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SCENE II.-The Street.

Enter DURETETE and MIRABELL, Dur. [In a passion.]—And though I can't dance, nor sing, nor talk like you, yet I can fight; you know I can, sir.

Mir. I know thou canst, man.

Dur. 'Sdeath, sir, and I will: let me see the proudest man alive make a jest of me!

Mir. But I'll engage to make you amends. Dur. Danced to death! baited like a bear! ridiculed! threatened to be kicked! confusion! sir, you set me on, and I will have satisfaction; all mankind will point at me.

Mir. [Aside.]-I must give this thunderbolt some passage, or 'twill break upon my own head -look'e, Duretete, what do these gentlemen laugh at?

Enter two Gentlemen.

Dur. At me, to be sure-Sir, what made you laugh at me?

1 Gen. You're mistaken, sir; if we were merry, we had a private reason.

2 Gen. Sir, we don't know you. Dur. Sir, I'll make you know me; mark and observe me, I won't be named; it sha'nt be mentioned, not even whispered, in your prayers at church. 'Sdeath, sir, d'ye smile?

1 Gen. Not I, upon my word. Dur. Why, then, look grave as an owl in a barn, or a friar with his crown a shaving.

Mir. [Aside to the gentlemen.]-Don't be bullied out of your humour, gentlemen; the fellow's mad; laugh at him, and I'll stand by you. 1 Gen. 'Egad, and so we will.

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Mir. Ha, ha, ha! bravely done, Duretete! there you had him, noble captain; hey, they run, they run, Victoria, Victoria-Ha, ha, ha !-how happy am I in an excellent friend! tell me of your virtuosos, and men of sense! a parcel of sour-faced, splenetic rogues-a man of my thin constitution should never want a fool in his company: I don't affect your fine things that improve the understanding, but hearty laughing to fatten my carcase: and, in my conscience, a man of sense is as melancholy without a coxcomb, as a lion without a jackall; he hunts for our diversion, starts game for our spleen, and perfectly feeds us with pleasure.

I hate the man who makes acquaintance nice,
And still discreetly plagues me with advice;
Who moves by caution, and mature delays,
And must give reasons for whate'er he says.
The man, indeed, whose converse is so full,
Makes me attentive, but it makes me dull:
Give me the careless rogue, who never thinks,
That plays the fool as freely as he drinks.
Not a buffoon, who is buffoon by trade,
But one that nature, not his wants have made;
Who still is merry, but does ne'er design it;
And still is ridiculed, but ne'er can find it :
Who, when he's most in earnest, is the best;
And his most grave expression is a jest.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-OLD MIRABELL's house. Enter OLD MIRABELL and DUGARD. Dug. THE lady abbess is my relation, and privy to the plot: your son has been there, but had no admittance beyond the privilege of the grate, and there my sister refused to see him. He went off more nettled at his repulse, than I thought his gaiety could admit.

Old Mir. Aye, aye, this nunnery will bring him about, I warrant ye.

Enter DURETETE.

Dur. Here, where are ye all? O! Mr Mirabell, 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 MIRABELL. 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're 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.

Bis. Ha, ha, ha! and do you think there is any devotion in a fellow's going to church, when he takes it only for a sanctuary? Don't you know that religion consists in charity with all mankind? and that you should never think of being friends with Heaven, 'till you have quarrelled with all the

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 down-world! Come, come, mind your business; Miraright 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 OLD MIRABELL. Dug. But will you persuade me, that he is gone to a monastery?

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SCENE II.-The inside of a monastery; ORIANA in a nun's habit; BISARRE.

Ori. 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: I don't understand this imprisoning people with the keys of Paradise, nor the merit of that virtue, which comes by constraint. Besides, we may own to one another, that we are in the worst company when among ourselves; for our private thoughts run us into those desires, which our pride resists from the attack of the world; and, you may remember, the first woman met the devil when she retired from her man.

Ori. 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! Aye, 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.

Ori. 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 If our feminality had no business in this world, why was it sent hither? Let us dedicate our beautiful minds to the service of Heaven; and for our handsome persons, they become a box at the play, as well as a pew in the church.

Ori. But the vicissitudes of fortune, the inconstancy of man, with other disappointments of life, require some place of religion, for a refuge from their persecution.

bell 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 be gone upon my own affairs; I have brought my captain about again.

Ori. 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 Mirabell, I'll lay my life. [She runs to the door.] Come hither, run thou charming nun, come hither. Ori. What's the news? [Runs to her. Bis. Don't you see who's below? Ori. I see nobody but a friar. Bis. Ah! Thou poor blind Cupid! O' my conscience, these hearts of ours spoil our heads instantly! the fellows no sooner turn knaves, than we turn fools. A friar! Don't you see a villainous genteel mein under that cloak of hypocrisy, the loose careless air of a tall rake-helly fellow! Ori. As I live, Mirabell turned friar! I hope, in Heaven, he's not in earnest.

Bis. In earnest! Ha, ha, ha! are you in earnest? Now's your time; this disguise has he certainly taken for a passport, to get in and try your resolutions; stick to your habit, to be sure; treat him with disdain, rather than anger; for pride becomes us more than passion. Remember what I say, if you would yield to advantage, and hold on 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.

Ori. Ilis coming puts me into some ambiguity, I don't know how; I don't fear him, but I mistrust myself; would he were not come! yet I would not have him gone neither-I'm afraid to talk with him, but I love to see him though.

What a strange power has this fantastic fire, That makes us dread even what we most desire!

Enter MIRABELL in a friar's habit. 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.

Ori. That's false; the cloven foot already.[4side.] 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! my present peace, my future bliss, the joy of earth, and hopes of heaven, I all contemned for love!

Mir. She's downright 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.

Ori. 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.

Mir. Perhaps, that treasure he esteems so much, that, like the miser, though afraid to use it, he reserves it safe.

Ori. 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 his passion in, shall send it out in tears, to which now hear my VOW.

Mir. [Discovering himself.] No, my fair angel! but let me repent; here, on my knees, behold the criminal, that vows repentance his. Ha! No concern upon her!

Ori. This turn is odd, and the time has been, that such a sudden change would have surprised me into some confusion.

Mir. Restore that happy time; for I am now returned to myself; for I want but pardon to deserve your favour, and here I'll fix till you relent and give it.

Ori. Grovelling, sordid man! why would you act a thing to make you kneel? monarch in your pleasures to be slave to your faults? Are all the conquests of your wandering sway, your wit, your humour, fortune, all reduced to the base cringing of a bended knee? Servile and poor! Pray Hea- | ven this change be real! Aside. Mir. I come not here to justify my fault but submission; for though there be a meanness in this humble posture, 'tis nobler still to bend, when justice calls, than to resist conviction.

iny

Ori. No more thy oft repeated violated] words reproach my weak belief; 'tis the severest calumny to hear thee speak; that humble posture, which once could raise, now mortifies my pride. How canst thou hope for pardon from one, that you affront by asking it?

Mir. [Rises.] In my own cause I'll plead no more; but give me leave to intercede for you against the hard injunctions of that habit, which, for my fault, you wear.

Ori. Surprising insolence! My greatest foe pretends to give me counsel; but I am too warm upon so cool a subject. My resolutions, sir, are fixed! but as our hearts were united with the

ceremony of our eyes, so, I shall spare some tears to the separation. [Weeps.] That's all;farewell.

--

Mir. And must I lose her? No. [Runs and catches her.] Since all my prayers are vain, I'll use the nobler argument of man, and force you to the justice you refuse; you're mine by precontract: And where's the vow so sacred to disannul another? I'll urge my love, your oath, and plead my cause 'gainst all monastic shifts upon the earth.

Ori. Unhand me, ravisher! Would you profane these holy walls with violence? Revenge for all my past disgrace now offers; thy life should answer this, would I provoke the law: urge me no farther, but be gone.

Mir. Inexorable woman! let me kneel again. [Kneels.

Enter OLD MIRABELL.

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Old Mir. By a pretended trick, sir. A cona trivance to bring my son to reason, and it has made him stark mad; I have lost him and a thousand pounds a year.

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. Mir. No!

Old Mir. The devil a bit.

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. Look'e, 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. Ah, my dear father! there is a merit in your son's behaviour that you little think; the free deportment of such fellows as I, makes more ladies religious than all the pulpits in France.

Ori. O! sir, how unhappily have you destroyed what was so near perfection? He is the counterfeit, that has deceived you.

Old Mir. Ha! Look'e, sir, I recant; she is a

nun.

Mir. Sir, your humble servant; then I'm a friar this moment.

Old Mir. Was ever an old fool so bantered by a brace of young ones! hang you both!

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Bis. Perhaps I—

Dur. What?

Bis. Perhaps I do not.

Dur. Ha! abused again! Death, woman, I'll

Bis. Hold, hold, sir; I do, I 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 handker-

chief?

Bis. Yes, sir,

Dur. Cry, then, handsomely; cry like a queen in a tragedy.

[She pretending to cry, bursts out a laughing, and enter two ladies laughing.

Bis. Ha, ha, ha!

Ladies both. 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? I long to see him angry; come, begin.

Dur. Ah, madam, I'm the best natured fellow in the world.

2 Lady. A man! We're mistaken; a man has manners; the awkward creature is some tinker's trull in a periwig.

Bis. Come, ladies, let's 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;-look'e, 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 MIRABELL and OLD MIRABELL. 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.

Old Mir. But will you disobey your father, sir?

Mir. Would my father have his youthful son lie lazing here, bound to a wife, chained like a monkey, to make sport to a woman, subject to her whims, humours, longings, vapours, and caprices to have her one day pleased, to-morrow peevish, the next day mad, the fourth rebellious; and nothing but this succession of impertinence for ages together! Be merciful, sir, to your own flesh and blood.

Old Mir. But, sir, did not I bear all this? why should not you?

Mir. Then, you think that marriage, like treason, should attaint the whole body? pray, consider, sir, is it reasonable, because you throw yourself down from one story, that I must cast

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myself headlong from the garret window? 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 shewed what an expensive dog I should have of you.

Enter PETIT.

Well, Petit, how does she now?

Pet. 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; go, triumph in the glory of you. conquest, inhuman, barbarous man! 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 MIR. holds him.] Bob, draw. [Aside.

Dug. Patience! The coward's virtue, and the brave man's failing, when thus provokedVillain!

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sights. Take heed, it comes now-What's that? Pray stand away: I have seen that face suer. How light my head is!

Mir. What piercing charms has beauty, evne in madness! these sudden starts of undigested words shoot through my soul, with more persuasive force than all the studied art of laboured eloquence-Come, madam, try to repose a little.

Ori. 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. Hey ho! Will you not tell me where my heart lies

buried?

Mir My very soul is touched-Your hand, any fair!

Ori. How soft and gentle you feel! I'll tell vour fortune, friend.

Mir. How she stares upon me!

Ori. You have a flattering face; but 'tis a fine

ne

-I warrant you have five hundred mistresses- -Ay, to be sure, a mistress for every guinea in his pocket-Will you pray for me? shall die to-morrow- -And will you ring my passing-bell?

Mir. O woman, woman, of artifice created! whose nature, even distracted, has a cunning: In vain let man his sense, his learning boast, when woman's madness overrules his reasonDo you know me, injured creature?

Ori. No-but you shall be my intimate acquaintance-in the grave. [Weeps.

Mir. Oh tears, I must believe you! sure there's a kind of sympathy in madness; for even I, obstinate 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. Ori. What, have you lost your lover? No, you mock me; I'll go home and pray.

favour.

Mir. Stay, my fair innocence! and hear me Mir. Your sister's frenzy shall excuse your own my love so loud, that I may call your senses madness; and to shew my concern for what she to their place, restore them to their charming, suffers, I'll bear the villain from her brother-happy functions, and reinstate myself into your Put up your anger with your sword; I have a heart like your's, 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?

Ori. 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 VOL. II.

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.

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