of it; for in that circumstance, I presume, lies the force of the obligation. 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. but so many baits and devices to delude men out Ori. Sir, you can't make that a compulsion, which was your own choice; besides, sir, a sub-solved to use it. jection to your own desires has not the virtue of a forcible constraint: And you will find, sir, that, to plead your passion for the killing a man, will hardly exempt you from the justice of the punishment. Mir. And so, madam, you make the sin of murder and the crime of a contract the very same, because hanging and matrimony are so much alike? Ori. Come, Mr Mirabell, these expressions I expected from the raillery of your humour; but I hope for very different sentiments from your ho- | nour and generosity. Mir. Look'e, 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; for I can assure you, madam, that the thing called honour is a circumstance absolutely unnecessary in a natural correspondence between male and female, and he's a mad-man, that lays it out, considering its scarcity, upon any such trivial occasions. There's honour required of us by our friends, and honour due to our enemies, and they return it to us again; but I never heard of a man that left but an inch of his honour in a woman's keeping, that could ever get the least account on't- -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. Ori. 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. 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. As you are very strange and whimsical creatures, so we are allowed as unaccountable ways of managing 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 meBut, since we are both disappointed, let us make drawn battle, and part clear on both sides. Ori With all my heart, sir; give me up my contract, and I'll never see your face again. Mir. Indeed I won't, child. a Ori. What, sir, neither do one nor t'other? Mir. No, you shall die a maid, unless you please to be otherwise upon my terms. Ori. What do you intend by this, sir? Mir. Why, to starve you into compliancelook'e, you shall never marry any man; and you had as good let me do you a kindness as a stranger. Ori. Sir, you're a Mir. What am I, mistress? 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 into a very pretty dilemma? Ha, ha, ha! the poor lady has made a vow of virginity, when she thought of making a vow for the contrary. Was ever poor woman so cheated into chastity? Ori. Sir, my fortune is equal to yours, my friends as powerful, and both shall be put to the test, to do me justice. Mir. What you'll force me to marry you, will ye? Ori. Sir, the law shall. Mir. But the law can't force me to do any thing else, can it? Ori. Pshaw! I despise thee-monster. 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 IDon'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 Mir. Kiss and be friends, then-Don't cry, one another-What is your business, now, from child, and you shall have your sugar-plumbthe time you throw away your artificial babies, Come, madam, d'ye think I could be so unreabut how to get natural ones with the most ad-sonable as to make you fast all your life long? vantage! No fowler lays abroad more nets for No, I did but jest, you shall have your liberhis game, nor a hunter for his prey, than you do ty; here, take your contract, and give me to catch poor innocent men-Why do you sit mine. three or four hours at your toilet in a morning? only with a villainous design to make some poor fellow a fool before night. What are your languishing looks, your studied air and affectations, Ori. No, I won't. Mir. Eh! What, is the girl a fool? Ori. No, sir, you shall find me cunning enough to do myself justice; and since I must SCENE II.-A large parlour in the same house. Enter DURETETE and PETIT. Dur. And she's mighty peevish, you say? Pet. 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. Pet. 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 eye-brows. 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. Pet. But d'ye ever laugh, sir? Dur. Laugh! Won't she endure laughing? Pet. 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 spleenAnd 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. Pet. 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. Pet. 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. Enter Fiddler. Dur. Would to the Lord there was not! Bis. Here, friend, a minuet! 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 DUR. 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---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; cone. Dur. But we were talking of Dialectics. Bis. Hang Dialectics- -Mind the time-quicker, sirrah, [To the Fiddler.] 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-Comc, sir, fa, la, lay; 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 hów d'ye like the humour? Dur. Good madam, let me sit down to answer you, for I am heartily tired. Bis. Fy upon't! a young man, and tired! up, for shame, and walk about, action becomes usa little faster, sir-What d'ye think now of my lady La Pal, 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 Monkeyiove, the fair gem of St Germains. Dur. Upon my soul, I don't. Bis. And then you must have heard of the English beau, Spleenamore, how unlike a gentle man Dur. Hey-not a syllable on't, as I hope to be saved, madam. sir. Bis. No! Why, then, play me a jig. Come, 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, dispatch-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, howe'er your expressions may turn it to a compliment: Your visit, sir, was intended as a prologue to a very scurvy play, of which Mr Mirabell and you so handsomely laid the plot.—Marry! No, no, I'm 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! Ads my life, I have a great mind to kick you!Oons and confusion! [Starts up] Was ever man so abused?-Ay, Mirabell set me on. Enter PETIT. Pet. Well, sir, how d'ye find yourself? Dur. You sou of a nine-ey'd whore, d'ye come to abuse me? I'll kick you with a vengeance, you dog! [PETIT runs off, and DUR. after him. SCENE Í. Enter OLD and YOUNG MIRAbell. Old Mir. Boв, come hither, Bob. ACT III. Old Mir. Are not you a great rogue, sirrah? 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. 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? [Shews him a little picture. Mir. Oriana's! Pshaw! Old Mir. What, sir, won't you look upon't? Old Mir. Why, then, here's some for thee; come here, now-How can'st thou be so hardhearted, an unnatural, unmannerly rascal (don't mistake me, child, I an'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 ten thousand pound to her portion -ten thousand pound, you dog; ten thousand pound, you rogue; how dare you refuse a lady with ten thousand pound, you impudent rascal? Mir. Will you hear me speak, sir? Old Mir. Hear you speak, sir! If you had ten thousand tongues, you could not out-talk ten thousand pound, sir. Mir. Nay, sir, if you won't hear me, I'll be gone, 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? 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. 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, tooI thought that young fellows studied to get money. 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? Mir. To oblige me, sir! in what respect, pray? Old Mir. Why, to bring you into the world, sir; was not that an obligation? Mir. And, because I would have it still an obligation, I avoid marriage. Old Mir. How is that, sir? Mir. Because I would not curse the hour I was born. Old Mir. Look'e, 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. 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, and how can you come at them, sir? Dug. Very easily, sir: 'Tis but mentioning your injured ward, and you will throw them up again immediately. Old Mir. Sir, your sister was a foolish young flirt to trust any such young, deceitful, rakehelly rogue, like him. Dug. Cry you mercy, old gentleman! I thought we should have the words again. with Old Mir. And what then? "Tis the way young fellows to slight old gentlemen's words; you never mind them, when you ought.—Ï 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. Look'e, 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? Old Mir. And what part will you act in the business, madam? Bis. A plot that sixty-three is only good for; to bring other people together, sir; a Spanish plot, less dangerous than that of eighty-eight, and you must act the Spaniard 'cause your son will Mir. This it is to have the son a finer gentle-least suspect you; and, if he should, your authoman than the father! they first give us breeding rity protects you from a quarrel, to which Oriana that they don't understand, then they turn us out is unwilling to expose her brother. 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. 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, 'cause I neither love him, nor hate him. [Exit BIS. Old Mir. Well said, Mrs Paradox! but, sir, 2 Y Old Mir. What the devil must we know, sir? Pet. 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? Pet. His valet-de-chambre, sir. You must know, sir, that the intrigue lay folded up with 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 longlegged pindarics. Old Mir. Impossible! Pet. 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 pro ceed farther. Enter MIRABELL and BISARRE, passing carelessly by one another. Bis. [Aside.] I wonder what she can see in this fellow to like him? Mir. [Aside.] I wonder what my friend can see in this girl to admire her? Bis. [Aside.] A wild, foppish, extravagant rake-hell. Mir. [Aside.] A light, whimsical, impertinent mad-cap. Bis. Whom do you mean, sir? 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. Mir. There is a way, madam, to force me to that resolution. Bis. I'll do it with all my heart. Mir. Then, you must marry me. Bis. Look'e, 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. 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. 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 play-maker, your honour to an attorney, your body to the physicians, and your soul to its master. Mir. I had the oddest dream last night of the dutchess 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 MIRABELL pulls out a Virgil, and reads to himself while she speaks.] Mir. [Reading.] At regina dolos, (quis fallere possit amantem?) Dissimulare etiam sperásti, 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 as now, and you shall be Dido, and we'll rail by book. Now for you, madam Dido. Ah, ne Nec te noster amor, nec te data dextera quondam, Nec moritura tenet crudeli funere Dido 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. Quæ 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 hor rens Caucasus, Hyrcanæque admorunt ubera tigres. Bis. Go, sir; fly to your midnight revels! |