_Cel_. My Brother, and _Bellmour_! with strange Men!

_Enter_ Friendlove, Bellmour, _Sir_ Timothy, Sham, _and_ Sharp.

_Friend_. Sister, I've brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy
Person you have heard of, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, faith, Madam, I am Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, at your
Service--Pray are not you Mrs. _Celinda Dresswell_?

_Cel_. The same, but cannot return your Compliment.

Sir _Tim_. Oh Lord, oh Lord, not return a Compliment. Faith, _Ned_, thy
Sister's quite spoil'd, for want of Town-Education; 'tis pity, for she's
devilish pretty.

_Friend_. She's modest, Sir, before Company; therefore these Gentlemen
and I will withdraw into the next Room.

_Cel_. Inhuman Brother! Will you leave me alone with this Sot?

_Friend_. Yes, and if you would be rid of the trouble of him, be not
coy, nor witty; two things he hates.

_Bel_. 'Sdeath! Must she be blown upon by that Fool?

_Friend_. Patience, dear _Frank_, a little while.

[_Exeunt_ Friend. Bell. Sham _and_ Sharp.