_Char_. Shan't we see you laid, Brother?

_Bel_. Yes, in my Grave, dear _Charles_;
But I'll excuse that Ceremony here.

_Char_. Good Night, and no Rest to you, Brother.

[_Ex. all but_ Bellmour _and_ Diana.

_Dia_. Till now, my _Bellmour_, I wanted Opportunity
To ask the Cause, why on a joyful Day,
When Heav'n has join'd us by a sacred Tie,
Thou droop'st like early Flowers with Winter-storms.

_Bel_. Thou art that Winter-storm that nips my Bud;
All my young springing Hopes, my gay Desires,
The prospect of approaching Joys of Love,
Thou in a hapless Minute hast took from me,
And in its room,
Hast given me an eternal Desperation.

_Dia_. Have you then given me Vows ye can repent of?

_Bel_. I given ye Vows! be witness, ye just Pow'rs,
How far I was from giving any Vows:
No, no, _Diana_, I had none to give.

_Dia_. No Vows to give!
What were they which unto the Holy Man