SCENE I.

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THE

INCONSTANT;

A COMEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS;

BY GEORGE FARQUHAR, ESQ.

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS

FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS

BY MRS. INCHBALD.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,

PATERNOSTER ROW.

WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER,

LONDON.

REMARKS.

This comedy, by a favourite writer, had a reception, on the first night

of its appearance, far inferior to that of his other productions. It

was, with difficulty, saved from condemnation; and the author, in his

preface, has boldly charged some secret enemies with having attempted

its destruction.

Dramatic authors have fewer enemies at the present period, or they

have more humility, than formerly. For now, when their works are

hissed from the stage, they acknowledge they have had a fair trial,

and deserve their fate. Wherefore should an author seek for remote

causes, to account for his failures, when to himself alone, he is

certain ever to impute all his success?

Neither the wit, humour, nor the imitation of nature, in this play,

are of that forcible kind, with which the audience had been usually

delighted by Farquhar; and, that the moral gave a degree of superiority

to this drama, was, in those days, of little consequence: the theatre

was ordained, it was thought, for mere pleasure, nor did any one wish

it should degenerate into instruction.

It may be consolatory to the disappointed authors of the present day,

to find, how the celebrated author of this comedy was incommoded with

theatrical crosses. He was highly offended, that his play was not

admired; still more angry, that there was an empty house, on his sixth

night, and more angry still, that the Opera House, for the benefit of

a French dancer, was, about this time, filled even to the annoyance of

the crowded company. The following are his own words on the occasion:

"It is the prettiest way in the world of despising the French king,

to let him see that we can afford money to bribe his dancers, when he,

poor man, has exhausted all his stock, in buying some pitiful towns and

principalities. What can be a greater compliment to our generous nation,

than to have the lady on her re-tour to Paris, boast of her splendid

entertainment in England: of the complaisance, liberty, and good nature

of a people, who thronged her house so full, that she had not room to

stick a pin; and left a poor fellow, who had the misfortune of being

one of themselves, without one farthing, for half a year's pains he

had taken for their entertainment."

This complaint is curious, on account of the talents of the man who

makes it; and, for the same cause, highly reprehensible. If Farquhar,

thought himself superior to the French dancer, why did he honour her by

a comparison? and, if he wanted bread, why did he not suffer in silence,

rather than insinuate, he should like to receive it, through the medium

of a benefit?

A hundred years of refinement (the exact time since this author wrote)

may have weakened the force of the dramatic pen; but it has, happily,

elevated authors above the servile spirit of dedications, or the meaner

practice, of taking public benefits.

As the moral of this comedy has been mentioned as one of its highest

recommendations, it must be added--that, herein, the author did not

invent, but merely adopt, as his own, an occurrence which took place

in Paris, about that period, just as he has represented it in his last

act. The Chevalier de Chastillon was the man who is personated by young

Mirabel, in this extraordinary event; and the Chevalier's friend, his

betrothed wife, and his beautiful courtesan, are all exactly described

in the characters of Duretete, Oriana, and Lamorce.

Having justly abridged Farquhar of the honour of inventing a moral,

it may be equally just, to make a slight apology for his chagrin

at the slender receipts of his sixth night.--He once possessed the

income, which arose from a captain's commission in the army; and having

prudently conceived that this little revenue would not maintain a wife,

he had resolved to live single, unless chance should bestow on him a

woman of fortune. His person and address were so extremely alluring,

that a woman of family, but of no fortune, conceiving the passion she

felt for him to be love, pretended she possessed wealth, and deceived

him into a marriage, which plunged them both into the utmost poverty.

This admirable dramatist seems to have been born for a dupe. In his

matrimonial distress, he applied to a nobleman, who had professed a

friendship for him, and besought his advice how to surmount his

difficulties: The counsel given, was--"Sell your commission, for

present support, and, before the money for its sale is expended, I will

procure you another." Farquhar complied--and his patron broke his word.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

OLD MIRABEL _Mr. Dowton._

YOUNG MIRABEL _Mr. C. Kemble._

CAPTAIN DURETETE _Mr. Bannister._

DUGARD _Mr. Holland._

PETIT _Mr. De Camp._

BRAVOES--_Messrs. Maddocks, Webb, Evans and Sparks._

ORIANA _Mrs. Young._

BISARRE _Mrs. Jordan._

LAMORCE _Miss Tidswell._

THE INCONSTANT.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

_The Street._

_Enter_ DUGARD, _and his Man_, PETIT, _in Riding Habits_.

_Dug._ Sirrah, what's o'clock?

_Petit._ Turned of eleven, sir.

_Dug._ No more! We have rid a swinging pace from Nemours, since two this

morning! Petit, run to Rousseau's, and bespeak a dinner, at a Lewis d'or

a head, to be ready by one.

_Petit._ How many will there be of you, sir?

_Dug._ Let me see--Mirabel one, Duretete two, myself three----

_Petit._ And I four.

_Dug._ How now, sir? at your old travelling familiarity! When abroad,

you had some freedom, for want of better company, but among my friends,

at Paris, pray remember your distance--Begone, sir! [_Exit_ PETIT.] This

fellow's wit was necessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a domestic;

I must dispose of him some way else.--Who's here? Old Mirabel, and my

sister!--my dearest sister!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA.

_Oriana._ My Brother! Welcome!

_Dug._ Monsieur Mirabel! I'm heartily glad to see you.

_Old Mir._ Honest Mr. Dugard, by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm your

most humble servant!

_Dug._ Why, sir, you've cast your skin, sure; you're brisk and

gay--lusty health about you--no sign of age, but your silver hairs.

_Old Mir._ Silver hairs! Then they are quicksilver hairs, sir. Whilst

I have golden pockets, let my hairs be silver, an' they will. Adsbud,

sir, I can dance, and sing, and drink, and--no, I can't wench. But Mr.

Dugard, no news of my son Bob in all your travels?

_Dug._ Your son's come home, sir.

_Old Mir._ Come home! Bob come home! By the blood of the Mirabels, Mr.

Dugard, what say you?

_Oriana._ Mr. Mirabel returned, sir?

_Dug._ He's certainly come, and you may see him within this hour or two.

_Old Mir._ Swear it, Mr. Dugard, presently swear it.

_Dug._ Sir, he came to town with me this morning; I left him at the

Banieurs, being a little disordered after riding, and I shall see him

again presently.

_Old Mir._ What! and he was ashamed to ask a blessing with his boots on!

A nice dog! Well, and how fares the young rogue, ha?

_Dug._ A fine gentleman, sir; he'll be his own messenger.

_Old Mir._ A fine gentleman! But is the rogue like me still?

_Dug._ Why, yes, sir; he's very like his mother, and as like you, as

most modern sons are to their fathers.

_Old Mir._ Why, sir, don't you think that I begat him?

_Dug._ Why, yes, sir; you married his mother, and he inherits your

estate. He's very like you, upon my word.

_Oriana._ And pray, brother, what's become of his honest companion,

Duretete?

_Dug._ Who, the captain? The very same, he went abroad; he's the only

Frenchman I ever knew, that could not change. Your son, Mr. Mirabel, is

more obliged to nature for that fellow's composition, than for his own:

for he's more happy in Duretete's folly than his own wit. In short, they

are as inseparable as finger and thumb; but the first instance in the

world, I believe, of opposition in friendship.

_Old Mir._ Very well: will he be home, to dinner, think ye?

_Dug._ Sir, he has ordered me to bespeak a dinner for us at Rousseau's,

at a Lewis d'or a head.

_Old Mir._ A Lewis d'or a head! Well said, Bob; by the blood of the

Mirabels, Bob's improved! But, Mr. Dugard, was it so civil of Bob, to

visit Monsieur Rousseau, before his own natural father, eh? Harkye,

Oriana, what think you now, of a fellow that can eat and drink ye a

whole Lewis d'or at a sitting? He must be as strong as Hercules; life

and spirit in abundance. Before Gad, I don't wonder at these men of

quality, that their own wives can't serve them! A Lewis d'or a head!

'tis enough to stock the whole nation with bastards, 'tis, 'faith! Mr.

Dugard, I leave you with your sister. [_Exit._

_Dug._ Well, sister, I need not ask you how you do, your looks resolve

me; fair, tall, well-shaped; you're almost grown out of my remembrance.

_Oriana._ Why, truly, brother, I look pretty well, thank nature, and my

toilet; I eat three meals a day, am very merry when up, and sleep

soundly when I'm down.

_Dug._ But, sister, you remember that upon my going abroad, you would

chuse this old gentleman for your guardian; he's no more related to our

family, than Prester John, and I have no reason to think you mistrusted

my management of your fortune. Therefore, pray be so kind as to tell me,

without reservation, the true cause of making such a choice.

_Oriana._ Lookye, brother, you were going a rambling, and 'twas proper,

lest I should go a rambling too, that somebody should take care of me.

Old Monsieur Mirabel is an honest gentleman, was our father's friend,

and has a young lady in his house, whose company I like, and who has

chosen him for her guardian as well as I.

_Dug._ Who, Mademoiselle Bisarre?

_Oriana._ The same; we live merrily together, without scandal or

reproach; we make much of the old gentleman between us, and he takes

care of us; all the week we dance and sing, and upon Sundays, go first

to church, and then to the play.--Now, brother, besides these motives

for chusing this gentleman for my guardian, perhaps I had some private

reasons.

_Dug._ Not so private as you imagine, sister; your love to young

Mirabel's no secret, I can assure you, but so public, that all your

friends are ashamed on't.

_Oriana._ O' my word, then, my friends are very bashful; though I'm

afraid, sir, that those people are not ashamed enough at their own

crimes, who have so many blushes to spare for the faults of their

neighbours.

_Dug._ Ay, but, sister, the people say----

_Oriana._ Pshaw! hang the people! they'll talk treason, and profane

their Maker; must we, therefore infer, that our king is a tyrant, and

religion a cheat? Lookye, brother, their court of inquiry is a tavern,

and their informer, claret: They think as they drink, and swallow

reputations like loches; a lady's health goes briskly round with the

glass, but her honour is lost in the toast.

_Dug._ Ay, but sister, there is still something----

_Oriana._ If there be something, brother, 'tis none of the people's

something: Marriage is my thing, and I'll stick to't.

_Dug._ Marriage! young Mirabel marry! he'll build churches sooner. Take

heed, sister, though your honour stood proof to his home-bred assaults,

you must keep a stricter guard for the future: He has now got the

foreign air, and the Italian softness; his wit's improved by converse,

his behaviour finished by observation, and his assurances confirmed by

success. Sister, I can assure you, he has made his conquests; and 'tis a

plague upon your sex, to be the soonest deceived, by those very men that

you know have been false to others.--But then, sister, he's as fickle--

_Oriana._ For God's sake, brother, tell me no more of his faults, for,

if you do, I shall run mad for him: Say no more, sir; let me but get him

into the bands of matrimony, I'll spoil his wandering, I warrant him;

I'll do his business that way, never fear.

_Dug._ Well, sister, I won't pretend to understand the engagements

between you and your lover; I expect when you have need of my counsel or

assistance, you will let me know more of your affairs. Mirabel is a

gentleman, and as far as my honour and interest can reach, you may

command me, to the furtherance of your happiness: In the mean time,

sister, I have a great mind to make you a present of another humble

servant; a fellow that I took up at Lyons, who has served me honestly

ever since.

_Oriana._ Then why will you part with him?

_Dug._ He has gained so insufferably on my good-humour, that he's grown

too familiar; but the fellow's cunning, and may be serviceable to you in

your affair with Mirabel. Here he comes.

_Enter_ PETIT.

Well, sir, have you been at Rousseau's?

_Petit._ Yes, sir, and who should I find there but Mr. Mirabel and the

captain, hatching as warmly over a tub of ice, as two hen pheasants over

a brood--They would not let me bespeak any thing, for they had dined

before I came.

_Dug._ Come, sir, you shall serve my sister, I shall still continue kind

to you; and if your lady recommends your diligence, upon trial, I'll use

my interest to advance you.--Wait on your lady home, Petit. [_Exit._

_Petit._ A chair! a chair! a chair!

_Oriana._ No, no, I'll walk home, 'tis but next door. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Tavern._

YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ DURETETE _discovered, rising from Table_.

_Y. Mir._ Welcome to Paris once more, my dear Captain; we have eat

heartily, drank roundly, paid plentifully, and let it go for once. I

liked every thing but our women; they looked so lean and tawdry, poor

creatures! 'Tis a sure sign the army is not paid. Give me the plump

Venetian, brisk, and sanguine, that smiles upon me like the glowing

sun, and meets my lips like sparkling wine, her person, shining as the

glass, and spirit, like the foaming liquor.

_Dur._ Ah, Mirabel, Italy I grant you; but for our women here in France,

they are such thin, brawn, fallen jades, a man may as well make a

bed-fellow of a cane chair.

_Y. Mir._ France! A light, unseasoned country, nothing but feathers,

foppery, and fashions.--There's nothing on this side the Alps worth my

humble service t'ye--Ha, Roma la Santa!--Italy for my money!--their

customs, gardens, buildings, paintings, music, policies, wine, and

women! the paradise of the world!--not pestered with a parcel of

precise, old, gouty fellows, that would debar their children every

pleasure, that they themselves are past the sense of;--commend me to

the Italian familiarity--"Here, son, there's fifty crowns, go, pay

your girl her week's allowance."

_Dur._ Ay, these are your fathers, for you, that understand the

necessities of young men! not like our musty dads, who, because they

cannot fish themselves, would muddy the water, and spoil the sport of

them that can. But now you talk of the plump, what d'ye think of a Dutch

woman?

_Y. Mir._ A Dutch woman's too compact,--nay, every thing among them

is so; a Dutch man is thick, a Dutch woman is squab, a Dutch horse is

round, a Dutch dog is short, a Dutch ship is broad bottomed; and, in

short, one would swear, that the whole product of the country were cast

in the same mould with their cheeses.

_Dur._ Ay, but Mirabel, you have forgot the English ladies.

_Y. Mir._ The women of England were excellent, did they not take such

unsufferable pains to ruin, what nature has made so incomparably well;

they would be delicate creatures indeed, could they but thoroughly

arrive at the French mien, or entirely let it alone; for they only

spoil a very good air of their own, by an awkward imitation of ours.

But come, Duretete, let us mind the business in hand; Mistresses we

must have, and must take up with the manufacture of the place, and

upon a competent diligence, we shall find those in Paris shall match

the Italians from top to toe.

_Dur._ Ay, Mirabel, you will do well enough, but what will become of

your friend? you know, I am so plaguy bashful! so naturally an ass upon

these occasions, that----

_Y. Mir._ Pshaw! you must be bolder, man! Travel three years, and bring

home such a baby as bashfulness! A great lusty fellow, and a soldier;

fie upon it!

_Dur._ Lookye, sir, I can visit, and I can ogle a little,--as thus, or

thus now. Then I can kiss abundantly--but if they chance to give me a

forbidding look, as some women, you know, have a devilish cast with

their eyes--or if they cry, "What do you mean? what d'ye take me for?

Fie, sir, remember who I am, sir--A person of quality to be used at

this rate!"--'Egad, I'm struck as flat as a fryingpan.

_Y. Mir._ Words of course! never mind them: Turn you about upon your

heel, with a jantee air; hum out the end of an old song; cut a cross

caper, and at her again.

_Dur._ [_Imitates him._] No, hang it, 'twill never do!--Oons! what did

my father mean, by sticking me up in an university, or to think that I

should gain any thing by my head, in a nation, whose genius lies all

in their heels!--Well, if ever I come to have children of my own, they

shall have the education of the country--they shall learn to dance,

before they can walk, and be taught to sing, before they can speak.

_Y. Mir._ Come, come, throw off that childish humour--put on assurance,

there's no avoiding it; stand all hazards, thou'rt a stout, lusty

fellow, and hast a good estate;--look bluff, hector, you have a good

side-box face, a pretty impudent face; so, that's pretty well.--This

fellow went abroad like an ox, and is returned like an ass. [_Aside._

_Dur._ Let me see now, how I look. [_Pulls out a Pocket Glass, and looks

on it._] A side-box face, say you!--'Egad, I don't like it, Mirabel!

Fie, sir, don't abuse your friends, I could not wear such a face for the

best countess in christendom.

_Y. Mir._ Why can't you, blockhead, as well as I?

_Dur._ Why, thou hast impudence to set a good face upon any thing; I

would change half my gold for half thy brass, with all my heart. Who

comes here? Odso, Mirabel, your father!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Old Mir._ Where's Bob?--dear Bob?

_Y. Mir._ Your blessing, sir?

_Old Mir._ My blessing! Damn ye, ye young rogue, why did not you come

to see your father first, sirrah? My dear boy, I am heartily glad to

see thee, my dear child, 'faith!--Captain Duretete, by the blood of the

Mirabels, I'm yours! Well, my lads, ye look bravely, 'faith.--Bob, hast

got any money left?

_Y. Mir._ Not a farthing, sir.

_Old Mir._ Why, then, I won't gi' thee a souse.

_Y. Mir._ I did but jest, here's ten pistoles.

_Old Mir._ Why, then, here's ten more: I love to be charitable to those

that don't want it.--Well, and how do you like Italy, my boys?

_Y. Mir._ O, the garden of the world, sir! Rome, Naples, Venice, Milan,

and a thousand others--all fine.

_Old Mir._ Ay! say you so? And they say, that Chiari is very fine too.

_Dur._ Indifferent, sir, very indifferent; a very scurvy air, the most

unwholesome to a French constitution in the world.

_Y. Mir._ Pshaw! nothing on't: these rascally gazetteers have misinformed

you.

_Old Mir._ Misinformed me! Oons, sir, were we not beaten there?

_Y. Mir._ Beaten, sir! we beaten!

_Old Mir._ Why, how was it, pray, sweet sir?

_Y. Mir._ Sir, the captain will tell you.

_Dur._ No, sir, your son will tell you.

_Y. Mir._ The captain was in the action, sir.

_Dur._ Your son saw more than I, sir, for he was a looker on.

_Old Mir._ Confound you both, for a brace of cowards! here are no

Germans to overhear you--why don't ye tell me how it was?

_Y. Mir._ Why, then, you must know, that we marched up a body of the

finest, bravest, well dressed fellows in the universe; our commanders at

the head of us, all lace and feather, like so many beaux at a ball--I

don't believe there was a man of them but could dance a charmer,

Morbleau.

_Old Mir._ Dance! very well, pretty fellows, 'faith!

_Y. Mir._ We capered up to their very trenches, and there saw, peeping

over, a parcel of scare-crow, olive-coloured, gunpowder fellows, as ugly

as the devil.

_Dur._ E'gad, I shall never forget the looks of them, while I have

breath to fetch.

_Y. Mir._ They were so civil, indeed, as to welcome us with their

cannon! but for the rest, we found them such unmannerly, rude,

unsociable dogs, that we grew tired of their company, and so we

e'en danced back again.

_Old Mir._ And did ye all come back?

_Y. Mir._ No, two or three thousand of us staid behind.

_Old Mir._ Why, Bob, why?

_Y. Mir._ Pshaw! because they could not come that night.

_Dur._ No, sir, because they could not come that night.

_Y. Mir._ But, come, sir, we were talking of something else; pray, how

does your lovely charge, the fair Oriana?

_Old Mir._ Ripe, sir, just ripe; you'll find it better engaging with her

than with the Germans, let me tell you. And what would you say, my young

Mars, if I had a Venus for thee too? Come, Bob, your apartment is ready,

and pray let your friend be my guest too; you shall command the house

between ye, and I'll be as merry as the best of you. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

OLD MIRABEL'S _House_.

ORIANA _and_ BISARRE.

_Bis._ And you love this young rake, d'ye?

_Oriana._ Yes.

_Bis._ In spite of all his ill usage?

_Oriana._ I can't help it.

_Bis._ What's the matter wi' ye?

_Oriana._ Pshaw!

_Bis._ Um!--before that any young, lying, swearing, flattering,

rakehelly fellow, should play such tricks with me--O, the devil take all

your Cassandras and Cleopatras for me.--I warrant now, you'll play the

fool when he comes, and say you love him! eh?

_Oriana._ Most certainly; I can't dissemble, Bisarre; besides, 'tis past

that, we're contracted.

_Bis._ Contracted! alack-a-day, poor thing!--What, you have changed

rings, or broken an old broadpiece between you! I would make a fool

of any fellow in France. Well, I must confess, I do love a little

coquetting, with all my heart! my business should be to break gold with

my lover one hour, and crack my promise the next; he should find me one

day with a prayer book in my hand, and with a play book another.--He

should have my consent to buy the wedding ring, and the next moment

would I ask him his name.

_Oriana._ O, my dear! were there no greater tie upon my heart, than

there is upon my conscience, I would soon throw the contract out of

doors; but the mischief on't is, I am so fond of being tied, that

I'm forced to be just, and the strength of my passion keeps down the

inclination of my sex.

_Bis._ But here's the old gentleman!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Old Mir._ Where's my wenches?--where's my two little girls? Eh! Have

a care,--look to yourselves, 'faith, they're a coming--the travellers

are a coming! Well! which of you two will be my daughter-in-law now?

Bisarre, Bisarre, what say you, madcap? Mirabel is a pure, wild fellow.

_Bis._ I like him the worse.

_Old Mir._ You lie, hussy, you like him the better, indeed you do! What

say you, my t'other little filbert, eh?

_Oriana._ I suppose the gentleman will chuse for himself, sir.

_Old Mir._ Why, that's discreetly said, and so he shall.

_Enter_ MIRABEL _and_ DURETETE; _they salute the Ladies_.

Bob, harkye, you shall marry one of these girls, sirrah!

_Y. Mir._ Sir, I'll marry them both, if you please.

_Bis._ [_Aside._] He'll find that one may serve his turn.

_Old Mir._ Both! why, you young dog, d'ye banter me?--Come, sir, take

your choice.--Duretete, you shall have your choice too, but Robin shall

chuse first.--Come, sir, begin. Well! which d'ye like?

_Y. Mir._ Both.

_Old Mir._ But which will you marry?

_Y. Mir._ Neither.

_Old Mir._ Neither! Don't make me angry now, Bob--pray, don't make me

angry.--Lookye, sirrah, if I don't dance at your wedding to-morrow, I

shall be very glad to cry at your grave.

_Y. Mir._ That's a bull, father.

_Old Mir._ A bull! Why, how now, ungrateful sir, did I make thee a man,

that thou shouldst make me a beast?

_Y. Mir._ Your pardon, sir; I only meant your expression.

_Old Mir._ Harkye, Bob, learn better manners to your father before

strangers! I won't be angry this time: But oons, if ever you do't again,

you rascal!--remember what I say. [_Exit._

_Y. Mir._ Pshaw! what does the old fellow mean by mewing me up here with

a couple of green girls?--Come, Duretete, will you go?

_Oriana._ I hope, Mr. Mirabel, you han't forgot--

_Y. Mir._ No, no, madam, I han't forgot, I have brought you a thousand

little Italian curiosities; I'll assure you, madam, as far as a hundred

pistoles would reach, I han't forgot the least circumstance.

_Oriana._ Sir, you misunderstand me.

_Y. Mir._ Odso! the relics, madam, from Rome. I do remember, now, you

made a vow of chastity before my departure; a vow of chastity, or

something like it--was it not, madam?

_Oriana._ O sir, I'm answered at present. [_Exit._

_Y. Mir._ She was coming full mouth upon me with her contract--'Would I

might despatch t'other!

_Dur._ Mirabel, that lady there, observe her, she's wondrous pretty,

'faith! and seems to have but few words; I like her mainly--speak to

her, man, pr'ythee speak to her.

_Y. Mir._ Madam, here's a gentleman, who declares----

_Dur._ Madam, don't believe him, I declare nothing--What, the devil, do

you mean, man?

_Y. Mir._ He says, madam, that you are as beautiful as an angel.

_Dur._ He tells a damned lie, madam! I say no such thing--Are you mad,

Mirabel? Why, I shall drop down with shame.

_Y. Mir._ And so, madam, not doubting but your ladyship may like him as

well as he does you, I think it proper to leave you together.

[_Going_, DURETETE _holds him_.

_Dur._ Hold, hold--Why, Mirabel, friend, sure you won't be so barbarous

as to leave me alone! Pr'ythee, speak to her for yourself, as it were!

Lord, Lord, that a Frenchman should want impudence!

_Y. Mir._ You look mighty demure, madam.--She's deaf, Captain.

_Dur._ I had much rather have her dumb.

_Y. Mir._ The gravity of your air, madam, promises some extraordinary

fruits from your study, which moves us with curiosity to inquire the

subject of your ladyship's contemplation.--Not a word!

_Dur._ I hope in the Lord, she's speechless! if she be, she's mine this

moment. Mirabel, d'ye think a woman's silence can be natural?

_Bis._ But the forms which logicians introduce, and which proceed from

simple enumeration, are dubitable, and proceed only upon admittance--

_Y. Mir._ Hoyty toyty! what a plague have we here? Plato in petticoats!

_Dur._ Ay, ay, let her go on, man; she talks in my own mother tongue.

_Bis._ 'Tis exposed to invalidity, from a contradictory instance; looks

only upon common operations, and is infinite in its termination.

_Y. Mir._ Rare pedantry!

_Dur._ Axioms! axioms! self-evident principles!

_Bis._ Then the ideas wherewith the mind is pre-occupate.--O, gentlemen,

I hope you'll pardon my cogitation! I was involved in a profound point

of philosophy, but I shall discuss it somewhere else, being satisfied,

that the subject is not agreeable to your sparks, that profess the

vanity of the times. [_Exit._

_Y. Mir._ Go thy way, good wife Bias! Do you hear, Duretete? Dost hear

this starched piece of austerity?

_Dur._ She's mine, man, she's mine--My own talent to a T.--I'll match

her in dialectics, 'faith! I was seven years at the university, man,

nursed up with Barbaro, Celarunt, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton. Did you ever

know, man, that 'twas metaphysics made me an ass? It was, 'faith! Had

she talked a word of singing, dancing, plays, fashions, or the like, I

had foundered at the first step; but as she is--Mirabel, wish me joy!

_Y. Mir._ You don't mean marriage, I hope?

_Dur._ No, no, I am a man of more honour.

_Y. Mir._ Bravely resolved, Captain! now for thy credit--warm me this

frozen snowball--'twill be a conquest above the Alps!

_Dur._ But will you promise to be always near me?

_Y. Mir._ Upon all occasions, never fear.

_Dur._ Why, then, you shall see me, in two moments, make an induction

from my love to her hand, from her hand to her mouth, from her mouth to

her heart, and so conclude in her bed, categorematice.

_Y. Mir._ Now the game begins, and my fool is entered.--But here comes

one to spoil my sport; now shall I be teased to death, with this

old-fashioned contract! I should love her too, if I might do it my own

way, but she'll do nothing without witnesses, forsooth! I wonder women

can be so immodest!

_Enter_ ORIANA.

Well, madam, why d'ye follow me?

_Oriana._ Well, sir, why do you shun me?

_Y. Mir._ 'Tis my humour, madam, and I'm naturally swayed by

inclination.

_Oriana._ Have you forgot our contract, sir?

_Y. Mir._ All I remember of that contract is, that it was made some

three years ago, and that's enough, in conscience, to forget the rest

on't.

_Oriana._ 'Tis sufficient, sir, to recollect the passing of it; for, in

that circumstance, I presume, lies the force of the obligation.

_Y. Mir._ Obligations, madam, that are forced upon the will, are no tie

upon the conscience; I was a slave to my passion, when I passed the

instrument, but the recovery of my freedom makes the contract void.

_Oriana._ Come, Mr. Mirabel, these expressions I expected from the

raillery of your humour, but I hope for very different sentiments from

your honour and generosity.

_Y. Mir._ Lookye, madam, as for my generosity, 'tis at your service,

with all my heart: I'll keep you a coach and six horses, if you please,

only permit me to keep my honour to myself. Consider, madam, you have no

such thing among ye, and 'tis a main point of policy to keep no faith

with reprobates--thou art a pretty little reprobate, and so get thee

about thy business!

_Oriana._ Well, sir, even all this I will allow to the gaiety of your

temper; your travels have improved your talent of talking, but they are

not of force, I hope, to impair your morals.

_Y. Mir._ Morals! why, there 'tis again now!--I tell thee, child, there

is not the least occasion for morals, in any business between you and

I. Don't you know that, of all commerce in the world, there is no such

cozenage and deceit, as in the traffic between man and woman? we study

all our lives long, how to put tricks upon one another.--No fowler lays

abroad more nets for his game, nor a hunter for his prey, than you do,

to catch poor innocent men.--Why do you sit three or four hours at

your toilet in a morning? only with a villanous design to make some

poor fellow a fool before night. What d'ye sigh for?--What d'ye weep

for?--What d'ye pray for? Why, for a husband: That is, you implore

Providence to assist you, in the just, and pious design, of making the

wisest of his creatures a fool, and the head of the creation, a slave.

_Oriana._ Sir, I am proud of my power, and am resolved to use it.

_Y. Mir._ Hold, hold, madam, not so fast--As you have variety of vanities

to make coxcombs of us; so we have vows, oaths, and protestations, of

all sorts and sizes, to make fools of you--And this, in short, my dear

creature, is our present condition. I have sworn, and lied, briskly, to

gain my ends of you; your ladyship has patched and painted violently, to

gain your ends of me; but, since we are both disappointed, let us make a

drawn battle, and part clear on both sides.

_Oriana._ With all my heart, sir! give me up my contract, and I'll never

see your face again.

_Y. Mir._ Indeed, I won't, child!

_Oriana._ What, sir! neither do one nor t'other?

_Y. Mir._ No, you shall die a maid, unless you please to be otherwise,

upon my terms.

_Oriana._ What do you intend by this, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Why, to starve you into compliance;--lookye, you shall never

marry any man; and you had as good let me do you a kindness as a

stranger.

_Oriana._ Sir, you're a----

_Y. Mir._ What am I, ma'am?

_Oriana._ A villain, sir.

_Y. Mir._ I'm glad on't--I never knew an honest fellow in my life, but

was a villain upon these occasions. Han't you drawn yourself, now, into

a very pretty dilemma? ha! ha! ha! the poor lady has made a vow of

virginity, when she thought of making a vow to the contrary. Was ever

poor woman so cheated into chastity?

_Oriana._ Sir, my fortune is equal to yours, my friends as powerful, and

both shall be put to the test, to do me justice.

_Y. Mir._ What! you'll force me to marry you, will ye?

_Oriana._ Sir, the law shall.

_Y. Mir._ But the law can't force me to do any thing else, can it?

_Oriana._ Pshaw, I despise thee--Monster!

_Y. Mir._ Kiss and be friends, then--Don't cry, child, and you shall

have your sugar plumb--Come, madam, d'ye think I could be so unreasonable

as to make you fast all your life long! No, I did but jest, you shall

have your liberty--here, take your contract, and give me mine.

_Oriana._ No, I won't.

_Y. Mir._ Eh! What, is the girl a fool?

_Oriana._ No, sir, you shall find me cunning enough to do myself

justice; and since I must not depend upon your love, I'll be revenged,

and force you to marry me, out of spite.

_Y. Mir._ Then I'll beat thee out of spite, and make a most confounded

husband!

_Oriana._ O, sir, I shall match ye! A good husband makes a good wife at

any time.

_Y. Mir._ I'll rattle down your china about your ears.

_Oriana._ And I'll rattle about the city, to run you in debt for more.

_Y. Mir._ I'll tear the furbelow off your clothes, and when you swoon

for vexation, you shan't have a penny, to buy a bottle of hartshorn.

_Oriana._ And you, sir, shall have hartshorn in abundance.

_Y. Mir._ I'll keep as many mistresses as I have coach horses.

_Oriana._ And I'll keep as many gallants as you have grooms.

_Y. Mir._ But, sweet madam, there is such a thing as a divorce!

_Oriana._ But, sweet sir, there is such a thing as alimony! so divorce

on, and spare not. [_Exit._

_Y. Mir._ Ay, that separate maintenance is the devil--there's their

refuge!--O' my conscience, one would take cuckoldom for a meritorious

action, because the women are so handsomely rewarded for it. [_Exit._

_Enter_ DURETETE _and_ PETIT.

_Dur._ And she's mighty peevish, you say?

_Petit._ O sir, she has a tongue as long as my leg, and talks so

crabbedly, you would think she always spoke Welsh.

_Dur._ That's an odd language, methinks, for her philosophy.

_Petit._ But sometimes she will sit you half a day without speaking a

word, and talk oracles all the while by the wrinkles of her forehead,

and the motions of her eyebrows.

_Dur._ Nay, I shall match her in philosophical ogles, 'faith!--that's

my talent: I can talk best, you must know, when I say nothing.

_Petit._ But d'ye ever laugh, sir?

_Dur._ Laugh? Won't she endure laughing?

_Petit._ Why, she's a critic, sir, she hates a jest, for fear it should

please her; and nothing keeps her in humour, but what gives her the

spleen.--And then, for logic, and all that, you know----

_Dur._ Ay, ay, I'm prepared, I have been practising hard words and no

sense, this hour, to entertain her.

_Petit._ Then place yourself behind this screen, that you may have a

view of her behaviour before you begin.

_Dur._ I long to engage her, lest I should forget my lesson.

_Petit._ Here she comes, sir--I must fly.

[_Exit_ PETIT, _and_ DURETETE _stands

peeping behind the Curtain_.

_Enter_ BISARRE _and_ MAID.

_Bis._ [_With a Book._] Pshaw! hang books! they sour our temper, spoil

our eyes, and ruin our complexions. [_Throws away the Book._

_Dur._ Eh? the devil such a word there is in all Aristotle!

_Bis._ Come, wench, let's be free--call in the fiddle, there's nobody

near us.

_Dur._ 'Would to the Lord there was not!

_Bis._ Here, friend, a minuet----[_Music._] Quicker time--ha--'would we

had a man or two!

_Dur._ [_Stealing away._] You shall have the devil sooner, my dear,

dancing philosopher!

_Bis._ Uds my life!--Here's one!

[_Runs to_ DURETETE, _and hales him back_.

_Dur._ Is all my learned preparation come to this?

_Bis._ Come, sir, don't be ashamed, that's my good boy--you're very

welcome, we wanted such a one--Come, strike up--[_Dance._] I know you

dance well, sir, you're finely shaped for't--Come, come, sir;--quick,

quick! you miss the time else.

_Dur._ But, madam, I come to talk with you.

_Bis._ Ay, ay, talk as you dance, talk as you dance,--come.

_Dur._ But we were talking of dialectics--

_Bis._ Hang dialectics! [_Music._] Mind the time----quicker, sirrah!

--Come--and how d'ye find yourself now, sir?

_Dur._ In a fine breathing sweat, Doctor.

_Bis._ All the better, patient, all the better;--Come, sir, sing now,

sing, I know you sing well: I see you have a singing face--a heavy,

dull, sonata face.

_Dur._ Who, I sing?

_Bis._ O you're modest, sir--but come, sit down closer--closer. Here, a

bottle of wine! [_Exit_ MAID, _and returns with Wine_.] Come, sir--sing,

sir.

_Dur._ But, madam, I came to talk with you.

_Bis._ O sir, you shall drink first.--Come, fill me a bumper--here, sir,

bless the king!

_Dur._ 'Would I were out of his dominions!--By this light, she'll make

me drunk too!

_Bis._ O pardon me, sir, you shall do me right--fill it higher.--Now,

sir, can you drink a health under your leg?

_Dur._ Rare philosophy that, 'faith!

_Bis._ Come, off with it to the bottom!--Now, how d'ye like me, sir?

_Dur._ O, mighty well, madam!

_Bis._ You see how a woman's fancy varies! sometimes, splenetic and

heavy, then, gay and frolicsome.--And how d'ye like the humour?

_Dur._ Good madam, let me sit down to answer you, for I am heartily

tired.

_Bis._ Fie upon't! a young man, and tired! up, for shame, and walk

about!--Action becomes us--a little faster, sir--What d'ye think now of

my Lady La Pale, and Lady Coquet, the duke's fair daughter? Ha! Are they

not brisk lasses? Then there is black Mrs. Bellair, and brown Mrs.

Bellface!

_Dur._ They are all strangers to me, madam.

_Bis._ But let me tell you, sir, that brown is not always despicable--O

Lard, sir, if young Mrs. Bagatell had kept herself single till this time

o'day, what a beauty there had been! And then, you know, the charming

Mrs. Monkeylove, the fair gem of St. Germain's!

_Dur._ Upon my soul, I don't!

_Bis._ And then, you must have heard of the English beau, Spleenamore,

how unlike a gentleman----

_Dur._ Hey!--not a syllable on't, as I hope to be saved, madam!

_Bis._ No! Why, then, play me a jig;--[_Music._]--Come, sir.

_Dur._ By this light, I cannot! 'faith, madam, I have sprained my leg!

_Bis._ Then sit you down, sir;--and now tell me what's your business

with me? What's your errand? Quick, quick, despatch!--Odso, may be, you

are some gentleman's servant, that has brought me a letter, or a haunch

of venison?

_Dur._ 'Sdeath, madam, do I look like a carrier?

_Bis._ O, cry you mercy, I saw you just now, I mistook you, upon my

word! you are one of the travelling gentlemen--and pray, sir, how do all

our impudent friends in Italy?

_Dur._ Madam, I came to wait on you with a more serious intention than

your entertainment has answered.

_Bis._ Sir, your intention of waiting on me was the greatest affront

imaginable, however your expressions may turn it to a compliment: Your

visit, sir, was intended as a prologue to a very scurvy play, of which,

Mr. Mirabel and you so handsomely laid the plot.--"Marry! No, no, I am

a man of more honour."--Where's your honour? Where's your courage now?

Ads my life, sir, I have a great mind to kick you!--Go, go to your

fellow-rake now, rail at my sex, and get drunk for vexation, and write a

lampoon--But I must have you to know, sir, that my reputation is above

the scandal of a libel, my virtue is sufficiently approved to those

whose opinion is my interest: and, for the rest, let them talk what they

will; for, when I please, I'll be what I please, in spite of you and all

mankind; and so, my dear man of honour, if you be tired, con over this

lesson, and sit there till I come to you. [_Runs off._

_Dur._ Tum ti dum. [_Sings._] Ha! ha! ha! "Ad's my life, I have a great

mind to kick you!"--Oons and confusion! [_Starts up._] Was ever man so

abused!--Ay, Mirabel set me on.

_Enter_ PETIT.

_Petit._ Well, sir, how d'ye find yourself?

_Dur._ You son of a nine-eyed whore, d'ye come to abuse me? I'll kick

you with a vengeance, you dog!

[PETIT _runs off, and_ DURETETE _after him_.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

OLD MIRABEL'S _House_.

_Enter_ OLD _and_ YOUNG MIRABEL, _meeting_.

_Old Mir._ Bob, come hither, Bob.

_Y. Mir._ Your pleasure, sir?

_Old Mir._ Are not you a great rogue, sirrah?

_Y. Mir._ That's a little out of my comprehension, sir; for I've heard

say, that I resemble my father.

_Old Mir._ Your father is your very humble slave--I tell thee what,

child, thou art a very pretty fellow, and I love thee heartily; and a

very great villain, and I hate thee mortally.

_Y. Mir._ Villain, sir! Then I must be a very impudent one; for I can't

recollect any passage of my life that I'm ashamed of.

_Old Mir._ Come hither, my dear friend; dost see this picture?

[_Shows him a little Picture._

_Y. Mir._ Oriana's? Pshaw!

_Old Mir._ What, sir, won't you look upon't?--Bob, dear Bob, pr'ythee

come hither now--Dost want any money, child?

_Y. Mir._ No, sir.

_Old Mir._ Why, then, here's some for thee: come here now--How canst

thou be so hard-hearted, an unnatural, unmannerly rascal, (don't mistake

me, child, I a'n't angry) as to abuse this tender, lovely, good-natured,

dear rogue?--Why, she sighs for thee, and cries for thee, pouts for

thee, and snubs for thee; the poor little heart of it is like to

burst----Come, my dear boy, be good-natured, like your own father; be

now--and then, see here, read this----the effigies of the lovely Oriana,

with thirty thousand pound to her portion--thirty thousand pound, you

dog! thirty thousand pound, you rogue! how dare you refuse a lady with

thirty thousand pound, you impudent rascal?

_Y. Mir._ Will you hear me speak, sir?

_Old Mir._ Hear you speak, sir! If you had thirty thousand tongues, you

could not out-talk thirty thousand pound, sir.

_Y. Mir._ Nay, sir, if you won't hear me, I'll begone, sir! I'll take

post for Italy this moment.

_Old Mir._ Ah, the fellow knows I won't part with him! Well, sir, what

have you to say?

_Y. Mir._ The universal reception, sir, that marriage has had in the

world, is enough to fix it for a public good, and to draw every body

into the common cause; but there are some constitutions, like some

instruments, so peculiarly singular, that they make tolerable music

by themselves, but never do well in a concert.

_Old Mir._ Why, this is reason, I must confess, but yet it is nonsense

too; for, though you should reason like an angel, if you argue yourself

out of a good estate, you talk like a fool.

_Y. Mir._ But, sir, if you bribe me into bondage with the riches of

Croesus, you leave me but a beggar, for want of my liberty.

_Old Mir._ Was ever such a perverse fool heard? 'Sdeath, sir! why did

I give you education? was it to dispute me out of my senses? Of what

colour, now, is the head of this cane? You'll say, 'tis white, and, ten

to one, make me believe it too----I thought that young fellows studied

to get money.

_Y. Mir._ No, sir, I have studied to despise it; my reading was not to

make me rich, but happy, sir.

_Old Mir._ There he has me again, now! But, sir, did not I marry to

oblige you?

_Y. Mir._ To oblige me, sir! in what respect, pray?

_Old Mir._ Why, to bring you into the world, sir; wa'n't that an

obligation?

_Y. Mir._ And, because I would have it still an obligation, I avoid

marriage.

_Old Mir._ How is that, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Because I would not curse the hour I was born.

_Old Mir._ Lookye, friend, you may persuade me out of my designs, but

I'll command you out of yours; and, though you may convince my reason

that you are in the right, yet there is an old attendant of sixty-three,

called positiveness, which you, nor all the wits in Italy, shall ever be

able to shake: so, sir, you're a wit, and I'm a father: you may talk,

but I'll be obeyed.

_Y. Mir._ This it is to have the son a finer gentleman than the father;

they first give us breeding, that they don't understand; then they turn

us out of doors, because we are wiser than themselves. But I'm a little

aforehand with the old gentleman. [_Aside._] Sir, you have been pleased

to settle a thousand pound sterling a year upon me; in return of which,

I have a very great honour for you and your family, and shall take care

that your only and beloved son shall do nothing to make him hate his

father, or to hang himself. So, dear sir, I'm your very humble servant.

[_Runs off._

_Old Mir._ Here, sirrah! rogue! Bob! villain!

_Enter_ DUGARD.

_Dug._ Ah, sir! 'tis but what he deserves.

_Old Mir._ 'Tis false, sir! he don't deserve it: what have you to say

against my boy, sir?

_Dug._ I shall only repeat your own words.

_Old Mir._ What have you to do with my words? I have swallowed my words

already; I have eaten them up.--I say, that Bob's an honest fellow, and

who dares deny it?

_Enter_ BISARRE.

_Bis._ That dare I, sir:--I say, that your son is a wild, foppish,

whimsical, impertinent coxcomb; and, were I abused, as this gentleman's

sister is, I would make it an Italian quarrel, and poison the whole

family.

_Dug._ Come, sir, 'tis no time for trifling: my sister is abused; you

are made sensible of the affront, and your honour is concerned to see

her redressed.

_Old Mir._ Lookye, Mr. Dugard, good words go farthest. I will do your

sister justice, but it must be after my own rate; nobody must abuse my

son but myself; for, although Robin be a sad dog, yet he's nobody's

puppy but my own.

_Bis._ Ay, that's my sweet-natured, kind, old gentleman--[_Wheedling

him._] We will be good, then, if you'll join with us in the plot.

_Old Mir._ Ah, you coaxing young baggage! what plot can you have to

wheedle a fellow of sixty-three?

_Bis._ A plot that sixty-three is only good for; to bring other people

together, sir. You must act the Spaniard, because your son will least

suspect you; and, if he should, your authority protects you from a

quarrel, to which Oriana is unwilling to expose her brother.

_Old Mir._ And what part will you act in the business, madam?

_Bis._ Myself, sir; my friend is grown a perfect changeling: these

foolish hearts of ours spoil our heads presently; the fellows no sooner

turn knaves, but we turn fools: but I am still myself, and he may expect

the most severe usage from me, because I neither love him, nor hate him.

[_Exit._

_Old Mir._ Well said, Mrs. Paradox! but, sir, who must open the matter

to him?

_Dug._ Petit, sir; who is our engineer general; and here he comes.

_Enter_ PETIT.

_Petit._ O, sir, more discoveries! are all friends about us?

_Dug._ Ay, ay, speak freely.

_Petit._ You must know, sir,----od's my life, I'm out of breath! you

must know, sir,--you must know--

_Old Mir._ What the devil must we know, sir?

_Petit._ That I have [_Pants and blows._] bribed, sir, bribed--your

son's secretary of state.

_Old Mir._ Secretary of state!--who's that, for Heaven's sake?

_Petit._ His valet de chambre, sir? You must know, sir, that the

intrigue lay folded up in his master's clothes; and, when he went to

dust the embroidered suit, the secret flew out of the right pocket of

his coat, in a whole swarm of your crambo songs, short-footed odes, and

long-legged pindarics.

_Old Mir._ Impossible!

_Petit._ Ah, sir, he has loved her all along; there was Oriana in every

line, but he hates marriage. Now, sir, this plot will stir up his

jealousy, and we shall know, by the strength of that, how to proceed

farther.

Come, sir, let's about it with speed:

'Tis expedition gives our king the sway;

For expedition to the French give way;

Swift to attack, or swift--to run away.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ BISARRE, _passing carelessly by

one another_.

_Bis._ [_Aside._] I wonder what she can see in this fellow, to like him?

_Y. Mir._ [_Aside._] I wonder what my friend can see in this girl, to

admire her?

_Bis._ [_Aside._] A wild, foppish, extravagant, rake-hell!

_Y. Mir._ [_Aside._] A light, whimsical, impertinent, madcap!

_Bis._ Whom do you mean, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Whom do you mean, madam?

_Bis._ A fellow, that has nothing left to re-establish him for a human

creature, but a prudent resolution to hang himself!

_Y. Mir._ There is a way, madam, to force me to that resolution.

_Bis._ I'll do it, with all my heart.

_Y. Mir._ Then you must marry me.

_Bis._ Lookye, sir, don't think your ill manners to me, shall excuse

your ill usage of my friend; nor, by fixing a quarrel here, to divert my

zeal for the absent; for I'm resolved, nay, I come prepared, to make you

a panegyric, that shall mortify your pride, like any modern dedication.

_Y. Mir._ And I, madam, like a true modern patron, shall hardly give you

thanks for your trouble.

_Bis._ Come, sir, to let you see what little foundation you have for

your dear sufficiency, I'll take you to pieces.

_Y. Mir._ And what piece will you chuse?

_Bis._ Your heart, to be sure; because I should get presently rid on't:

your courage I would give to a Hector, your wit to a lewd playmaker,

your honour to an attorney, your body to the physicians, and your soul

to its master.

_Y. Mir._ I had the oddest dream last night of the Duchess of Burgundy;

methought the furbelows of her gown were pinned up so high behind, that

I could not see her head for her tail.

_Bis._ The creature don't mind me! do you think, sir, that your humorous

impertinence can divert me? No, sir, I'm above any pleasure that you can

give, but that of seeing you miserable. And mark me, sir, my friend, my

injured friend, shall yet be doubly happy, and you shall be a husband,

as much as the rites of marriage, and the breach of them, can make you.

[_Here_ MIRABEL _pulls out a Virgil, and reads

to himself, while she speaks_.

_Mir._ [Reading.]

_At Regina dolos, (quis fallere possit amantem?)_

_Dissimulare etiam sperasti, perfide tantum_--

Very true.

_Posse nefas._

By your favour, friend Virgil, 'twas but a rascally trick of your hero,

to forsake poor pug so inhumanly.

_Bis._ I don't know what to say to him. The devil----what's Virgil to

us, sir?

_Mir._ Very much, madam; the most apropos in the world--for, what should

I chop upon, but the very place where the perjured rogue of a lover, and

the forsaken lady, are battling it tooth and nail! Come, madam, spend

your spirits no longer; we'll take an easier method: I'll be AEneas now,

and you shall be Dido, and we'll rail by book. Now for you, Madam Dido:

_Nec te noster amor, nec te data dextera quondam,_

_Nec Meritura tenet crudeli funere Dido_----

Ah, poor Dido! [_Looking at her._

_Bis._ Rudeness! affronts! impatience! I could almost start out, even to

manhood, and want but a weapon, as long as his, to fight him upon the

spot. What shall I say?

_Mir._ Now she rants.

_Quae quibus anteferam? jam jam nec Maxima Juno._

_Bis._ A man! No, the woman's birth was spirited away.

_Mir._ Right, right, madam, the very words.

_Bis._ And some pernicious elf left in the cradle, with human shape, to

palliate growing mischief.

[_Both speak together, and raise their Voices by Degrees._

Mir.

_Perfide, sed duris genuit te Cautibus horrens_

_Caucasus, Hyrcanaeque admorunt Ubera Tigres._

_Bis._ Go, sir, fly to your midnight revels----

_Mir._ Excellent!

_I sequere Italiam ventis, pete regna per undas,_

_Spero equidem mediis, si quid pia Numina possunt._

[Together again.

_Bis._ Converse with imps of darkness of your make; your nature starts

at justice, and shivers at the touch of virtue.--Now, the devil take his

impudence! He vexes me so, I don't know whether to cry or laugh at him.

_Mir._ Bravely performed, my dear Libyan! I'll write the tragedy of

Dido, and you shall act the part; but you do nothing at all, unless

you fret yourself into a fit; for here the poor lady is stifled with

vapours, drops into the arms of her maids, and the cruel, barbarous,

deceitful, wanderer, is, in the very next line, called pious

AEneas.--There's authority for ye.

Sorry indeed AEneas stood,

To see her in a pout;

But Jove himself, who ne'er thought good

To stay a second bout,

Commands him off, with all his crew,

And leaves poor Dy, as I leave you. [_Runs off._

_Bis._ Go thy ways, for a dear, mad, deceitful, agreeable fellow! O' my

conscience, I must excuse Oriana.

That lover soon his angry fair disarms,

Whose slighting pleases, and whose faults are charms. [_Exit._

_Enter_ PETIT; _runs about to every Door, and knocks_.

_Petit._ Mr. Mirabel! Sir, where are you? no where to be found?

_Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL.

_Y. Mir._ What's the matter, Petit?

_Petit._ Most critically met!--Ah, sir, that one who has followed the

game so long, and brought the poor hare just under his paws, should let

a mungrel cur chop in, and run away with the puss!

_Y. Mir._ If your worship can get out of your allegories, be pleased to

tell me, in three words, what you mean.

_Petit._ Plain, plain, sir! Your mistress and mine is going to be

married!

_Y. Mir._ I believe you lie, sir.

_Petit._ Your humble servant, sir. [_Going._

_Y. Mir._ Come hither, Petit. Married, say you?

_Petit._ No, sir, 'tis no matter: I only thought to do you a service;

but I shall take care how I confer my favours for the future.

_Y. Mir._ Sir, I beg ten thousand pardons. [_Bowing low._

_Petit._ 'Tis enough, sir.--I come to tell you, sir, that Oriana is this

moment to be sacrificed; married past redemption!

_Y. Mir._ I understand her; she'll take a husband, out of spite to me,

and then, out of love to me, she will make him a cuckold! But who is the

happy man?

_Petit._ A lord, sir.

_Y. Mir._ I'm her ladyship's most humble servant. Now must I be a

constant attender at my lord's levee, to work my way to my lady's

couchee----A countess, I presume, sir----

_Petit._ A Spanish count, sir, that Mr. Dugard knew abroad, is come to

Paris, saw your mistress yesterday, marries her to-day, and whips her

into Spain to-morrow.

_Y. Mir._ Ay, is it so? and must I follow my cuckold over the Pyrenees?

Had she married within the precincts of a billet-doux, I would be the

man to lead her to church; but, as it happens, I'll forbid the banns!

Where is this mighty don?

_Petit._ Have a care, sir; he's a rough cross-grained piece, and

there's no tampering with him. Would you apply to Mr. Dugard, or the

lady herself, something might be done, for it is in despite to you, that

the business is carried so hastily. Odso, sir, here he comes! I must be

gone. [_Exit._

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL, _dressed in a Spanish Habit, leading_

ORIANA.

_Oriana._ Good my lord, a nobler choice had better suited your

lordship's merit. My person, rank, and circumstance, expose me as the

public theme of raillery, and subject me so to injurious usage, my lord,

that I can lay no claim to any part of your regard, except your pity.

_Old Mir._ Breathes he vital air, that dares presume,

With rude behaviour, to profane such excellence?

Show me the man----

And you shall see how my sudden revenge

Shall fall upon the head of such presumption.

Is this thing one?

[_Strutting up to_ YOUNG MIRABEL.

_Y. Mir._ Sir!

_Oriana._ Good my lord.

_Old Mir._ If he, or any he!

_Oriana._ Pray, my lord, the gentleman's a stranger.

_Old Mir._ O, your pardon, sir,--but if you had--remember, sir,--the

lady now is mine, her injuries are mine; therefore, sir, you understand

me----Come, madam.

[_Leads_ ORIANA _to the Door; she goes off_; YOUNG MIRABEL

_runs to his Father, and pulls him by the Sleeve_.

Y. Mir. _Ecoute, Monsieur le Count._

_Old Mir._ Your business, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Boh!

_Old Mir._ Boh! what language is that, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Spanish, my lord.

_Old Mir._ What d'ye mean?

_Y. Mir._ This, sir. [_Trips up his Heels._

_Old Mir._ A very concise quarrel, truly----I'll bully him.--_Trinidade

Seigneur_, give me fair play. [_Offering to rise._

_Y. Mir._ By all means, sir. [_Takes away his Sword._] Now, seigneur,

where's that bombast look, and fustian face, your countship wore just

now? [_Strikes him._

_Old Mir._ The rogue quarrels well, very well; my own son right!--But

hold, sirrah, no more jesting; I'm your father, sir! your father!

_Y. Mir._ My father! Then, by this light, I could find in my heart to

pay thee. [_Aside._] Is the fellow mad? Why, sure, sir, I han't frighted

you out of your senses?

_Old Mir._ But you have, sir!

_Y. Mir._ Then I'll beat them into you again. [_Offers to strike him._

_Old Mir._ Why, rogue!--Bob! dear Bob! don't you know me, child?

_Y. Mir._ Ha! ha! ha! the fellow's downright distracted! Thou miracle of

impudence! wouldst thou make me believe, that such a grave gentleman as

my father would go a masquerading thus? That a person of threescore and

three would run about, in a fool's coat, to disgrace himself and family?

why, you impudent villain, do you think I will suffer such an affront to

pass upon my honoured father, my worthy father, my dear father? 'Sdeath,

sir! mention my father but once again, and I'll send your soul to thy

grandfather this minute! [_Offering to stab him._

_Old Mir._ Well, well, I am not your father.

_Y. Mir._ Why, then, sir, you are the saucy, hectoring Spaniard, and

I'll use you accordingly.

_Enter_ DUGARD, ORIANA, MAID, _and_ PETIT. DUGARD _runs to_ YOUNG

MIRABEL, _the rest to the Old Gentleman_.

_Dug._ Fie, fie, Mirabel! murder your father!

_Y. Mir._ My father? What, is the whole family mad? Give me way, sir, I

won't be held.

_Old Mir._ No? nor I neither; let me begone, pray. [_Offering to go._

_Y. Mir._ My father!

_Old Mir._ Ay, you dog's face! I am your father, for I have borne as

much for thee, as your mother ever did.

_Y. Mir._ O ho! then this was a trick, it seems, a design, a contrivance,

a stratagem!--Oh, how my bones ache!

_Old Mir._ Your bones, sirrah! why yours?

_Y. Mir._ Why sir, han't I been beating my own flesh and blood all this

while? O, madam, [_To_ ORIANA.] I wish your ladyship joy of your new

dignity. Here was a contrivance indeed!

_Oriana._ Pray, sir, don't insult the misfortunes of your own creating.

_Dug._ My prudence will be counted cowardice, if I stand tamely

now.--[_Comes up between_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and his Sister_.] Well, sir!

_Y. Mir._ Well, sir! Do you take me for one of your tenants, sir, that

you put on your landlord's face at me?

_Dug._ On what presumption, sir, dare you assume thus? [_Draws._

_Old Mir._ What's that to you, sir? [_Draws._

_Petit._ Help! help! the lady faints!

[ORIANA _falls into her Maid's Arms_.

_Y. Mir._ Vapours! vapours! she'll come to herself: If it be an angry

fit, a dram of assa foetida--If jealousy, hartshorn in water--if the

mother, burnt feathers--If grief, ratafia--If it be straight stays, or

corns, there's nothing like a dram of plain brandy. [_Exit._

_Oriana._ Hold off, give me air----O, my brother! would you preserve my

life, endanger not your own; would you defend my reputation, leave it

to itself; 'tis a dear vindication that's purchased by the sword; for,

though our champion proves victorious, yet our honour is wounded.

_Old Mir._ Ay, and your lover may be wounded, that's another thing. But

I think you are pretty brisk again, my child.

_Oriana._ Ay, sir, my indisposition was only a pretence to divert the

quarrel; the capricious taste of your sex, excuses this artifice in

ours. [_Exit._

_Petit._ Come, Mr. Dugard, take courage; there is a way still left to

fetch him again.

_Old Mir._ Sir, I'll have no plot that has any relation to Spain.

_Dug._ I scorn all artifice whatsoever; my sword shall do her justice.

_Petit._ Pretty justice, truly! Suppose you run him through the body,

you run her through the heart at the same time.

_Old Mir._ And me through the head--rot your sword, sir, we'll have

plots! Come, Petit, let's hear.

_Petit._ What if she pretended to go into a nunnery, and so bring him

about to declare himself?

_Dug._ That, I must confess, has a face.

_Old Mir._ A face! a face like an angel, sir! Ad's my life, sir, 'tis

the most beautiful plot in Christendom! We'll about it immediately.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

OLD MIRABEL'S _House_.

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ DUGARD.

_Dug._ The Lady Abbess is my relation, and privy to the plot.

_Old Mir._ Ay, ay, this nunnery will bring him about, I warrant ye.

_Enter_ DURETETE.

_Dur._ Here, where are ye all?--O, Mr. Mirabel! you have done fine

things for your posterity--And you, Mr. Dugard, may come to answer

this--I come to demand my friend at your hands; restore him, sir,

or---- [_To_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Old Mir._ Restore him! What, d'ye think I have got him in my trunk, or

my pocket?

_Dur._ Sir, he's mad, and you are the cause on't.

_Old Mir._ That may be; for I was as mad as he when I begot him.

_Dug._ Mad, sir! What d'ye mean?

_Dur._ What do you mean, sir, by shutting up your sister, yonder, to

talk like a parrot through a cage? or a decoy-duck, to draw others into

the snare? Your son, sir, because she has deserted him, he has forsaken

the world; and, in three words, has----

_Old Mir._ Hanged himself!

_Dur._ The very same--turned friar!

_Old Mir._ You lie, sir! 'tis ten times worse. Bob turned friar!--Why

should the fellow shave his foolish crown, when the same razor may cut

his throat?

_Dur._ If you have any command, or you any interest over him, lose not a

minute: He has thrown himself into the next monastery, and has ordered

me to pay off his servants, and discharge his equipage.

_Old Mir._ Let me alone to ferret him out: I'll sacrifice the Abbot, if

he receives him; I'll try whether the spiritual or the natural father

has the most right to the child.--But, dear Captain, what has he done

with his estate?

_Dur._ Settled it upon the church, sir.

_Old Mir._ The church! Nay, then the devil won't get him out of their

clutches----Ten thousand livres a year upon the church!--'Tis downright

sacrilege--Come, gentlemen, all hands to work: for half that sum, one of

these monasteries shall protect you a traitor from the law, a rebellious

wife from her husband, and a disobedient son from his own father.

[_Exit._

_Dug._ But will ye persuade me that he's gone to a monastery?

_Dur._ Is your sister gone to the Filles Repenties? I tell you, sir,

she's not fit for the society of repenting maids.

_Dug._ Why so, sir?

_Dur._ Because she's neither one nor t'other; she's too old to be a

maid, and too young to repent. [_Exit_--DUGARD _after him_.

SCENE II.

_The Inside of a Monastery._

_Enter_ ORIANA, _in a Nun's Habit, and_ BISARRE.

_Oriana._ I hope, Bisarre, there is no harm in jesting with this

religious habit.

_Bis._ To me, the greatest jest in the habit, is taking it in earnest.

_Oriana._ But I'm reconciled, methinks, to the mortification of a

nunnery; because I fancy the habit becomes me.

_Bis._ A well-contrived mortification, truly, that makes a woman look

ten times handsomer than she did before!--Ay, my dear, were there any

religion in becoming dress, our sex's devotion were rightly placed; for

our toilets would do the work of the altar; we should all be canonized.

_Oriana._ But don't you think there is a great deal of merit in

dedicating a beautiful face and person to the service of religion?

_Bis._ Not half so much as devoting them to a pretty fellow. Come, come,

mind your business. Mirabel loves you, 'tis now plain, and hold him

to't; give fresh orders that he shan't see you: we get more by hiding

our faces, sometimes, than by exposing them; a very mask, you see, whets

desire; but a pair of keen eyes, through an iron grate, fire double upon

them, with view and disguise. But I must begone upon my affairs; I have

brought my captain about again.

_Oriana._ But why will you trouble yourself with that coxcomb?

_Bis._ Because he is a coxcomb: had I not better have a lover like him,

that I can make an ass of, than a lover like yours, to make a fool of

me. [_Knocking below._] A message from Mirabel, I'll lay my life! [_She

runs to the Door._] Come hither! run, thou charming nun, come hither!

_Oriana._ What's the news? [_Runs to her._

_Bis._ Don't you see who's below?

_Oriana._ I see nobody but a friar.

_Bis._ Ah, thou poor blind Cupid! A friar! Don't you see a villanous

genteel mien, under that cloak of hypocrisy?

_Oriana._ As I live, Mirabel turned friar! I hope, in Heaven, he's not

in earnest.

_Bis._ In earnest! Ha! ha! ha! are you in earnest? Remember what I say,

if you would yield to advantage, and hold out the attack; to draw him

on, keep him off, to be sure.

The cunning gamesters never gain too fast,

But lose at first, to win the more at last. [_Exit._

_Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL, _in a Friar's Habit_.

_Y. Mir._ 'Save you, sister--Your brother, young lady, having a regard

for your soul's health, has sent me to prepare you for the sacred habit,

by confession.

_Oriana._ My brother's care I own; and to you, sacred sir, I confess,

that the great crying sin, which I have long indulged, and now prepare

to expiate, was love. My morning thoughts, my evening prayers, my daily

musings, nightly cares, was love!

_Y. Mir._ She's downright stark mad in earnest! Death and confusion, I

have lost her! [_Aside._]--You confess your fault, madam, in such moving

terms, that I could almost be in love with the sin.

_Oriana._ Take care, sir; crimes, like virtues, are their own rewards;

my chief delight became my only grief; he, in whose breast I thought my

heart secure, turned robber, and despoiled the treasure that he kept.

_Y. Mir._ Perhaps that treasure he esteemed so much, that, like the

miser, though afraid to use it, he reserves it safe.

_Oriana._ No, holy father: who can be miser in another's wealth, that's

prodigal of his own? His heart was open, shared to all he knew, and

what, alas! must then become of mine! But the same eyes, that drew this

passion in, shall send it out in tears, to which now hear my vow----

_Y. Mir._ [_Discovering himself._] No, my fair angel! Here, on my knees,

behold the criminal, that vows repentance his. [_Kneels._] Ha! no

concern upon her!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Old Mir._ Where, where's this counterfeit nun?

_Oriana._ Madness! confusion! I'm ruined!

_Y. Mir._ What do I hear? [_Puts on his Hood._] What did you say, sir?

_Old Mir._ I say she's a counterfeit, and you may be another, for aught

I know, sir: I have lost my child by these tricks, sir.

_Y. Mir._ What tricks, sir?

_Old Mir._ By a pretended trick, sir. A contrivance to bring my son to

reason, and it has made him stark mad; I have lost him, and a thousand

pound a year.

_Y. Mir._ [_Discovering himself._] My dear father, I'm your most humble

servant.

_Old Mir._ My dear boy! [_Runs and kisses him._]--Welcome, _ex inferis_,

my dear boy! 'tis all a trick, she's no more a nun than I am.

_Y. Mir._ No!

_Old Mir._ The devil a bit.

_Y. Mir._ Then kiss me again, my dear dad, for the most happy news--And

now, most venerable holy sister, [_Kneels._

Your mercy and your pardon I implore,

For the offence of asking it before.

Lookye, my dear counterfeiting nun, take my advice, be a nun in good

earnest; women make the best nuns always, when they can't do otherwise.

_Oriana._ O, sir! how unhappily have you destroyed what was so near

perfection! He is the counterfeit, that has deceived you.

_Old Mir._ Ha! Lookye, sir, I recant; she is a nun.

_Y. Mir._ Sir, your humble servant; then I'm a friar this moment.

_Old Mir._ Was ever an old fool so bantered by a brace o' young ones!

Hang you both! you're both counterfeits, and my plot's spoiled, that's

all.

_Oriana._ Shame and confusion, love, anger, and disappointment, will

work my brain to madness! [_Takes off her Habit--Exit._

_Y. Mir._ Ay, ay, throw by the rags; they have served a turn for us

both, and they shall e'en go off together. [_Takes off his Habit._

[_Exit, throwing away the Habit._

SCENE III.

OLD MIRABEL'S _House_.

_Enter_ DURETETE, _with a Letter_.

_Dur._ [Reads.] _My rudeness was only a proof of your humour, which I

have found so agreeable, that I own myself penitent, and willing to make

any reparation upon your first appearance to_ BISARRE.

Mirabel swears she loves me, and this confirms it; then farewell

gallantry, and welcome revenge! 'Tis my turn now to be upon the sublime;

I'll take her off; I warrant her!

_Enter_ BISARRE.

Well, mistress, do you love me?

_Bis._ I hope, sir, you will pardon the modesty of----

_Dur._ Of what? of a dancing devil!--Do you love me, I say?

_Bis._ Perhaps I----

_Dur._ What?

_Bis._ Perhaps I do not.

_Dur._ Ha! abused again! Death, woman, I'll----

_Bis._ Hold, hold, sir! I do, do!

_Dur._ Confirm it, then, by your obedience; stand there, and ogle me

now, as if your heart, blood, and soul, were like to fly out at your

eyes--First, the direct surprise. [_She looks full upon him._] Right;

next, the _deux yeux par oblique_. [_She gives him the side Glance._]

Right; now depart, and languish. [_She turns from him, and looks over

her Shoulder._] Very well; now sigh. [_She sighs._] Now drop your fan on

purpose. [_She drops her Fan._] Now take it up again. Come now, confess

your faults; are not you a proud--say after me.

_Bis._ Proud.

_Dur._ Impertinent.

_Bis._ Impertinent.

_Dur._ Ridiculous.

_Bis._ Ridiculous.

_Dur._ Flirt.

_Bis._ Puppy.

_Dur._ Zoons! Woman, don't provoke me; we are alone, and you don't know

but the devil may tempt me to do you a mischief; ask my pardon

immediately.

_Bis._ I do, sir; I only mistook the word.

_Dur._ Cry, then. Have you got e'er a handkerchief?

_Bis._ Yes, sir.

_Dur._ Cry, then, handsomely; cry like a queen in a tragedy.

[_She pretending to cry, bursts out a laughing._

_Enter Two_ LADIES, _laughing_.

_Bis._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Both Ladies._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Dur._ Hell broke loose upon me, and all the furies fluttered about my

ears! Betrayed again?

_Bis._ That you are, upon my word, my dear Captain; ha! ha! ha!

_Dur._ The Lord deliver me!

_1 Lady._ What! is this the mighty man, with the bull-face, that comes

to frighten ladies?

_Dur._ Ah, madam, I'm the best natured fellow in the world.

_Bis._ A man! we're mistaken; a man has manners: the awkward creature is

some tinker's trull, in a periwig. Come, ladies, let us examine him.

[_They lay hold on him._

_Dur._ Examine! the devil you will!

_Bis._ I'll lay my life, some great dairy maid in man's clothes!

_Dur._ They will do't;--lookye, dear christian women! pray hear me.

_Bis._ Will you ever attempt a lady's honour again?

_Dur._ If you please to let me get away with my honour, I'll do any

thing in the world.

_Bis._ Will you persuade your friend to marry mine?

_Dur._ O yes, to be sure.

_Bis._ And will you do the same by me?

_Dur._ Burn me if I do, if the coast be clear. [_Runs out._

_Bis._ Ha! ha! ha! The visit, ladies, was critical for our diversions:

we'll go make an end of our tea. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Y. Mir._ Your patience, sir. I tell you, I won't marry; and, though you

send all the bishops in France to persuade me, I shall never believe

their doctrine against their practice. You would compel me to that

state, which I have heard you curse yourself, when my mother and you

have battled it for a whole week together.

_Old Mir._ Never but once, you rogue, and that was when she longed for

six Flanders mares: ay, sir, then she was breeding of you, which showed

what an expensive dog I should have of you.

_Enter_ PETIT.

Well, Petit, how does she now?

_Petit._ Mad, sir, _con pompos_--Ay, Mr. Mirabel, you'll believe that I

speak truth, now, when I confess that I have told you hitherto nothing

but lies: our jesting is come to a sad earnest; she's downright

distracted!

_Enter_ BISARRE.

_Bis._ Where is this mighty victor!----The great exploit is done. O,

sir, [_To the old Gentleman._] your wretched ward has found a tender

guardian of you, where her young innocence expected protection, here has

she found her ruin.

_Old Mir._ Ay, the fault is mine; for I believe that rogue won't marry,

for fear of begetting such another disobedient son as his father did. I

have done all I can, madam, and now can do no more than run mad for

company. [_Cries._

_Enter_ DUGARD, _with his Sword drawn_.

_Dug._ Away! Revenge! Revenge!

_Old Mir._ Patience! Patience, sir! [OLD MIRABEL _holds him_.] Bob,

draw. [_Aside._

_Dug._ Patience! the coward's virtue, and the brave man's failing, when

thus provoked--Villain!

_Y. Mir._ Your sister's phrensy shall excuse your madness; and, to

show my concern for what she suffers, I'll bear the villain from her

brother.--Put up your anger with your sword; I have a heart like yours,

that swells at an affront received, but melts at an injury given; and,

if the lovely Oriana's grief be such a moving scene, 'twill find a part

within this breast, perhaps as tender as a brother's.

_Dug._ To prove that soft compassion for her grief, endeavour to remove

it.--There, there, behold an object that's infective; I cannot view her,

but I am as mad as she!

_Enter_ ORIANA, _held by Two Maids, who put her in a Chair_.

A sister, that my dying parents left, with their last words and

blessing, to my care. Sister, dearest sister! [_Goes to her._

_Old Mir._ Ay, poor child, poor child, d'ye know me?

_Oriana._ You! you are Amadis de Gaul, sir.--Oh! oh, my heart! Were

you never in love, fair lady? And do you never dream of flowers and

gardens?--I dream of walking fires, and tall gigantic sights. Take

heed, it comes now--What's that? Pray stand away: I have seen that

face, sure.--How light my head is!

_Y. Mir._ What piercing charms has beauty, even in madness!

_Oriana._ I cannot; for I must be up to go to church, and I must dress

me, put on my new gown, and be so fine, to meet my love. Heigho!--Will

not you tell me where my heart lies buried?

_Y. Mir._ My very soul is touch'd--Your hand, my fair!

_Oriana._ How soft and gentle you feel! I'll tell you your fortune,

friend.

_Y. Mir._ How she stares upon me!

_Oriana._ You have a flattering face; but 'tis a fine one--I warrant

you have five hundred mistresses--Ay, to be sure, a mistress for every

guinea in his pocket--Will you pray for me? I shall die to-morrow----And

will you ring my passing bell?

_Y. Mir._ Do you know me, injured creature?

_Oriana._ No,--but you shall be my intimate acquaintance--in the grave.

[_Weeps._

_Y. Mir._ Oh, tears! I must believe you; sure there's a kind of sympathy

in madness; for even I, obdurate as I am, do feel my soul so tossed with

storms of passion, that I could cry for help as well as she.

[_Wipes his Eyes._

_Oriana._ What, have you lost your lover? No, you mock me; I'll go home

and pray.

_Y. Mir._ Stay, my fair innocence, and hear me own my love so loud, that

I may call your senses to their place, restore them to their charming

happy functions, and reinstate myself into your favour.

_Bis._ Let her alone, sir; 'tis all too late: she trembles; hold her,

her fits grow stronger by her talking; don't trouble her, she don't know

you, sir.

_Old Mir._ Not know him! what then? she loves to see him for all that.

_Enter_ DURETETE.

_Dur._ Where are you all? What the devil! melancholy, and I here! Are ye

sad, and such a ridiculous subject, such a very good jest among you as I

am?

_Y. Mir._ Away with this impertinence; this is no place for bagatelle; I

have murdered my honour, destroyed a lady, and my desire of reparation

is come at length too late. See there!

_Dur._ What ails her?

_Y. Mir._ Alas, she's mad!

_Dur._ Mad! dost wonder at that? By this light, they're all so; they're

cozening mad; they're brawling mad; they're proud mad: I just now came

from a whole world of mad women, that had almost--What, is she dead?

_Y. Mir._ Dead! Heavens forbid.

_Dur._ Heavens further it; for, till they be as cold as a key, there's

no trusting them; you're never sure that a woman's in earnest, till she

is nailed in her coffin. Shall I talk to her? Are you mad, mistress?

_Bis._ What's that to you, sir?

_Dur._ Oons, madam, are you there? [_Runs off._

_Y. Mir._ Away, thou wild buffoon! How poor and mean this humour now

appears? His follies and my own I here disclaim; this lady's phrensy has

restored my senses, and, was she perfect now, as once she was, (before

you all I speak it) she should be mine; and, as she is, my tears and

prayers shall wed her.

_Dug._ How happy had this declaration been some hours ago!

_Bis._ Sir, she beckons to you, and waves us to go off: come, come,

let's leave them.

[_Exeunt all but_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA.

_Oriana._ Oh, sir!

_Y. Mir._ Speak, my charming angel, if your dear senses have regained

their order; speak, fair, and bless me with the news.

_Oriana._ First, let me bless the cunning of my sex, that happy

counterfeited phrensy that has restored to my poor labouring breast the

dearest, best beloved of men.

_Y. Mir._ Tune all, ye spheres, your instruments of joy, and carry round

your spacious orbs the happy sound of Oriana's health; her soul, whose

harmony was next to yours, is now in tune again; the counterfeiting fair

has played the fool!

She was so mad, to counterfeit for me;

I was so mad, to pawn my liberty:

But now we both are well, and both are free.

_Oriana._ How, sir? Free!

_Y. Mir._ As air, my dear bedlamite! What, marry a lunatic! Lookye, my

dear, you have counterfeited madness so very well this bout, that you'll

be apt to play the fool all your life long.----Here, gentlemen!

_Oriana._ Monster! you won't disgrace me!

_Y. Mir._ O' my faith, but I will. Here, come in gentlemen.--A miracle!

a miracle! the woman's dispossess'd! the devil's vanished!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ DUGARD.

_Old Mir._ Bless us! was she possessed?

_Y. Mir._ With the worst of demons, sir! a marriage devil! a horrid

devil! Mr. Dugard, don't be surprised. I promised my endeavours to

cure your sister; no mad doctor in Christendom could have done it

more effectually. Take her into your charge; and have a care she don't

relapse. If she should, employ me not again, for I am no more infallible

than others of the faculty; I do cure sometimes.

_Oriana._ Your remedy, most barbarous man, will prove the greatest

poison to my health; for, though my former phrensy was but counterfeit,

I now shall run into a real madness. [_Exit_; OLD MIRABEL _after_.

_Y. Mir._ What a dangerous precipice have I 'scap'd! Was not I just now

upon the brink of destruction?

_Enter_ DURETETE.

Oh, my friend, let me run into thy bosom! no lark escaped from the

devouring pounces of a hawk, quakes with more dismal apprehension.

_Dur._ The matter, man!

_Y. Mir._ Marriage! hanging! I was just at the gallows foot, the running

noose about my neck, and the cart wheeling from me.--Oh, I shan't be

myself this month again!

_Dur._ Did not I tell you so? They are all alike, saints or devils!

_Y. Mir._ Ay, ay: there's no living here with security; this house is so

full of stratagem and design, that I must abroad again.

_Dur._ With all my heart; I'll bear thee company, my lad: I'll meet you

at the play; and we'll set out for Italy to-morrow morning.

_Y. Mir._ A match; I'll go pay my compliment of leave to my father

presently.

_Dur._ I'm afraid he'll stop you.

_Y. Mir._ What, pretend a command over me, after his settlement of a

thousand pound a year upon me! No, no, he has passed away his authority

with the conveyance; the will of the living father is chiefly obeyed for

the sake of the dying one.

Dependence, ev'n a father's sway secures,

For, though the son rebels, the heir is yours.

[_Exeunt severally._

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

_The Street before the Playhouse._

MIRABEL _and_ DURETETE, _as coming from the Play_.

_Dur._ How d'ye like this play?

_Y. Mir._ I liked the company;--the lady, the rich beauty, in the front

box, had my attention: These impudent poets bring the ladies together to

support them, and to kill every body else.

_For deaths upon the stage, the ladies cry,_

_But ne'er mind us, that in the audience die:_

_The poet's hero should not move their pain,_

_But they should weep for those their eyes have slain._

_Dur._ Hoyty, toyty! did Phillis inspire you with all this?

_Y. Mir._ Ten times more; the playhouse is the element of poetry,

because the region of beauty; the ladies, methinks, have a more

inspiring, triumphant air in the boxes than any where else--they

sit, commanding on their thrones, with all their subject slaves about

them;--Their best clothes, best looks, shining jewels, sparkling eyes;

the treasure of the world in a ring.--I could wish that my whole life

long, were the first night of a new play.

_Dur._ The fellow has quite forgot this journey;--have you bespoke post

horses?

_Y. Mir._ Grant me but three days, dear Captain, one to discover the

lady, one to unfold myself, and one to make me happy, and then I'm yours

to the world's end.

_Dur._ Hast thou the impudence to promise thyself a lady of her figure

and quality in so short a time?

_Y. Mir._ Yes, sir; I have a confident address, no disagreeable person,

and five hundred Lewis d'ors in my pocket.

_Dur._ Five hundred Lewis d'ors! you an't mad!

_Y. Mir._ I tell you, she's worth five thousand; one of her black,

brilliant eyes, is worth a diamond as big as her head.

_Dur._ But you have owned to me, that, abating Oriana's pretensions to

marriage, you loved her passionately; then how can you wander at this

rate?

_Y. Mir._ I longed for a partridge t'other day, off the king's plate,

but d'ye think, because I could not have it, I must eat nothing?

_Enter_ ORIANA, _in Boy's Clothes, with a Letter_.

_Oriana._ Is your name Mirabel, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Yes, sir.

_Oriana._ A letter from your uncle, in Picardy. [_Gives the Letter._

_Y. Mir._ [_Reads._]

_The bearer is the son of a protestant gentleman, who, flying for

his religion, left me the charge of this youth._--A pretty

Boy!--_He's fond of some handsome service, that may afford him

opportunity of improvement: your care of him will oblige,

Yours._

Hast a mind to travel, child?

_Oriana._ 'Tis my desire, sir; I should be pleased to serve a traveller

in any capacity.

_Y. Mir._ A hopeful inclination; you shall along with me into Italy, as

my page.

_Dur._ [_Noise without._] Too handsome--The play's done, and some of the

ladies come this way.

[LAMORCE _without, with her Train borne up by a_ PAGE.

_Y. Mir._ Duretete, the very dear, identical she!

_Dur._ And what then?

_Y. Mir._ Why, 'tis she!

_Dur._ And what then, sir?

_Y. Mir._ Then!--Why, lookye, sirrah, the first piece of service I put

upon you, is to follow that lady's coach, and bring me word where she

lives. [_To_ ORIANA.

_Oriana._ I don't know the town, sir, and am afraid of losing myself.

_Y. Mir._ Pshaw!

_Enter_ LAMORCE _and_ PAGE.

_Lam._ Page, what's become of all my people?

_Page._ I can't tell, madam; I can see no sign of your ladyship's coach.

_Lam._ That fellow has got into his old pranks, and fallen drunk

somewhere;--none of the footmen there?

_Page._ Not one, madam.

_Lam._ These servants are the plague of our lives--what shall I do?

_Y. Mir._ By all my hopes, Fortune pimps for me! now, Duretete, for a

piece of gallantry!

_Dur._ Why, you won't, sure?

_Y. Mir._ Won't, brute!--Let not your servants' neglect, madam, put your

ladyship to any inconvenience; for you can't be disappointed of an

equipage, whilst mine waits below: and, would you honour the master so

far, he would be proud to pay his attendance.

_Dur._ Ay, to be sure! [_Aside._

_Lam._ Sir, I won't presume to be troublesome, for my habitation is a

great way off.

_Dur._ Very true, madam, and he's a little engaged; besides, madam--a

hackney coach will do as well, madam.

_Y. Mir._ Rude beast, be quiet! [_To_ DURETETE.] The farther from home,

madam, the more occasion you have for a guard--pray, madam--

_Lam._ Lard, sir----

[_He seems to press, she to decline it, in dumb show._

_Dur._ Ah! The devil's in his impudence! now he wheedles, she smiles--he

flatters, she simpers--he swears, she believes--he's a rogue, and she's

a w---- in a moment.

_Y. Mir._ Without there! my coach! Duretete, wish me joy!

[_Hands the Lady out._

_Dur._ Wish you a----! Here, you little Picard, go follow your master,

and he'll lead you----

_Oriana._ Whither, sir?

_Dur._ To the Academy, child--'tis the fashion with men of quality, to

teach their pages their exercises--go.

_Oriana._ Won't you go with him too, sir? That woman may do him some

harm, I don't like her.

_Dur._ Why, how now, Mr. Page, do you start up, to give laws of a

sudden? Do you pretend to rise at court, and disapprove the pleasure of

your betters?--Lookye, sirrah, if ever you would rise by a great man,

be sure to be with him in his little actions; and, as a step to your

advancement, follow your master immediately, and make it your hope, that

he goes to a bagnio.

_Oriana._ Heavens forbid! [_Exit._

_Dur._ Now would I sooner take a cart in company of the hangman, than a

coach with that woman:--What a strange antipathy have I taken against

these creatures! a woman to me, is aversion upon aversion! a cheese,

a cat, a breast of mutton, the squalling of children, the grinding of

knives, and the snuff of a candle.