.
Bel. And above all that, my Contract with Celinda. —Methinks I feel a Joy spread o’er my Heart, The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.
Cel. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy, Mine takes new Fire and Hope.