I.
Celinda, who did Love disdain,
For whom had languished many a Swain,
Leading her bleating Flocks to drink,
She spy’d upon the River’s brink
A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare
How much he lov’d, but lov’d not her.
II.
At first she laugh’d, but gaz’d the while,
And soon it lessen’d to a Smile;
Thence to surprize and wonder came,
Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame;
Then cry’d she out, Ah, now I prove
Thou art a God, Almighty Love.
III.
She wou’d have spoke, but Shame deny’d,
And bad her first consult her Pride;
But soon she found that Aid was gone,
For Love, alas, had left her none.
Oh, how she burns, but ’tis too late,
For in his Eyes she reads her Fate.
Cel. Oh, how numerous are her Charms — How shall I pay this generous Condescension? Fair lovely Maid —
Dia. Why do you flatter, Sir?
Cel. To say you’re lovely, by your self I do not,
I’m young, and have not much convers’d with Beauty:
Yet I’ll esteem my Judgment, since it knows
Where my Devotions shou’d be justly paid.
— But, Madam, may I not yet expect
To hear the Story, you so lately promis’d me?
Dia. I owe much to your Goodness, Sir — but —
Cel. I am too young, you think, to hear a Secret; Can I want Sense to pity your Misfortunes, Or Passion to incite me to revenge ‘em?
Dia. Oh, would he were in earnest!
Cel. She’s fond of me, and I must blow that flame,
Do any thing to make her hate my Bellmour. [Aside.
— But, Madam, I’m impatient for your Story,
That after that, you may expect my Service.
Dia. The Treatment you this night have given a distressed Maid, enough obliges me; nor need I tell you, I’m nobly born; something about my Dress, my Looks and Mien, will doubtless do me reason.
Cel. Sufficiently —
Dia. But in the Family where I was educated, a Youth of my own Age, a Kinsman too, I chanc’d to fall in love with, but with a Passion my Pride still got the better of; and he, I thought, repaid my young Desires. But Bashfulness on his part, did what Pride had done on mine, And kept his too conceal’d — At last my Uncle, who had the absolute Dominion of us both, thought good to marry us together.
Cel. Punish him, Heaven, for a Sin so great. — And are you married then?
Dia. Why is there Terror in that Word?
Cel. By all that’s Sacred, ’tis a Word that kills me. Oh, say thou art not; And I thus low will fall, and pay thee Thanks. [Kneels.
Dia. You’ll wish indeed I were not, when you know How very, very wretched it has made me.
Cel. Shou’d you be telling me a Tale all day,
Such as would melt a Heart that ne’er could love,
’Twould not increase my Reason for the wish
That I had dy’d e’er known you had been married.
Dia. So many soft Words from my Bellmour’s mouth
Had made me mad with Joy, and next to that
I wish to hear ‘em from this Youth;
If they be real, how I shall be reveng’d! [Aside.
— But why at my being married should you sigh?
Cel. Because I love, is that a Wonder, Madam?
Have you not Charms sufficient at first sight
To wound a Heart tender and young as mine?
Are you not heavenly fair? Oh, there’s my Grief —
Since you must be another’s.
Dia. Pray hear me out; and if you love me after,
Perhaps you may not think your self unhappy.
When Night was come, the long’d for Night, and all
Retir’d to give us silent Room for Joy —
Cel. Oh, I can hear no more — by Heav’n, I cannot. — Here — stab me to the Heart — let out my Life, I cannot live, and hear what follow’d next.
Dia. Pray hear me, Sir —
Cel. Oh, you will tell me he was kind —
Yes, yes — oh God — were not his balmy Kisses
Sweeter than Incense offer’d up to Heaven?
Did not his Arms, softer and whiter far
Than those of Jove’s transform’d to Wings of Swans,
Greedily clasp thee round? — Oh, quickly speak,
Whilst thy fair rising Bosom met with his;
And then — Oh — then —
Dia. Alas, Sir! What’s the matter? — sit down a while.
Cel. Now — I am well — pardon me, lovely Creature,
If I betray a Passion, I’m too young
To’ve learnt the Art of hiding;
— I cannot hear you say that he was kind.
Dia. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow’rs, or early Fruit;
All gay I met him full of youthful Heat:
But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame,
And all his Reason was — he lov’d another,
A Maid he call’d Celinda.
Cel. Oh blessed Man!
Dia. How, Sir?
Cel. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin.
Dia. Yes, I have vow’d he never shall possess me.
Cel. Oh, how you bless me — but you still are married, And whilst you are so — I must languish —
Dia. Oh, how his Softness moves me! [Aside. — But can all this Disorder spring from Love?
Cel. Or may I still prove wretched.
Dia. And can you think there are no ways For me to gratify that Love? What ways am I constrain’d to use to work out my Revenge! [Aside.
Cel. How mean you, Madam?
Dia. Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes — And Beauty — which you say can kindle Fires; — She that can give, may too retain Desires.
Cel. She’ll ravish me — let me not understand you.
Dia. Look on my Wrongs —
Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity,
That a religious Vow had made to Heaven:
— And next survey thy own Perfections.
Cel. Hah —
Dia. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me? Fair bashful Boy, hast thou the Power to move, And yet not know the Bus’ness of thy Love?
Cel. How in an instant thou hast chill’d my Blood,
And made me know no Woman can be good?
’Tis Sin enough to yield — but thus to sue
Heav’n— ’tis my Business — and not meant for you.
Dia. How little Love is understood by thee,
’Tis Custom, and not Passion you pursue;
Because Enjoyment first was nam’d by me,
It does destroy what shou’d your Flame renew:
My easy yielding does your Fire abate,
And mine as much your tedious Courtship hate.
Tell Heaven — you will hereafter sacrifice,
— And see how that will please the Deities.
The ready Victim is the noblest way,
Your Zeal and Obligations too to pay.
Cel. I think the Gods wou’d hardly be ador’d,
If they their Blessings shou’d, unask’d, afford;
And I that Beauty can no more admire,
Who ere I sue, can yield to my Desire.
Dia. Dull Youth, farewel: For since ’tis my Revenge that I pursue Less Beauty and more Man as well may do. [Offers to go.
Enter Friendlove disguised, as one from a Camp.
Cel. Madam, you must not go with this Mistake. [Holds her.
Friend. Celinda has inform’d me true— ’tis she — Good morrow, Brother, what, so early at your Devotions?
Cel. O, my Brother’s come, and luckily relieves me. [Aside.
Friend. Your Orizons are made to a fair Saint.
— Pray, Sir, what Lady’s that?
— Or is it blasphemy to repeat her Name?
— By my bright Arms, she’s fair — With what a charming
Fierceness, she charges through my Body to my Heart.
— Death! how her glittering Eyes give Fire, and wound!
And have already pierc’d my very Soul!
— May I approach her, Brother?
Cel. Yes, if you dare, there’s danger in it though, She has Charms that will bewitch you: — I dare not stand their Mischief. [Exit.
Friend. Lady, I am a Soldier — yet in my gentlest Terms
I humbly beg to kiss your lovely Hands —
Death! there’s Magick in the Touch.
By Heaven, you carry an Artillery in every part.
Dia. This is a Man indeed fit for my purpose. [Aside.
Friend. Nay, do not view me, I am no lovely Object;
I am a Man bred up to Noise and War,
And know not how to dress my Looks in Smiles;
Yet trust me, fair one, I can love and serve
As well as an Endymion, or Adonis.
Wou’d you were willing to permit that Service!
Dia. Why, Sir? — What cou’d you do?
Friend. Why — I cou’d die for you.
Dia. I need the Service of the living, Sir. But do you love me, Sir?
Friend. Or let me perish, flying from a single Enemy. I am a Gentleman, and may pretend to love you; And what you can command, I can perform.
Dia. Take heed, Sir, what you say, for I’m in earnest.
Friend. Command me any thing that’s just and brave; And, by my Eyes, ’tis done.
Dia. I know not what you call just or brave; But those whom I do the Honour to command, Must not capitulate.
Friend. Let him be blasted with the Name of Coward, That dares dispute your Orders.
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.
Dia. I knew my Beauty had a thousand Darts,
But knew not they cou’d strike so quick and home. [Aside.
Let your good Wishes for your Friend alone,
Lest he being happy, you shou’d be undone.
For he and you cannot be blest at once.
Friend. How, Madam!
Dia. I am that Maid he loves, and who hates him.
Friend. Hate him!
Dia. To Death.
Friend. Oh, me unhappy! [Aside.
Dia. He sighs and turns away — am I again defeated? Surely I am not fair, or Man’s insensible.
Friend. She knows me not —
And ’twas discreetly done to change my Shape:
For Woman is a strange fantastick Creature;
And where before, I cou’d not gain a Smile,
Thus I may win her Heart. [Aside.
— Say, Madam, can you love a Man that dies for you?
Dia. The way to gain me, is to fight with Bellmour.
Tell him from me you come, the wrong’d Diana;
Tell him you have an Interest in my Heart,
Equal to that which I have made in yours.
Friend. I’ll do’t; I will not ask your Reason, but obey. Swear e’er I go, that when I have perform’d it, You’ll render me Possession of your Heart.
Dia. By all the Vows that Heaven ties Hearts together with, I’ll be entirely yours.
Friend. And I’ll not be that conscientious Fool,
To stop at Blessings ‘cause they are not lawful;
But take ‘em up, when Heaven has thrown ‘em down,
Without the leave of a Religious Ceremony. [Aside.
Madam, this House, which I am Master of,
You shall command; whilst I go seek this Bellmour.
Dia. But e’er you go, I must inform you why I do pursue him with my just Revenge.
Friend. I will attend, and hear impatiently.
[Exeunt.