The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume 3 | Page 8

out a
Scout of the Forlorn Hope, to discover the Approach of the
Enemy--Well --Mr. Bellmour, you are not to know, 'tis with the
Consent of Celinda, that you come--I must bear all the blame, what
Mischief soever comes of these Night-Works.
Enter Bellmour.
Oh, are you come--Your Hour was Twelve, and now 'tis almost Two.
Bel. I could not get from Friendlove--Thou hast not told Celinda of my
coming?
Nur. No, no, e'en make Peace for me, and your self too.
Bel. I warrant thee, Nurse--Oh, how I hope and fear this Night's
Success!
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Celinda in her Night-Attire, leaning on a Table. Enter to her Bellmour
and Nurse.
Cel. Oh Heavens! Mr. Bellmour at this late Hour in my Chamber!
Bel. Yes, Madam; but will approach no nearer till you permit me; And
sure you know my Soul too well to fear.
Cel. I do, Sir, and you may approach yet nearer, And let me know your
Business.
Bel. Love is my bus'ness, that of all the World; Only my Flame as
much surmounts the rest, As is the Object's Beauty I adore.
Cel. If this be all, to tell me of your Love, To morrow might have done
as well.
Bel. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late, Too late to make
returns to all my Pain. --What disagreeing thing offends your Eyes? I've
no Deformity about my Person; I'm young, and have a Fortune great as
any That do pretend to serve you; And yet I find my Interest in your
Heart, Below those happy ones that are my Rivals. Nay, every Fool that
can but plead his Title, And the poor Interest that a Parent gives him,
Can merit more than I. --What else, my lovely Maid, can give a
freedom To that same talking, idle, knighted Fop?
Cel. Oh, if I am so wretched to be his, Surely I cannot live; For, Sir, I
must confess I cannot love him.
Bel. But thou may'st do as bad, and marry him, And that's a Sin I
cannot over-live; --No, hear my Vows--
Cel. But are you, Sir, in earnest?
Bel. In earnest? Yes, by all that's good, I am; I love you more than I do
Life, or Heaven!
Cel. Oh, what a pleasure 'tis to hear him say so! [Aside. --But pray, how
long, Sir, have you lov'd me so?

Bel. From the first moment that I saw your Eyes, Your charming killing
Eyes, I did adore 'em; And ever since have languisht Day and Night.
Nur. Come, come, ne'er stand asking of Questions, But follow your
Inclinations, and take him at his Word.
Bel. Celinda, take her Counsel, Perhaps this is the last opportunity; Nay,
and, by Heaven, the last of all my Life, If you refuse me now-- Say,
will you never marry Man but me?
Cel. Pray give me till to morrow, Sir, to answer you; For I have yet
some Fears about my Soul, That take away my Rest.
Bel. To morrow! You must then marry--Oh fatal Word! Another! a
Beast, a Fool, that knows not how to value you.
Cel. Is't possible my Fate shou'd be so near?
Nur. Nay, then dispose of your self, I say, and leave dissembling; 'tis
high time.
Bel. This Night the Letter came, the dreadful News Of thy being
married, and to morrow too. Oh, answer me, or I shall die with Fear.
Cel. I must confess it, Sir, without a blush, (For 'tis no Sin to love) that
I cou'd wish-- Heaven and my Father were inclin'd my way: But I am
all Obedience to their Wills.
Bel. That Sigh was kind, But e'er to morrow this time, You'll want this
pitying Sense, and feel no Pantings, But those which Joys and
Pleasures do create.
Cel. Alas, Sir! what is't you'd have me do?
Bel. Why--I wou'd have you love, and after that You need not be
instructed what to do. Give me your Faith, give me your solemn Vow
To be my Wife, and I shall be at Peace.
Cel. Have you consider'd, Sir, your own Condition? 'Tis in your Uncle's

Power to take your Fortune, If in your Choice you disobey his Will.
--And, Sir, you know that mine is much below you.
Bel. Oh, I shall calm his Rage, By urging so much Reason as thy
Beauty, And my own Flame, on which my Life depends. --He now has
kindly sent for me to London, I fear his Bus'ness-- Yet if you'll yield to
marry me, We'll keep it secret, till our kinder Stars Have made
provision for the blest Discovery. Come, give me your Vows, or we
must part for ever.
Cel. Part! Oh, 'tis a fatal Word! I will do any thing to