| Dependence, ev'n a father's sway secures, |
| For, though the son rebels, the heir is yours. |
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
The Street before the Playhouse.
Mirabel and Duretete, as coming from the Play.
Dur. How d'ye like this play?
Y. Mir. I liked the company;—the lady, the rich beauty, in the front box, had my attention: These impudent poets bring the ladies together to support them, and to kill every body else.
For deaths upon the stage, the ladies cry, But ne'er mind us, that in the audience die: The poet's hero should not move their pain, But they should weep for those their eyes have slain. Dur. Hoyty, toyty! did Phillis inspire you with all this?
Y. Mir. Ten times more; the playhouse is the element of poetry, because the region of beauty; the ladies, methinks, have a more inspiring, triumphant air in the boxes than any where else—they sit, commanding on their thrones, with all their subject slaves about them;—Their best clothes, best looks, shining jewels, sparkling eyes; the treasure of the world in a ring.—I could wish that my whole life long, were the first night of a new play.
Dur. The fellow has quite forgot this journey;—have you bespoke post horses?
Y. Mir. Grant me but three days, dear Captain, one to discover the lady, one to unfold myself, and one to make me happy, and then I'm yours to the world's end.
Dur. Hast thou the impudence to promise thyself a lady of her figure and quality in so short a time?
Y. Mir. Yes, sir; I have a confident address, no disagreeable person, and five hundred Lewis d'ors in my pocket.
Dur. Five hundred Lewis d'ors! you an't mad!
Y. Mir. I tell you, she's worth five thousand; one of her black, brilliant eyes, is worth a diamond as big as her head.
Dur. But you have owned to me, that, abating Oriana's pretensions to marriage, you loved her passionately; then how can you wander at this rate?
Y. Mir. I longed for a partridge t'other day, off the king's plate, but d'ye think, because I could not have it, I must eat nothing?
Enter Oriana, in Boy's Clothes, with a Letter.
Oriana. Is your name Mirabel, sir?
Y. Mir. Yes, sir.
Oriana. A letter from your uncle, in Picardy.
[Gives the Letter.
Y. Mir. [Reads.]
The bearer is the son of a protestant gentleman, who, flying for his religion, left me the charge of this youth.—A pretty Boy!—He's fond of some handsome service, that may afford him opportunity of improvement: your care of him will oblige,Yours.Hast a mind to travel, child?
Oriana. 'Tis my desire, sir; I should be pleased to serve a traveller in any capacity.
Y. Mir. A hopeful inclination; you shall along with me into Italy, as my page.
Dur. [Noise without.] Too handsome—The play's done, and some of the ladies come this way.
[Lamorce without, with her Train borne up by a Page.
Y. Mir. Duretete, the very dear, identical she!
Dur. And what then?
Y. Mir. Why, 'tis she!
Dur. And what then, sir?
Y. Mir. Then!—Why, lookye, sirrah, the first piece of service I put upon you, is to follow that lady's coach, and bring me word where she lives. [To Oriana.
Oriana. I don't know the town, sir, and am afraid of losing myself.
Y. Mir. Pshaw!
Enter Lamorce and Page.
Lam. Page, what's become of all my people?
Page. I can't tell, madam; I can see no sign of your ladyship's coach.
Lam. That fellow has got into his old pranks, and fallen drunk somewhere;—none of the footmen there?
Page. Not one, madam.
Lam. These servants are the plague of our lives—what shall I do?
Y. Mir. By all my hopes, Fortune pimps for me! now, Duretete, for a piece of gallantry!
Dur. Why, you won't, sure?
Y. Mir. Won't, brute!—Let not your servants' neglect, madam, put your ladyship to any inconvenience; for you can't be disappointed of an equipage, whilst mine waits below: and, would you honour the master so far, he would be proud to pay his attendance.
Dur. Ay, to be sure! [Aside.
Lam. Sir, I won't presume to be troublesome, for my habitation is a great way off.
Dur. Very true, madam, and he's a little engaged; besides, madam—a hackney coach will do as well, madam.
Y. Mir. Rude beast, be quiet! [To Duretete.] The farther from home, madam, the more occasion you have for a guard—pray, madam—
Lam. Lard, sir——
[He seems to press, she to decline it, in dumb show.
Dur. Ah! The devil's in his impudence! now he wheedles, she smiles—he flatters, she simpers—he swears, she believes—he's a rogue, and she's a w—— in a moment.
Y. Mir. Without there! my coach! Duretete, wish me joy!
[Hands the Lady out.
Dur. Wish you a——! Here, you little Picard, go follow your master, and he'll lead you——
Oriana. Whither, sir?
Dur. To the Academy, child—'tis the fashion with men of quality, to teach their pages their exercises—go.
Oriana. Won't you go with him too, sir? That woman may do him some harm, I don't like her.
Dur. Why, how now, Mr. Page, do you start up, to give laws of a sudden? Do you pretend to rise at court, and disapprove the pleasure of your betters?—Lookye, sirrah, if ever you would rise by a great man, be sure to be with him in his little actions; and, as a step to your advancement, follow your master immediately, and make it your hope, that he goes to a bagnio.
Oriana. Heavens forbid![Exit.
Dur. Now would I sooner take a cart in company of the hangman, than a coach with that woman:—What a strange antipathy have I taken against these creatures! a woman to me, is aversion upon aversion! a cheese, a cat, a breast of mutton, the squalling of children, the grinding of knives, and the snuff of a candle.
| For deaths upon the stage, the ladies cry, |
| But ne'er mind us, that in the audience die: |
| The poet's hero should not move their pain, |
| But they should weep for those their eyes have slain. |
SCENE II.
Lamorce's Lodgings.
Enter Mirabel and Lamorce.
Lam. To convince me, sir, that your service was something more than good breeding, please to lay out an hour of your company upon my desire, as you have already upon my necessity.
Y. Mir. Your desire, madam, has only prevented my request:—My hours! Make them yours, madam, eleven, twelve, one, two, three, and all that belong to those happy minutes.
Lam. But I must trouble you, sir, to dismiss your retinue, because an equipage at my door, at this time of night, will not be consistent with my reputation.
Y. Mir. By all means, madam, all but one little boy—Here, page!
Enter Oriana.
Order my coach and servants home, and do you stay; 'tis a foolish country-boy, that knows nothing but innocence.
Lam. Innocence, sir! I should be sorry if you made any sinister constructions of my freedom.
Y. Mir. O, madam, I must not pretend to remark upon any body's freedom, having so entirely forfeited my own.
Lam. Well, sir, 'twere convenient towards our easy correspondence, that we entered into a free confidence of each other, by a mutual declaration of what we are, and what we think of one another.—Now, sir, what are you?
Y. Mir. In three words, madam,—I am a gentleman, and have five hundred pounds in my pocket.
Lam. And your name is——
Y. Mir. Mustapha.—Now, madam, the inventory of your fortunes?
Lam. My name is Lamorce—my birth, noble; I was married young, to a proud, rude, sullen, impetuous fellow;—the husband spoiled the gentleman;—crying ruined my face, till at last, I took heart, leaped out of a window, got away to my friends, sued my tyrant, and recovered my fortune.—I lived from fifteen to twenty, to please a husband; from twenty to forty, I'm resolved to please myself, and from thence, upwards, I'll humour the world.
Y. Mir. Ha! ha! ha! I rejoice in your good fortune, with all my heart!
Lam. O, now I think on't, Mr. Mustapha, you have got the finest ring there, I could scarcely believe it right; pray let me see it.
Y. Mir. Hum! Yes, madam, 'tis—'tis right—but—but—but—but—but it was given me by my mother—an old family ring, madam—an old-fashioned, family ring.
Lam. Ay, sir!—If you can entertain yourself for a moment, I'll wait on you immediately.
Y. Mir. Certainly the stars have been in a strange, intriguing humour, when I was born.—Ay, this night should I have had a bride in my arms, and that I should like well enough! But what should I have to-morrow night? The same. And what next night? The same. And what next night? The very same: Soup for breakfast, soup for dinner, soup for supper, and soup for breakfast again—But here's variety.
I love the fair, who freely gives her heart, That's mine by ties of nature, not of art; Who boldly owns whate'er her thoughts indite, And is too modest for a hypocrite. [Lamorce appears at the Door; as he runs towards
her, Four Bravoes step in before her. He
starts back.She comes, she comes—Hum, hum—Bitch—Murdered, murdered, to be sure! The cursed strumpet! To make me send away my servants—Nobody near me! These cut-throats always make sure work.——What shall I do? I have but one way. Are these gentlemen your relations, madam?
Lam. Yes, sir.
Y. Mir. Gentlemen, your most humble servant;—sir, your most faithful; yours, sir, with all my heart; your most obedient—come, gentlemen, [Salutes all round.] please to sit—no ceremony—next the lady, pray, sir.
Lam. Well, sir, and how d'ye like my friends? [They all sit.
Y. Mir. O, madam, the most finished gentlemen! I was never more happy in good company in my life; I suppose, sir, you have travelled?
1 Bra. Yes, sir.
Y. Mir. Which way, may I presume?
1 Bra. In a western barge, sir.
Y. Mir. Ha! ha! ha! very pretty! facetious pretty gentleman!
Lam. Ha! ha! ha! sir, you have got the prettiest ring upon your finger there—
Y. Mir. Ah! Madam, 'tis at your service, with all my heart!
[Offering the Ring.
Lam. By no means, sir, a family ring! [Takes it.
Y. Mir. No matter, madam.——Seven hundred pound, by this light![Aside.
2 Bra. Pray, sir, what's o'clock?
Y. Mir. Hum! Sir, I have left my watch at home.
2 Bra. I thought I saw the string of it, just now.
Y. Mir. Ods my life, sir, I beg your pardon, here it is!—but it don't go.
[Putting it up.
Lam. O dear sir, an English watch! Tompion's, I presume?
Y. Mir. D'ye like, it, madam? No ceremony—'tis at your service, with all my heart and soul!—Tompion's! Hang ye![Aside.
1 Bra. But, sir, above all things, I admire the fashion and make, of your sword hilt!
Y. Mir. I'm mighty glad you like it, sir!
1 Bra. Will you part with it, sir?
Y. Mir. Sir, I won't sell it.
1 Bra. Not sell it, sir!
Y. Mir. No, gentlemen, but I'll bestow it, with all my heart![Offering it.
1 Bra. O sir, we shall rob you!
Y. Mir. That you do, I'll be sworn! [Aside.] I have another at home; pray, sir,—Gentlemen, you're too modest—have I any thing else that you fancy?—Sir, will you do me a favour? [To the First Bravo.] I am extremely in love with that hat which you wear, will you do me the favour to change with me?
1 Bra. Lookye, sir, this is a family hat, and I would not part with it, but if you like it——[They change Hats.]—I want but a handsome pretence to quarrel with him—Some wine! Sir, your good health.
[Pulls Mirabel by the Nose.
Y. Mir. Oh, sir, your most humble servant! a pleasant frolic enough, to drink a man's health, and pull him by the nose! ha! ha! ha! the pleasantest, pretty-humoured gentleman——
Lam. Help the gentleman to a glass.
[Mirabel drinks.
1 Bra. How d'ye like the wine, sir?
Y. Mir. Very good o'the kind, sir:—But I tell ye what, I find we're all inclined to be frolicsome, and 'egad, for my own part, I was never more disposed to be merry; let's make a night on't, ha!—This wine is pretty, but I have such burgundy at home! Lookye, gentlemen, let me send for half a dozen flasks of my burgundy, I defy France to match it;—'twill make us all life, all air, pray, gentlemen.
2 Bra. Eh? Shall us have his burgundy?
1 Bra. Yes, 'faith, we'll have all we can; here, call up the gentleman's servant.—[Exit Footman.] What think you, Lamorce?
Lam. Yes, yes—Your servant is a foolish country boy, sir, he understands nothing but innocence.
Y. Mir. Ay, ay, madam.—Here, Page,——
Enter Oriana.
Take this key, and go to my butler, order him to send half a dozen flasks of the red burgundy, marked a thousand; and be sure you make haste, I long to entertain my friends here; my very good friends.
Omnes. Ah, dear sir!
1 Bra. Here, child, take a glass of wine—Your master and I have changed hats, honey, in a frolic.—Where had you this pretty boy, honest Mustapha?
Oriana. Mustapha!
Y. Mir. Out of Picardy—this is the first errand he has made for me, and if he does it right, I will encourage him.
Oriana. The red burgundy, sir?
Y. Mir. The red, marked a thousand, and be sure you make haste.
Oriana. I shall, sir.[Exit.
1 Bra. Sir, you were pleased to like my hat, have you any fancy for my coat?—Lookye, sir, it has served a great many honest gentlemen, very faithfully.
Y. Mir. The insolence of these dogs is beyond their cruelty![Aside.
Lam. You're melancholy, sir.
Y. Mir. Only concerned, madam, that I should have no servant here but this little boy—he'll make some confounded blunder, I'll lay my life on't; I would not be disappointed of my wine, for the universe.
Lam. He'll do well enough, sir; but supper's ready; will you please to eat a bit, sir?
Y. Mir. O, madam, I never had a better stomach in my life.
Lam. Come, then, we have nothing but a plate of soup.
Y. Mir. Ah! the marriage soup I could dispense with now.
[Aside.—Exit, handing the Lady.
2 Bra. Shall we dispatch him?
3 Bra. To be sure; I think he knows me.
1 Bra. Ay, ay, dead men tell no tales; I han't the confidence to look a man in the face, after I have done him an injury, therefore we'll murder him.[Exeunt.