Friend. There stands the Traitor, with a guilty Look,
That Traitor, who the easier to deceive me,
Betray’d my Sister; yet till I came and saw
The Perjury, I could not give a Faith to’t.
By Heaven, Diana loves him, nay, dotes on him,
I find it in her Eyes; all languishing,
They feed the Fire in his: arm’d with a double Rage,
I know I shall go through with my Revenge.
Sir Tim. Fair Maid—
Phil. How do you know that, Sir?
Sir Tim. I see y’are fair, and I guess you’re a Maid.
Phil. Your Guess is better than your Eye-sight, Sir.
Sir Tim. Whate’er you are, by Fortune, I wish you would permit me to love you with all your Faults.
Phil. You? Pray who are you?
Sir Tim. A Man, a Gentleman—and more, a Knight too, by Fortune.
Phil. Then ‘twas not by Merit, Sir—But how shall I know you are either of these?
Sir Tim. That I’m a Man, the Effects of my vigorous Flame shall prove —a Gentleman, my Coat of Arms shall testify; and I have the King’s Patent for my Title.