Wild. Ay, ay, my dear, you do know him, and I cann't be angry, because 'tis the fashion for ladies to know every body: but methinks, madam, that picture now! Hang it, considering 'twas my gift, you might have kept it-But no matter; my neighbours shall pay for't. Ang. Picture, my dear! Could you think I e'er would part with that? No; of all my jewels, this alone I kept, because 'twas given by you. [Shews the picture. Wild. Eh! Wonderful!- -And what's this? [Pulling out t'other picture. Enter STANDARD, LUREWELL, DICKY, and Wild. Oh, colonel! Such discoveries! Dick. Oh, sir! I knew what it would come to; they're here already, sir. Wild. Then, colonel, we'll have a new wedding, and begin it with a dance-Strike up. [A dance here. Stand. Now, Sir Harry, we have retrieved our wives; yours from death, and mine from the devil; and they are at present very honest: but how shall we keep them so? Ang. By being good husbands, sir; and the great secret for keeping matters right in wedlock, is never to quarrel with your wives for trifles; for we are but babies at best, and must have our Ang. They're very much alike. Wild. So alike, that one might fairly pass for t'other.- -Monsieur Marquis, ecoutez. -You did lie wid my vife, and she did give you de pic-play-things, our longings, our vapours, our frights, ture for your pain. Eh! Come, sir, add to your France politique a little of your native impudence, and tell us plainly how you came by't. Mar. Begar, Monsieur Chevalier, wen de France-man can tell no more lie, den vill he tell trute.- -I was acquainted wid de paintre dat draw your lady's picture, an I give him ten pistole for de copy.-An so me ave de picture of all de beauty in London; and by this politique, me ave de reputation to lie wid dem all. Wild. When, perhaps, your pleasure never reached above a pit-masque in your life. Mar. An begar, for dat matre, de natre of women, a pit-masque is as good as de best. De pleasure is nothing, de glory is all-a-la-mode de France. [Struts out. Wild. Go thy ways for a true pattern of the vanity, impertinence, subtlety, and the ostentation of thy country!-Look ye, captain, give me thy hand: once I was a friend to France; but henceforth I promise to sacrifice my fashions, coaches, wigs, and vanity, to horses, arms, and equipage, and serve my king in propria persona, to promote a vigorous war, if there be occasion. Fire. Bravely said, Sir Harry and if all the beaus in the side-boxes were of your mind, we would send them back their L'Abbé and Balon, and shew them a new dance, to the tune of Harry the Fifth. our monkies, our china, our fashions, our washes, our patches, our waters, our tattle and impertinence; therefore, I say, 'tis better to let a woman play the fool, than provoke her to play the devil. Lure. And another rule, gentlemen, let me advise you to observe,-never to be jealous; or if you should, be sure never to let your wife think you suspect her: for we are more restrained by the scandal of the lewdness, than by the wickedness of the fact; when once a woman has borne the shame of a whore, she'll dispatch you the sin in a moment. Wild. We're obliged to you, ladies, for your So, spite of satire 'gainst a married life, EPILOGUE. BY A FRIEND. VENTRE bleu! vere is dis damn poet? vere? He has affront de French! Le vilaine bête! here. De French it is dat teach the lady wear Vat have you English dat you can call your own? | As for de cuckold- -dat indeed you can make 'Tis all, you see, tout à-la-mode de France. Her gown, her complexion, deux yeux, her De short muff, wit her vite elbow bare; De beau de large muff, wit his sleeve down dere. * Ve teach your vifes to ope dere husband's purses, Garçon! ve teach you every ting de varle; * Pointing to his fingers. THE INCONSTANT. BY FARQUHAR. PROLOGUE. LIKE hungry guests a sitting audience looks: Satire's the sauce, high-season'd, sharp, and rough; Kind masks and beaux, I hope you're pepperproof: Wit is the wine; but 'tis so scarce the true, Your rakes love haut-goûts, like your damn'd Your rarity, for the fair guest to gape on, dred pound. An opera, like an oglio, nicks the age: And tragi-comedy, half fish and flesh: Yet since each mind betrays a diff'rent taste, SCENE I.-The Street. ACT I. Dug. How now, sir, at your old travelling familiarity! When abroad, you had some freedom for want of better company; but among my friends at Paris, pray remember your distance- -Be gone, sir. [Exit PETIT.] This fellow's wit was necessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a domestic; I must dispose of him some way else. Who's here? Old Mirabel and my sister!-My dearest sister! Enter Old MIRABEL and ORIANA. Ori. My brother! Welcome. Dug. Monsieur Mirabel! I'm heartily glad to see you. Old Mir. Honest Mr Dugard ! by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm your most humble servant. Dug. Why, sir, you've cast your skin sure; you're brisk and gay, lusty health about you, no signs of age but your silver hairs. Old Mir. Silver hairs! Then they are quicksilver hairs, sir. Whilst I have golden pockets, let my hairs be silver an they will. Adsbud, sir, I can dance, and sing, and drink, and no, I cann't wench.-But, Mr Dugard, no news of my son Bob in all your travels? Dug. Your son's come home, sir. Old Mir. Come home! Bob come home! By the blood of the Mirabels, Mr Dugard, what say ye? Ori. Mr Mirabel return'd, sir! Dug. He's certainly come, and you may see him within this hour or two. Old Mir. Swear it, Mr Dugard, presently swear it. Dug. Sir, he came to town with me this morning; I left him at the Bagnieurs, being a little disordered after riding, and I shall see him again presently. Old Mir. What! and he was asham'd to ask a blessing with his boots on? A nice dog! Well, and how fares the young rogue, ha? Dug. A fine gentleman, sir. He'll be his own messenger. Old Mir. A fine gentleman! But is the rogue Like me yet? | | Dug. Why, yes, sir; he's very like his mother, and as like you as most modern sons are to their fathers. Old Mir. Why, sir, don't you think that I begat him? Dug. Why, yes, sir; you married his mother, and he inherits your estate. He's very like you, upon my word. Ori. And pray, brother, what's become of his honest companion, Duretete ? Dug. Who, the captain? The very same he went abroad; he's the only Frenchman I ever knew | that could not change. Your son, Mr Mirabel, is more obliged to Nature for that fellow's composition than for his own; for he's more happy in Duretete's folly than his own wit. In short, they are as inseparable as finger and thumb; but the first instance in the world, I believe, of opposition in friendship. | Old Mir. Very well; will he be home to dinner, think ye? Dug. Sir, he has ordered me to bespeak a din ner for us at Rousseau's, at a louis d'or a head. Old Mir. A louis d'or a head! Well said, Bob; by the blood of the Mirabels, Bob's improv'd. But, Mr Dugard, was it so civil of Bob to visit Monsieur Rousseau before his own natural father, eh? Hark'e, Oriana, what think you, now, of a fellow that can eat and drink ye a whole louis d'or at a sitting ? He must be as strong as Hercules; life and spirit in abundance. Before Gad, I don't wonder at those men of quality, that their own wives cann't serve them. A louis d'or a head! 'tis enough to stock the whole nation with bastards, 'tis, faith. Mr Dugard, I leave you with your sister. [Exit. Dug. Well, sister, I need not ask you how you do; your looks resolve me: fair, tall, wellshaped! you're almost grown out of my remembrance. Ori. Why, truly, brother, I look pretty well. thank Nature and my toilet: I have 'scaped the jaundice, green sickness, and the small-pox; I eat three meals a day, am very merry when up, and sleep soundly when I'm down. Dug. But, sister, you remember that upon my going abroad, you would choose this old gentleman for your guardian; he's no more related to our family than Prester John; and I have no reason to think you mistrusted my management of your fortune : therefore, pray be so kind as to tell me, without reservation, the true cause of making such a choice. Ori. Look'e, brother, you were going a ram bling, and 'twas proper, lest I should go a rambling too, that somebody should take care of me. Old Monsieur Mirabel is an honest gentleman, was our father's friend, and has a young lady in his house, whose company I like, and who has chosen him for her guardian as well as L Dug. Who, Mademoiselle Bisarre? Ori. The same: we live merrily together, without scandal or reproach; we make much of the old gentleman between us, and he takes care of us; we eat what we like, go to bed when we please, rise when we will, all the week we dance and sing, and upon Sundays go first to church, and then to the play. Now, brother, besides these motives for choosing this gentleman for my guardian, perhaps I had some private rea sons. Dug. Not so private as you imagine, sister: your love to young Mirabel's no secret, I can assure you, but so public, that all your friends are asham'd on't. Ori. O' my word, then, my friends are very bashful; though I am afraid, sir, that those people are not ashamed enough at their own crimes, who have so many blushes to spare for the faults of their neighbours. Dug. Ay, but, sister, the people sayOri. Pshaw! hang the people, they'll talk treason, and profane their Maker; must we therefore infer, that our king is a tyrant, and religion a cheat? Look'e, brother, their court of inquiry is a tavern, and their informer, claret; they think as they drink, and swallow reputations like loches; a lady's health goes briskly round with the glass, but her honour is lost in the toast. Dug. Ay, but, sister, there is still something Ori. If there be something, brother, 'tis none of the people's something; marriage is my thing, and I'll stick to't. Dug. Marriage! Young Mirabel marry! He'll build churches sooner. Take heed, sister, though your honour stood proof to his home-bred assaults, you must keep a stricter guard for the future: he has now got the foreign air and the Italian softness; his wit's improved by converse, his behaviour finished by observation, and his assurances confirmed by success. Sister, I can assure you, he has made his conquests; and 'tis a plague upon your sex, to be the soonest deceiv'd by those very men that you know have been false to others. Ori. Then why will you tell me of his conquests? for I must confess, there is no title to a woman's favour so engaging as the repute of a handsome dissimulation; there is something of a pride to see a fellow lie at our feet, that has triumphed over so many; and then, I don't know, we fancy he must have something extraordinary about him to please us, and that we have something engaging about us to secure him; so we cann't be quiet till we put ourselves upon the lay of being both disappointed. Dug. But then, sister, he's as fickle Ori. For God's sake, brother, tell me no more of his faults; for if you do, I shall run mad for him:-say no more, sir; let me but get him into the bands of matrimony, I'll spoil his wandering, I warrant him; I'll do his business that way; never fear. Dug. Well, sister, I won't pretend to understand the engagements between you and your lover: I expect, when you have need of my counsel or assistance, you will let me know more of your affairs. Mirabel is a gentleman; and as far as my honour and interest can reach, you may command me to the furtherance of your happiness: in the mean time, sister, I have a great mind to make you a present of another humble servant, a fellow that I took up at Lyons, who has served me honestly ever since. Ori. Then why will you part with him? Dug. He has gain'd so insufferably on my good humour, that he's grown too familiar; but the fellow's cunning, and may be serviceable to you in your affair with Mirabel. Here he comes. Enter PETIT. Well, sir, have you been at Rousseau's? Pet. Yes, sir: and who should I find there but Mr Mirabel and the captain, hatching as warmly over a tub of ice, as two hen pheasants over a brood-they would not let me bespeak any thing, for they had dined before I came. Dug. Come, sir, you shall serve my sister; I shall still continue kind to you; and if your lady recommends your diligence, upon trial, I'll use my interest to advance you; you have sense enough to expect preferment. Here, sirrah, here's ten guineas for thee; get thyself a drugget suit and a puff wig, and so—I dub thee gentleman-usher. Sister, I must put myself in repair: you may expect me in the evening-Wait on your lady home, Petit. [Exit DUGARD. Pet. A chair, a chair, a chair! Ori. No, no, I'll walk home; 'tis but next door. [Exeunt. SCENE II.—A Tavern, discovering Young MIRABEL and DURETETE rising from the table. Mir. Welcome to Paris once more, my dear captain: we have eat heartily, drank roundly, paid plentifully, and let it go for once. I liked every thing but our women; they looked so lean and tawdry, poor creatures! 'Tis a sure sign the army is not paid. Give me the plump Venetian, brisk and sanguine, that smiles upon me like the glowing sun, and meets my lips like sparkling wine, her person shining as the glass, and spirit like the foaming liquor. for our women here in France, they are such Dur. Ah! Mirabel! Italy I grant you; but thin, brawn-fallen jades, a man may as well make a bed-fellow of a cane chair. Mir. France! a light, unseasoned country, nothing but feathers, foppery, and fashions: we are fine indeed, so are our coach-horses: men say we are courtiers,-men abuse us; that we are wise in politics, non credo, seigneur; that our women have wit ;-parrots, mere parrots; assurance and a good memory sets them up.-There's service t'ye-Ha, Roma la santa! Italy for my nothing on this side the Alps worth my humble money: their customs, gardens, buildings, paint 5 |