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Bif. Come, Sir, to let you fee what little foundation you have for your dear fufficiency, I'll take you to pieces.

Mir. And what piece will you chufe?

Bif. Your heart to be fure; 'caufe I would get prefently 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 phyficians, and your foul to its mafter.

Mir. I had the oddest dream last night of the duchefs of Burgundy; methought the furbelows of her gown were pinned up fo high behind, that I could not fee her head for her tail.

Bif. The creature don't mind me! Do you think, Sir, that your humourous impertinence can divert me? No, Sir, I'm above any pleasure that you can give, but that of feeing you miferable. And mark me, Sir, my friend, my injured friend, shall yet be doubly happy, and you fhall 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 himfelf while he speaks.

Mir. [Reading.] At Regina dolos, (quis fallere poffit amantem?)

Diffimulare etiam fperafti, perfide tantum-Very true.Pofle nefas.

By your favour, friend Virgil, 'twas but a rafcally trick of your hero to forfake poor pug fo inhumanly.

Bif. I don't know what to fay to him. The devilWhat's Virgil to do with us, Sir?

Mir. Very much, Madam, the most à-propos in the world-for, what should I chop upon. but the very place. where the perjured rogue of a lover and the forfaking lady are battling it tooth and nail. Come, Madam, fpend your fpirits no longer, we'll take an easier method: I'll be Æneas now, and you fhall be Dido, and we'll rail by book. Now for you, Madam Dido.

Nec te nofter amor, nec te data dextera quondam,
Nec moritura tenet creduli funera Dido-

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[Looking at her.

Bif. Rudeness, affronts, impatience! I could almost ftart out even to manhood, and want but a weapon as long as his to fight him upon the fpot. What shall I fay?

Mir. Now the rants.

Qua quibus anteferam? jam, jam nec maxima Juno.

Bif. A man! No, the woman's birth was fpirited

away.

Mir. Right, right, Madam, the very words.

Bif. And fome pernicious elf left it in the cradle with human fhape to palliate growing mischief.

[Both fpeak together, and raise their voices by degrees. Mir. Perfide, fed duris genuit te cantibus horrens Caucafus, Hyrcanaque admorant Ubera Tigres.

Bif. Go, Sir, fly to your midnight revels.
Mir. Excellent !

I fequere Italiam ventis, pete regna per undas,
Spero equidem mediis, fi quid pia numina poffunt.

[Together again. Bif. Converse with imps of darkness of your make, your nature starts at juftice, and fhivers at the touch of virtue. Now the devil take his impudence, he vexes me fo, I don't know whether to cry or laugh at him. [Afide. Mir. Bravely performed, my dear Libyan; I'll write the tragedy of Dido, and you fhall act the part: but you do nothing at all, unlefs you fret yourfelf into a fit; for here the poor lady is ftifled with vapours, drops into the arms of her maids; and the cruel, barbarous, deceitful wanderer, is in the very next line called pious neas.-There's authority for ye.

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Bif. Go thy ways, for a dear, mad, deceitful, agreea ble fellow. O' my confcience I must excufe Oriana.

That lover foon his angry fair difarms,

Whofe flighting pleafes, and whofe faults are charms. [Exit.

Enter Petit, runs about to every door, and knocks. Pet. Mr. Mirabel! Sir, where are you? no where to be found?

Enter Mirabel.

Mir. What's the matter, Petit?

Pet. Most critically met-Ah, Sir, that one who has followed the game fo long, and brought the poor hare juit under his paws, fhould let a mungrel cur chop in, and run away with the pufs.

Mir. If your worship can get out of your allegories, be pleafed to tell me in three words what you mean. Pet. Plain, plain, Sir. Your mistress and mine is going to be married.

Mir. I believe you lie, Sir.

Pet. Your humble Servant, Sir.

Mir. Come hither, Petit. Married, fay you?

[Going.

Pet. No, Sir, 'tis no matter; I only thought to do you a fervice, but I fhall take care how I confer my favours for the future.

Mir. Sir, I beg ten thousand pardons. [Bowing low. Pet. 'Tis enough, Sir-I come to tell you, Sir, that Oriana is this moment to be facrificed; married past redemption.

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Mir. I understand her; fhe'll take a husband out of fpight to me, and then out of love to me fhe will make him a cuckold: 'tis ordinary with women to marry one perfon for the fake of another, and to throw themfelves into the arms of one they hate, to fecure their pleasure with the man they love.' But who is the happy man ? Pet. A lord, Sir.

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Mir. I'm her ladyfhip's moft humble fervant. 'A train and a title, hey! Room for my lady's coach! front row in the box for her ladyfhip! lights, lights for her honour !'-Now muft I be a conftant attender my lord's levee, to work my way to my lady's couchee a countefs, I prefume, Sir.

Pet.

Pet. A Spanish count, Sir, that Mr. Dugard knew abroad, is come to Paris, faw your miftrefs yesterday, marries her to-day, and whips her into Spain to-morrow.

Mir. Ay, is it fo? and muft I follow my cuckold over the Pyrenees? Had fhe 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?

Pet. 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 herfelf, fomething might be done, for it is in delpight to you, that the bufinefs is carried on fo hastily. Odfo, Sir, here he comes. I must be gone. [Exit. Enter Old Mirabel, dreffed in a Spanish habit, leading Oriana.

Ori. Good my Lord, a nobler choice had better fuited your Lordship's merit. My perfon, rank, and circumitance, expofe me as the public theme of raillery, and fubject me fo to injurious ufage, my Lord, that I can lay no claim to any part of your regard, except your pity. Old Mir. Breathes he vital air, that dare prefume With rude behaviour to profane fuch excellence è Shew me the man

And you fhall fee how fudden my revenge

Shall fall upon the head of fuch prefumption.

Is this thing one?

Mir. Sir!

Ori. Good my Lord.

Old Mir. If he, or any he

[Strutting up to Mir.

-re

Ori. Pray, my Lord, the gentleman's a stranger. Old Mir. O, your pardon, Sir-but if you hadmember, Sir,the lady now is mine, her injuries are mine; therefore, Sir, you understand me. Come, Madam. [Leads Oriana to the door, he goes off, Mir. runs to his father, and pulls him by the Sleeve.

Mir. Ecoute, Monfieur le Count.

Old Mir. Your business, Sir?

Mir. Boh!

Old Mir. Boh! What language is that, Sir!

Mir. Spanish, my Lord.

D 2

Old Mir.

Old Mr. What d'ye mean?

Mir. This, Sir.

[Trips up his heels. Old Mir. A very concife quarrel, truly- I'll bully him-Trinidade Signeur, give me fair play.

?

[Offering to rife. Mir. By all means, Sir. [Takes away his fword.] Now, Sigueur, where's that bombaft look, and fuftian face your Countfhip wore juft now [Strikes him. Old Mir. The rogue quarrels well, very well, my own fon right! -But hold, firrah, no more jefting; I'm your father, Sir, your father!

Mir. My father! Then by this light I could find in my heart to pay thee. [Afide.] Is the fellow mad? Why fure, Sir, I ha'n't frighted you out of your fenfes.?

Old Mir. But you have, Sir.

Mir. Then I'll beat them into you again.

[Offers to ftrike bim Old Mir. Why, rogue- Bob, dear Bob, don't you

know me, child?

Mir. Ha, ha, ha! the fellow's downright distracted. Thou miracle of impudence! would't thou make me believe that fuch a grave gentlemen as my father would go a masquerading thus? That a perfon of threescore and three would run about in a fool's coat to difgrace himself and family? Why, you impudent villain, dọ you think I will fuffer fuch 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 fend your foul to thy grandfather this minute!

[Offering to ftab him. Old Mir. Well, well, I am not your father. Mir. Why then, Sir, you are the faucy, hectoring Spaniard, and I'll ufe you accordingly.

Old Mir. The devil take the Spaniards, Sir, we have all got nothing but blows fince we began to take their part.

Enter Dugard, Oriana, Maid, Petit. Dugard runs to Mirabel, the reft to Old Mirabel.

Dug. Fye, fye, Mirabel, murder your father!

Mir. My father! What is the whole family mad? Give me way, Sir, I won't be held.

Old Mir.

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