_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_.