Dia. Dare you fight for me?
Friend. With a whole Army; ‘tis my Trade to fight.
Dia. Nay, ‘tis but a single Man.
Friend. Name him.
Dia. Bellmour.
Friend. Of Yorkshire? Companion to young Friendlove, that came lately from Italy?
Dia. Yes, do you know him?
Friend. I do, who has oft spoke of Bellmour;
We travel’d into Italy together—But since, I hear,
He fell in love with a fair cruel Maid,
For whom he languishes.
Dia. Heard you her Name?
Friend. Diana, rich in Beauty, as in Fortune.
—Wou’d she had less of both, and more of Pity;
And that I knew not how to wish, till now
That I became a Lover, perhaps as unsuccessful. [Aside.