_Lord_. I thought thou'dst come about again;
What think you now of Woman-kind, and Wedlock?

_Bel_. As I did before, my Lord.

_Lord_. What, thou canst not think I am in earnest; I confess, _Frank_,
she is above thee in point of Fortune, she being my only Heir--but
suppose 'tis she.

_Bel_. Oh, I'm undone!--Sir, I dare not suppose so greatly in favour
of my self.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, you must needs suppose--

_Bel_. Oh, I am ruin'd, lost, for ever lost.

_Lord_. What do you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. I mean, I cannot marry fair _Diana_.

_Lord_. Death! how's this?

_Bel_. She is a thing above my humble wishes--

_Lord_. Is that all? Take you no care for that; for she loves you
already, and I have resolv'd it, which is better yet.

_Bel_. Love me, Sir! I know she cannot,
And Heav'n forbid that I should injure her.