ページの画像
PDF
ePub

I

sequere Italiam ventis, pete regna per unidas, 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 Lybian! 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 Æneas. There's authority for ye.

Sorry indeed Æneas 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.

Exi. Enter Petit; runs about to every Door, and knocks.

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

Enter Young MIRABEL. Y. Mir, What's the matter, Petit?

mean.

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 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.

[Boring 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-mor

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

row.

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.

[Erit. 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.

oid Mir. Breathes he vital air, that dares presume, With rude behaviour, to profane such excellence ? Show me the manAnd 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! Oriuna. 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 Gentle.

man.

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 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 !

Oriuna. 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 larly 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 fætida-If jealousy, hartshorn in water-if the mother, burnt feather's—If grief, ratafia-If it be straight stays, or corns, there's nothing like a dram of plain brandy.

Erit. Oriana. Hold off, give me air my

brother! would you preserve my life, endanger not your own; would you defend my reputation, leave it to itself;

« 前へ次へ »