Oriana. 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. Y. Mir. Perhaps that treasure he esteemed so much, that, like the miser, though afraid to use it, he reserves it safe. Oriana. 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 this passion in, shall send it out in tears, to which now hear my vow Y. Mir. [Discovering himself.] No, my fair angel! Here, on my knees, behold the criminal, that vows repentance his. [Kneels.] Ha! no concern upon her! Enter OLD MIRABEL, Old Mir. Where, where's this counterfeit nun? Y. Mir. What do I hear? [Puts on his Hood.] What did you say, sir? Old Mir. I say she's a counterfeit, and you may be another, for aught I know, sir: I have lost my child by these tricks, sir. Y. Mir. What tricks, sir? Old Mir. By a pretended trick, sir. A contrivance to bring my son to reason, and it has made him stark mad; I have lost him, and a thousand pound a year. Y. 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. Y. Mir. No! Old Mir. The devil a bit. Y. Mir. Then kiss me again, my dear dad, for the most happy news-And now, most venerable holy sister, Your mercy and your pardon I implore, For the offence of asking it before. [Kneels. Lookye, 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. Oriana. O, sir! how unhappily have you destroyed what was so near perfection! He is the counterfeit, that has deceived you. Old Mir. Ha! Lookye, sir, I recant; she is a nun. Y. Mir. Sir, your humble servant; then I'm a friar this moment. Old Mir. Was ever an old fool so bantered by a brace o' young ones! Hang you both! you're both counterfeits, and my plot's spoiled, that's all. Oriana. Shame and confusion, love, anger, and disappointment, will work my brain to madness! [Takes off her Habit-Exit. Y. Mir. Ay, ay, throw by the rags; they have served a turn for us both, and they shall e'en go off together. [Takes off his Habit. [Exit, throwing away the Habit. SCENE 111. OLD MIRABEL's House. Enter DURETETE, with a Letter. Dur. [Reads. My rudeness was only a proof of your humour, which I have found so agreeable, that I own myself penitent, and willing to make any reparation upon your first appearance to BISARRE. Mirabel swears she loves me, and this confirms it; then farewell gallantry, and welcome revenge! 'Tis my turn now to be upon the sublime; I'll take her off, I warrant her! Enter BISARRe. Well, mistress, do you love me? Bis. I hope, sir, you will pardon the modesty of Dur. Of what? of a dancing devil!-Do you love me, I say? Bis. Perhaps I Dur. What? Bis. Perhaps I do not. Dur. Ha! abused again! Death, woman, I'll- 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 you not a proud-say. after me. Bis. Proud. Dur. Impertinent. Bis. Ridiculous. 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 handkerchief? Bis. Yes, sir. Dur. Cry, then, handsomely; cry like a queen in a tragedy. [She pretending to cry, bursts out a laughing. Enter Two LADIES, laughing. Bis. Ha! ha! ha! Both Ladies. 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 tain; ha! ha! ha! Dur. The Lord deliver me! dear сар 1 Lady. What! is this the mighty man, with the bull-face, that comes to frighten ladies? Dur. Ha, madam, I'm the best-natured fellow in the world. Bis. A man! we're mistaken; a man has manners: the awkward creature is some tinker's trull, in a periwig. Come, ladies, let us 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.-Lookye, 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 persuade your you Dur. O yes, to be sure. friend to marry mine? Bis. And will you do the same by me? sa 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 YOUNG MIRABEL and OLD MIRAbel. Y. 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. 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? Petit. 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. -The great Bis. Where is this mighty victor! exploit is done. 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. Enter DUGARD, with his Sword drawn. [Cries. |