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word: she only fell a crying over night, and I Stand. 'Tis good manners to leave you togewent for Italy next morning.-But, pray, no more ther, however.

(Erit, on't. Are you hurt, monsieur ?

Ang. 'Tis unkind, my dear, after so long and Stand. But, Sir Harry, you'll be serious when tedious an absence, to act the stranger so. I I tell you that her ghost appears.

now shall die in earnest, and must for ever vanish Wild. Her ghost! Ha, ha, ha! that's pleasant, from your sight. (Weeping, and going. faith.

Wild. Hold, hold, madam. Don't be angry, Stand. As sure as fate, it walks in my house. my dear; you took me unprovided : had you but

Wild. In your house ! Come along, colonel ; sent me word of your coming, I had got three or by the lard I'll kiss it.

four speeches out of Oroonoko and the Mourn{Exeunt Wild, and STAND. ing Bride upon this occasion, that would have Mur. Monsieur le Captain, adieu.

charmed your very heart. But we'll do as well as Fire. Adieu! No, sir, you shall follow Sir we can : I'll have the music from both houses; Harry.

Pawlet and Locket shall contrive for our taste; Niar. For vat?

we'll charm our ears with Abel's voice; feast our Fire. For what! why, dy'e think I'm such a eyes with one another; and thus, with all our rogue as to part a couple of gentlemen when senses tuned to love, we'll hurl off our clothes, they're fighting, and not see them make an end leap into bed, and there-Look ye, madam, if on't ?-I think it a less sin to part man and I don't welcome you home with raptures more wife. -Come along, sir.

natural, and more moving, than all the plays in [Exit, pulling Monsieur, | Christendom-I'll say no more.

Ang. As mad as ever. SCENE VI.-STANDARD's House.

Wild. But ease my wonder first, and let me

know the riddle of your death. Enter WiLDAIR and STANDARD.

Ang. Your unkind departure hence, and your Wild. Well then; this, it seems, is the en- avoiding me abroad, made me resolve, since I chanted chamber. The ghost has pitched upon could not live with you, to die to all the world a handsome apartment, however.-Well, colo- besides : I fancied, that though it exceeded the nel, when do you intend to begin?

force of love, yet the power of grief, perhaps, Stand. What, sir ?

might change your humour, and therefore had it Wild. To laugh at me; I know you design given out that I died in France. My sickness at it.

Montpelier, which indeed was next to death, Stand. Ha! by all that's powerful, there it is. and the affront offered to the body of our ambas

(Ghost walks across the stage. sador's chaplain at Paris, conduced to have my Wild. The devil it is—Emb! Blood ! I'll | burial private. This deceived my retinue; and speak to't. -Vous, Mademoiselle Ghost, parlez by the assistance of my woman, and your faithvous François ?-No! hark ye, Mrs Ghost, will ful servant, I got into man's clothes, came home your ladyship be pleased to inform us who you into England, and sent him to observe your moare, that we may pay you the respect due to your tions abroad, with orders not to undeceive you quality.

(Ghost returns. till your return. -Here I met you in the qualiGhost. I am the spirit of thy departed wife. ty of Beau Banter, your busy brother, under

Wild. Are you, faith? Why, then here's the which disguise I have disappointed your views body of thy living husband, and stand me if you upon my lady Lurewell; and, in the form of a dare.-[Rúns to her, and embraces her.] Ila! ghost, have revenged the scandal she this day 'tis substance, I'm sure.—But hold, Lady Ghost, threw upon me,and have frightened her sufficientstand off a little, and tell me, in good earnest now, ly from lying alone. I did resolve to have frightwhether you are alive or dead.

ened you likewise, but you were too hard for me. Ang. [Throwing off her shroud.)-Alive! Wild. How weak, how squeamish, and how alive ! [Runs und throus her arms about his neck] fearful are women, when they want to be huand never lived so much as in this moment! moured! and how extravagant, how daring, and

Wild. What d'ye think of the ghost now, co how provoking, when they get the impertinent lonel? (She hungs upon him.] Is it not a very naggot in their head ! But by what means, my loving ghost?

dear, could you purchase this double disguise? Stand. Amazement !

How came you by my letter to my brother? Hild. Ay, 'tis amazement, truly.—Look ye, Ang. By cepting all your letters since I madam, I hate to converse so familiarly with came home. But for my ghostly contrivance, spirits: pray keep your distance,

good Mrs Parly, (moved by the justness of my Ang. I am alive, indeed I am.

cause, and a bribe,) was my chief engineer. Wild. I don't believe a word on't.

[Moving away.

Enter FIREBALL and Marquis. Slund. Sir Harry, you're more afraid now than

Fire. Sir Harry, if you have a mind to fight it Wild. Ay, most men are more afraid of a living out, there's your man; if not, I have discharged wife than a dead one.

my trust.

before.

-Strike up.

Wild. Oh, monsieur ! Won't

you
salute

your mistress, sir?

Enter STANDARD, LUREWELL, Dicky, and Mar. Oh, morbieu ! Begar, me must run to

PARLY. some oder country now for my religion.

Wild. Oh, colonel ! Such discoveries ! Ang. Oh! what, the French marquis! I know Stand. Sir, I have heard all from your servant; him.

honest Dicky has told me the whole story, Wild. Ay, ay, my dear, you do know him, and Wild. Why, then, let Dicky run for the fiddles I cann't be angry, because 'tis the fashion for la- immediately. dies to know every body: but methinks, madam, Dick. Oh, sir ! I knew what it would come that picture now ! Hang it, considering 'twas my to; they're here already, sir. gift, you might have kept it-But no matter; my Wild. Then, colonel, we'll have a new wedneighbours shall pay for t.

ding, and begin it with a danceAng. Picture, my dear! Could you think I

[A dance here. e'er would part with that? No; of all my jewels, Stand. Now, Sir Harry, we have retrieved our this alone I kept, because 'twas given by you. wives; yours from death, and mine from the de

(Sheas the picture. vil ; and they are at present very honest : but how Wild. Eh! Wonderful ! And what's this? shall we keep them so?

[Pulling out t’other picture. Ang. By being good husbands, sir ; and the Ang. They're very much alike.

great secret for keeping matters right in wedlock, Wild. So alike, that one might fairly pass for is never to quarrel with your wives for trifles; for t'other. -Monsieur Marquis, ecoutez.

-You we are but babies at best, and must have our 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 our monkies, our china, our fashions, our washes, France politique a little of your native impudence, our patches, our waters, our tattle and impertiand tell us plainly how you came by't.

nence; therefore, I say, 'tis better to let a woman Mar. Begar, Monsieur Chevalier, wen de play the fool, than provoke her to play the devil. France-man can tell no more lie, den vill he tell Lure. And another rule, gentlemen, let me trute. I was acquainted wid de paintre dat advise you to observe,-never to be jealous; or draw your lady's picture, an I give him ten pis. if you should, be sure never to let your wife tole for de copy.

-An so me ave de picture of think you suspect her: for we are more restrainall de beauty in London; and by this politique, ed by the scandal of the lewdness, than by the me ave de reputation to lie wid dem all.

wickedness of the fact; when once a woman has Wild. When, perhaps, your pleasure never borne the shame of a whore, she'll dispatch you rcached above a pit-masque in your life.

the sin in a moment. Mur. An begar, for dat matre, de natre of Wild. We're obliged to you, ladies, for your women, a pit-masque is as good as de best. De advice; and in return, give me leave to give you pleasure is nothing, de glory is all--a-la-mode de the definition of a good wife, in the character of France.

(Struts out. my own. The wit of her conversation never outWild. Go thy ways for a true pattern of the strips the conduct of her behaviour ; she's affa. vanity, impertinence, subtlety, and the ostenta- ble to all men, free with no man, and only kind tion of thy country S-Look ye, captain, give me to me; often chearful, sometimes gay, and althy handonce I was a friend to France; but ways pleased, but when I'm angry; then sorry, henceforth I promise to sacrifice my fashions, not sullen. The Park, play-house, and cards, she coaches, wigs, and vanity, to horses, arms, and frequents in compliance with custom; but her equipage, and serve my king in propria personu, diversions of inclination are at home: she's more to promote a vigorous war, if there be occasion. cautious of a remarkable woman than of a noted

Fire. Bravely said, Sir Harry: and if all the wit, well knowing that the infection of her own beaus in the side-boxes were of your mind, we sex is more catching than the temptation of ours. would send them back their L'Abbé and Balon, to all this, she is beautiful to a wonder, scorns all and shew them a new dance, to the tune of devices that engage a gallant, and uses all arts to Harry the Fifth.

please her husband.

So, spite of satire 'gainst a married life,
A man is truly blest with such a wife,

EPILOGUE.

BY A FRIEND.

VENTRE bleu! vere is dis damn poet? vere ?
Garçon! me vil cut off all his two ear :
Je suis enragé—now he is not here.

He has affront de French! Le vilaine bête !
De French! your best friend ! -you suffre dat?
Parblcu! Messicurs, il serait fort ingrate!

Vat have you English dat you can call your own? | As for de cuckold dat indeed you can make Vat have you of grand pleasure in dis town,

here. Vidout it come from France, dat vil go down? De French it is dat teach the lady wear Picquet, basset ; your vin, your dress, your De short muff, wit her vite elbow bare; dance;

De beau de large muff, wit his sleeve down 'Tis all, you see, tout à-la-mode de France.

dere. * De beau dere buy a hondre knick-knack ; Ve teach your vifes to ope dere husband's purses, He carry out wit, but eldom bring it back : To put de furbelo round dere coach and dere But den he bring a snuff-box hinge, so small De joint you can no see de vark at all,

Garçon! ve teach you every ting de varle ; Cost him five pistoles, dat is sheap enough, For vy den you damn poet dare to snarle ? — In tree year it sal save half an ounce of snuffe. Begar, me vil be revenge upon his play: De coquet, she ave her ratifia dere,

Tree tousan refugee (parbleu c'est vrai) Her gown, her complexion, deux yeux, her Shall all come here, and damn him upon his tird lovere.

day.

horses.

* Pointing to his fingers.

THE

INCONSTANT.

BY FARQUHAR.

PROLOGUE.

Like hungry guests a sitting audience looks: Your rarity, for the fair guest te gape on,
Plays are like suppers : poets are the cooks: Is your nice squeaker, or Italian capon ;
The founders you: the table is this place: Or your French virgin-pullet, garnish'd round,
The carvers we: the prologue is the grace: And dress'd with sauce of some--four hun,
Each act, a course; each scene, a different dish:

dred pound.
Though we're in Lent, I doubt you're still for An opera, like an oglio, nicks the age :
flesh :

Farce is the hasty-pudding of the stage; Satire's the sauce, high-season'd, sharp, and rough; For when you're treated with indifferent cheer, Kind masks and beaux, I hope you're pepper You can dispense with slender stage-coach fare. proof:

A pastoral’s whipt cream ; stage-whims, mere Wit is the wine ; but 'tis so scarce the true,

trash; Poets, like vintners, balderdash and brew. And tragi-comedy, half fish and Alesh: Your surly scenes, where rant and bloodshed join, But comedy! that, that's the darling cheer, Are butcher's meat ; a battle's a sirloin : This night we hope you'll all inconstant bear : Your scenes of love, so flowing, soft, and chaste, Wild fowl is lik’d in play-house all the year. Are water-gruel, without salt or taste.

Yet since each mind betrays a diff'rent taste, Bawdy's fat venison, which, though stale, can And every dish scarce pleases ev'ry guest, please;

If aught you relish, do not damn the rest. Your rakes love haut-goûts, like your damn’d This favour crav’d, up let the music strike: French cheese.

You're welcome 11---now fall to, where you like.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

his son.

MEN.

WOMEN. Old MIRABEL, an aged Gentleman, of an odd | ORIANA, a Lady contracted to MIRABEL, aho

compound, between the peevishness incident to would bring him to reason. his yeurs, and his fatherly fondness towards BISARRE, a whimsical Lady, friend to ORIANA,

admired by DURETETE. Young MIRABEL.

LAMORCE, a woman of contrivance, Captain DURETETE, an honest, good-natured fel low, that thinks himself a greater fool than he is.

Four Bravoes, two Gentlemen, and two Ladies. DUGARD.

Soldiers, Servants, and Attendants. Petit, Serdant to DUGARD, afterwards to his

sister.

ACT I.

Dug. Why, yes, sir ; he's very like his mother, SCENE I.—The Street.

and as like you as most modern sons are to their

fathers. Enter Dugard and his man Petit, in Riding

Old Mir. Why, sir, don't you think that I habits,

begat him? Dug. Sirrah, what's o'clock?

Dug. Why, yes, sir; you married his mother, Pet. Turn'd of eleven, sir.

and he inherits your estate. He's very like you, Dug. No more! we have rid a swinging pace upon my word. from Nemours since two this morning ! Petit, run Ori. And pray, brother, what's become of his to Rousseau's, and bespeak a dinner at a louis d’or honest companion, Duretete ? a head, to be ready by one.

Dug. Who, the captain? The very same he Pet. How many will there be of you, sir ? went abroad; he's the only Frenchman I ever knew

Dug. Let me see -Mirabel one, Duretete that could not change. Your son, Mr Mirabel, two, myself three

is more obliged to Nature for that fellow's comPet. And I four.

position than for his own; for he's more happy in Dug. How now, sir, at your old travelling fa- Duretete's folly than his own wit. In short, miliarity! When abroad, you had some freedom they are as inseparable as finger and thumb; but for want of better company; but among my friends the first instance in the world, I believe, of opat Paris, pray remember your distance -Be position in friendship: gone, sir. (Exit Petit.) This fellow's wit was Old Mir. Very well ; will he be home to dinnecessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a do- ner, think ye? mestic; I must dispose of him some way else. Dug. Sir, he has ordered me to bespeak a dinWho's here? Old Mirabel and my sister !—My ner for us at Rousseau's, at a louis d'or a head. dearest sister!

Old Air. A louis d'or a head! Well said,

Bob; by the blood of the Mirabels, Bob's imEnter Old MIRABEL and ORIANA.

prov’d. But, Mr Dugard, was it so civil of Bob Ori. My brother! Welcome.

to visit Monsieur Rousseau before his own natural Dug. Monsieur Mirabel ! I'm heartily glad to father, eh? Hark'e, Oriana, what think yoll, see you.

now, of a fellow that can eat and drink ye a Old Mir. Honest Mr Dugard ! by the blood whole louis d'or at a sitting ? He must be as of the Mirabels, I'm your most humble servant. strong as Hercules; life and spirit in abundance.

Dug. Why, sir, you've cast your skin sure; Before Gad, I don't wonder at those men of you're brisk and gay, lusty health about you, no quality, that their own wives cann't serve them. signs of age but your silver hairs.

A louis d'or a head ! 'tis enough to stock the Old Mir. Silver hairs ! Then they are quick-whole nation with bastards, 'tis, faith. Mr Dilsilver hairs, sir. Whilst I have golden pockets, gard, I leave you with your sister. (Exil. let my hairs be silver an they will. Adsbud, sir, Dug. Well, sister, I need not ask you how I can dance, and sing, and drink, and—no, you do; your looks resolve me: fair, tall, wellcann't wench. But, Mr Dugard, no news of my shaped ! you're almost grown out of my son Bob in all your travels ?

brance. Dug. Your son's come home, sir.

Ori. Why, truly, brother, I look pretty well, Old Mir. Come home! Bob come home! By thank Nature and my toilet: I have 'scaped the blood of the Mirabels, Mr Dugard, what say the jaundice, green sickness, and the small-pox; ye?

I eat three meals a day, am very merry when up, Ori. Mr Mirabel return'd, sir !

and sleep soundly when I'm down. Dug. He's certainly come, and you may see Dug. But, sister, you remember that upon him within this hour or two.

my going abroad, you would choose this old genOld Mir. Swear it, Mr Dugard, presently swear tleman for your guardian; he's no more related

to our family than Prester John; and I have no Dug. Sir, he came to town with me this morn reason to think you mistrusted my management ing; I left him at the Bagnieurs, being a little of your fortune: therefore, pray be so kind as to disordered after riding, and I shall see him again tell me, without reservation, the true cause of presently.

making such a choice. Old Ilir. What! and he was asham'd to ask Ori. Look'e, brother, you were going a rama blessing with his boots on? A nice dog! Well, bling, and 'twas .proper, lest I should go a ramand how fares the young rogue, ha?

bling too, that somebody should take care of me. Dug. A fine gentleman, sir. He'll be his own Old Monsieur Mirabel is an honest gentleman, messenger.

was our father's friend, and has a young lady in Old Mir. A fine gentleman! But is the rogue his house, whose company I like, and who has like me yet?

chosen him for her guardian as well as 1.

remem

it.

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