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word: she only fell a crying over night, and I went for Italy next morning.-But, pray, no more on't.-Are you hurt, monsieur?

Stand. But, Sir Harry, you'll be serious when I tell you that her ghost appears.

Wild. Her ghost! Ha, ha, ha! that's pleasant, faith.

Stand. As sure as fate, it walks in my house. Wild. In your house! Come along, colonel; by the lard I'll kiss it.

[Exeunt WILD. and STAND. Mar. Monsieur le Captain, adieu. Fire. Adieu! No, sir, you shall follow Sir Harry.

Mar. For vat?

Fire. For what! why, dy'e think I'm such a rogue as to part a couple of gentlemen when they're fighting, and not see them make an end on't?-I think it a less sin to part man and wife. Come along, sir.

[Exit, pulling Monsieur,

SCENE VI.-STANDARD'S House. Enter WILDAIR and STANDARD. Wild. Well then; this, it seems, is the enchanted chamber. The ghost has pitched upon a handsome apartment, however. Well, colonel, when do you intend to begin? Stand. What, sir?

it.

Wild. To laugh at me; I know you design

Stand. Ha! by all that's powerful, there it is. [Ghost walks across the stage. Wild. The devil it is-Emh! Blood! I'll speak to't.-Vous, Mademoiselle Ghost, parlez vous François ?-No! hark ye, Mrs Ghost, will your ladyship be pleased to inform us who you are, that we may pay you the respect due to your quality. [Ghost returns.

Ghost. I am the spirit of thy departed wife. Wild. Are you, faith? Why, then here's the body of thy living husband, and stand me if you dare.-[Runs to her, and embraces her.]- -Ha! 'tis substance, I'm sure.-But hold, Lady Ghost, stand off a little, and tell me, in good earnest now, whether you are alive or dead.

Ang. [Throwing off her shroud.]-Alive! alive! [Runs and throws her arms about his neck] and never lived so much as in this moment! Wild. What d'ye think of the ghost now, colonel? [She hangs upon him.] Is it not a very loving ghost?

Stand. Amazement!

ye,

Wild. Ay, 'tis amazement, truly.-Look madam, I hate to converse so familiarly with spirits: pray keep your distance,

Ang. I am alive, indeed I am.
Wild. I don't believe a word on't.

[Moving away. Stand. Sir Harry, you're more afraid now than before.

Wild. Ay, most men are more afraid of a living wife than a dead one.

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Stand. 'Tis good manners to leave you toge ther, however.

[Exit Ang. 'Tis unkind, my dear, after so long and tedious an absence, to act the stranger so. I now shall die in earnest, and must for ever vanish from your sight. [Weeping, and going.

Wild. Hold, hold, madam. Don't be angry, my dear; you took me unprovided: had you but sent me word of your coming, I had got three or four speeches out of Oroonoko and the Mourning Bride upon this occasion, that would have charmed your very heart. But we'll do as well as we can: I'll have the music from both houses; Pawlet and Locket shall contrive for our taste; we'll charm our ears with Abel's voice; feast our eyes with one another; and thus, with all our senses tuned to love, we'll hurl off our clothes, leap into bed, and there-Look ye, madam, if I don't welcome you home with raptures more natural, and more moving, than all the plays in Christendom-I'll say no more.

Ang. As mad as ever.

Wild. But ease my wonder first, and let me know the riddle of your death.

Ang. Your unkind departure hence, and your avoiding me abroad, made me resolve, since I could not live with you, to die to all the world besides: I fancied, that though it exceeded the force of love, yet the power of grief, perhaps, might change your humour, and therefore had it given out that I died in France. My sickness at Montpelier, which indeed was next to death, and the affront offered to the body of our ambassador's chaplain at Paris, conduced to have my burial private. This deceived my retinue; and by the assistance of my woman, and your faithful servant, I got into man's clothes, came home into England, and sent him to observe your motions abroad, with orders not to undeceive you till your return.-Here I met you in the quality of Beau Banter, your busy brother, under which disguise I have disappointed your views. upon my lady Lurewell; and, in the form of a ghost, have revenged the scandal she this day threw upon me, and have frightened her sufficiently from lying alone. I did resolve to have frightened you likewise, but you were too hard for me.

Wild. How weak, how squeamish, and how fearful are women, when they want to be hu moured! and how extravagant, how daring, and how provoking, when they get the impertinent maggot in their head!-But by what means, my dear, could you purchase this double disguise? How came you by my letter to my brother?

Ang. By intercepting all your letters since I came home. But for my ghostly contrivance, good Mrs Parly, (moved by the justness of my cause, and a bribe,) was my chief engineer.

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Wild. Oh, monsieur! Won't you salute your mistress, sir?

Mar. Oh, morbieu! Begar, me must run to some oder country now for my religion.

Ang. Oh! what, the French marquis! I know

him.

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.

Aug. 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 PARLY.

Wild. Oh, coloncl! Such discoveries! Stand. Sir, I have heard all from your servant; honest Dicky has told me the whole story. Wild. Why, then, let Dicky run for the fiddles immediately.

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 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 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.

France.

your

Wild. When, perhaps, your pleasure never reached above a pit-masque in life. Mur. 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 [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 propriu personu, 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 advice; and in return, give me leave to give you the definition of a good wife, in the character of my own. The wit of her conversation never outstrips the conduct of her behaviour; she's affable to all men, free with no man, and only kind to me; often chearful, sometimes gay, and always pleased, but when I'm angry; then sorry, not sullen. The Park, play-house, and cards, she frequents in compliance with custom; but her diversions of inclination are at home: she's more cautious of a remarkable woman than of a noted

wit, well knowing that the infection of her own sex is more catching than the temptation of ours. to all this, she is beautiful to a wonder, scorns all devices that engage a gallant, and uses all arts to 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 enragénow he is not here.

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

here.

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,
Vidout it come from France, dat vil go down?
Picquet, basset; your vin, your dress, your
dance;

;

'Tis all, you see, tout à-la-mode de France.
De beau dere buy a hondre knick-knack
He carry out wit, but seldom bring it back:
But den he bring a snuff-box hinge, so small
De joint you can no see de vark at all,
Cost him five pistoles, dat is sheap enough,
In tree year it sal save half an ounce of snuffe.
De coquet, she ave her ratifia dere,

Her gown, her complexion, deux yeux, her
lovere.

De French it is dat teach the lady wear

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,
To put de furbelo round dere coach and dere
horses.

Garçon! ve teach you every ting de varle ;
For vy den you damn poet dare to snarle ?-
Begar, me vil be revenge upon his play:
Tree tousan refugee (parbleu c'est vrai)
Shall all come here, and damn him upon his tird
day.

*Pointing to his fingers.

THE

INCONSTANT.

BY FARQUHAR.

PROLOGUE.

LIKE hungry guests a sitting audience looks:
Plays are like suppers: poets are the cooks:
The founders you: the table is this place:
The carvers we: the prologue is the grace:
Each act, a course; each scene, a different dish:
Though we're in Lent, I doubt you're still for
flesh :

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,
Poets, like vintners, balderdash and brew.
Your surly scenes, where rant and bloodshed join,
Are butcher's meat; a battle's a sirloin :
Your scenes of love, so flowing, soft, and chaste,
Are water-gruel, without salt or taste.
Bawdy's fat venison, which, though stale, can
please;

Your rakes love haut-goûts, like your damn'd

French cheese.

Your rarity, for the fair guest to gape on,
Is your nice squeaker, or Italian capon;
Or your French virgin-pullet, garnish'd round,
And dress'd with sauce of some--four hun-
dred pound.

An opera, like an oglio, nicks the age:
Farce is the hasty-pudding of the stage;
For when you're treated with indifferent cheer,
You can dispense with slender stage-coach fare.
A pastoral's whipt cream; stage-whims, mere
trash;

And tragi-comedy, half fish and flesh:
But comedy! that, that's the darling cheer,
This night we hope you'll all inconstant bear :
Wild fowl is lik'd in play-house all the year.

Yet since each mind betrays a diff'rent taste,
And every dish scarce pleases ev'ry guest,
If aught you relish, do not damn the rest.
This favour crav'd, up let the music strike:
You're welcome all-now fall to, where you like.

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SCENE I.-The Street.

ACT I.

Enter DUGARD and his man PETIT, in Ridinghabits.

Dug. Sirrah, what's o'clock ?
Pet. Turn'd of eleven, sir.

Dug. No more! we have rid a swinging pace from Nemours since two this morning! Petit, run to Rousseau's, and bespeak a dinner at a louis d'or a head, to be ready by one. Pet. How many will there be of you, sir? Dug. Let me see- -Mirabel one, Duretete two, myself three

Pet. And I four.

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 dinner 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.

[Exil.

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 rambling, 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 I.

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