⚫tion of a nunnery; because, I fancy, the habit be comes me. Bif. A well-contrived mortification, truly, that makes a woman look ten times handfomer than fhe did before! -Ay, my dear, were there any religion in becoming drefs, our fex's devotion were rightly placed; for our toilettes 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 perfon to the fervice of religion? Bif. Not half fo much as devoting them to a pretty fellow if our feminality had no business in this world, why was it fent hither? Let us dedicate our beautiful minds to the fervice of heaven: and for our handsome perfons, they become a box at the play, as well as a pew in the church. Ori. But the viciffitude of fortune, the inconftancy of man, with other difappointments of life, require fome place of religion, for a refuge from their perfecution. Bif. 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 fanctuary? Don't you know that religion.confifts in charity with all mankind; and that you should never think of being friends with heaven, 'till you have quarrelled with all the world.' Come, come, mind your bufinefs, Mirabel loves you, 'tis now plain, and hold him to't; give fresh orders that he fhan't fee you: we get more by hiding our faces fometimes, than by expofing them, a very mafk, you fee, whets defire; but a pair of keen eyes through an iron grate, fire double upon them, with view and difguife. But I must be gone upon my affairs, I have brought my captain about again. Ori. But why will you trouble yourself with that coxcomb? Bif. Because he is a coxcomb; had I not better have a lover like him, that I can make an ass of, that a lover like yours, to make a fool of me. [Knocking below.] A meffage from Mirabel, I'll lay my life. [She runs to the door.] Come hither, run, thou charming nun, come hither. Qri. What's the news? [Runs to her. Bif. Don't you fee who's below? Bif. Ah! Thou poor blind Cupid! O' my con * fcience,' these hearts of ours fpoil our heads inftantly the fellows no fooner turn knaves, than we turn fools.' A friar! Don't you fee a villainous genteel mien under that cloak of hypocrify, the loofe careless air of a tall rake-helly fellow? Ori. 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? Now's 'your time; this difguife has he certainly taken for a paffport, to get in and try your refolutions; flick to your habit, to be fure; treat him with difdain, rather " than anger; for pride becomes us more than paffion!' Remember what I fay, if you would yield to advantage, and hold out the attack: to draw him on, keep him off to be fure. The cunning gamefters never gain too fast, But lofe at first, to win the more at last. [Exit. 'Ori. His coming puts me into fome ambiguity. I 'don't know how; I don't fear him, but I mistrust my 'felf. Would he were not come; yet I would not have • him gone neither; I'm afraid to talk with him, but I 'love to fee him though. 'What a strange power has this fantastic fire, 'That makes us dread even what we most defire!' Enter Mirabel in a Friar's Habit. Mir. Save you, fifter-Your brother, young lady, having a regard for your foul's health, has fent me to prepare you for the facred habit by confeffion. Ori. That's falfe, the cloven foot already. [Afide.] My brother's care I own; and to you, facred Sir, I confefs, that the great crying fin which I have long indulged, and now prepare to expiate, was love. My morning thoughts, my evening prayers, my daily mufings, nightly cares, was love! My prefent peace, my future blifs, the joy ' of earth, and hopes of heaven! I all contemned for ' love!' Mir. She's downright ftark mad in earneft; death and confufion, I have loft her! [Afide.] You confefs your 2 fault, fault, Madam, in fuch moving terms, that I could almost be in love with the fin. Ori. Take care, Sir; crimes, like virtues, are their own rewards; my chief delight became my only grief; he in whofe breaft I thought my heart fecure, turned robber, and defpoiled the treasure that he kept. Mir. Perhaps that treasure he esteems so much, that like the mifer, though afraid to use it, he reserves it fafe. Ori. No, holy father: who can be miser in another's wealth, that's prodigal of his own? His heart was open, fhar'd to all he knew, and what, alas! must then become of mine? But the fame eyes that drew this paffion in, fhall fend it out in tears, to which now hear my vow. Mir. [Difcovering 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 fuch a fudden change would have furprifed me into fome • confufion 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. Groveling, fordid man; why would you act a thing to make you kneel, monarch in your pleasures to be flave to your faults? Are all the conquefts of your wand'ring fway, your wit, your humour, fortune, all < reduced to the bafe cringing of a bended knee? Servile and poor! Pray heav'n this change be real. [Afide. Mir. I come not here to justify my fault but my submiffion, for though there be a meannefs in this humble pofture, 'tis nobler still to bend when justice calls, than to refift conviction. re Ori. No more thy oft repeated violated words proach my weak belief, 'tis the fevereft calumny to hear thee speak; that humble posture which once could raise, · now mortifies my pride; how can't thou hope for pardon, from one that you affront by afking it? "Mir. [Rifes.] In my own caufe 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 infence! My greatest foe pretends to give me counfel; bu. I am too warm upon to cool a ub. 1 fubject: My refolutions, Sir, are fixed! but as our hearts were united with the ceremony of our eyes, fo I fhall fpare fome tears to the separation. [Weeps.] That's all; farewel. • Mir. And muft I lofe her? No. [Runs and catches ber.] Since all my prayers are vain, I'll ufe the nobler argument of man, and force you to the justice you refufe; you're mine by pre-contract: and where's the vow fo facred to difannul another? I'll urge my love, your oath, and plead my caufe against all monaftic fhifts upon the earth. "Ori. Unhand me, ravisher! Would you prophane thefe holy walls with violence? Revenge for all my paft difgrace now offers, thy life fhould anfwer this, would I provoke the law: urge me no farther, but be gone. • Mir. Inexorable woman! let me kneel again. Enter Old Mirabel. [Kneels, Old Mir. Where, where's this counterfeit nun? Mir. What do I hear? [Puts on his hood.] What did you fay, Sir? Old Mir. I fay, fhe's a counterfeit, and you may be another for ought I know, Sir; I have loft my child by these tricks, Sir. Mir. What tricks, Sir? Old Mir. By a pretended trick, Sir. A contrivance to bring my fon to reafon, and it has made him ftark mad; I have loft him and a thousand pounds a year. Mir. [Difcovering himself.] My dear father, I'm your moft humble fervant. Old Mir. My dear boy. [Runs and kiffes him.] Welcome ex inferis, my dear boy, 'tis all a trick, fhe's no more a nun than I am. Mir. No! Old Mir. The devil a bit. Mir. Then kifs me again, my dear dad, for the most happy news-And now moft venerable holy fifter, Your mercy and your pardon I implore, [Kneels. • Look'e, • Look'e, my dear counterfeiting nun, take my advice, be a nun in good earneft; women make the best nuns always when they can't do otherwife. Ah, my dear father! there is a merit in your fon's behaviour that you little think the free deportment of fuch fellows as I, makes more ladies religious, than all the pulpits in • France.' Ori. Oh, Sir, how unhappily have you destroyed what was fo 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 fervant, then I'm a friar this moment. Old Mir. Was ever an old fool fo bantered by a brace o'young ones; hang you borh, you're both counterfeits, and my plot's fpoiled, that's all. Ori. Shame and confufion, love, anger, and difappointment, will work my brain to madness. [Takes off her habit. Exit. Mir. Ay, ay, throw by the rags, they have ferved a turn for us both, and they fhall e'en go off together. [Takes off his babit. Thus the fick wretch, when tortur'd by his pain, And finding all effays for life are vain ; • When the phyfician can no more design, Then call the other doctor, the divine. What vows to Heaven, would Heaven restore his health! • Vows all to Heaven, his thoughts, his actions, wealth! • But if restor❜d to vigour as before, His health refufes what his fickness fwore. The body is no fooner rais'd and well, But the weak foul relapfes into ill; And leaves its vows and promises in bed.' [Exit, throwing away the habit. SCENE changes to Old Mirabel's Houfe. Duretete with a Letter. Dur. [Reads.]" My rudeness was only a proof of your humour, which I have found fo agreeable, that I own myfelf |