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Show The Way to win him. 7 A Perfon of Quality tobeus'd at this rate ! • Igad I'm ftruck as flat as a Frying-pan. Mir. Words 0' courfe ! never mind 'em, turn you about upon your heel with a jaunty Air; hum out the end of an old Song; cut a crofs Capei, and at her again. Dur. [Imitates him!] No, hang it, 'twill never do. Ocns, what did m y Father mean by flicking me up in an Univerfity, or to think that I fhould gain any thing by my Head, in a Nation whofe Genius lyes all in their Heels. • Well, if ever I come to have Children of m y owrn, they fhall have the Education of the Country, they fhall learn to dance before they can walk, and be taught to fing before they fpeak. Mir. Come, come, throw off that childilh Humour, put on AfTurance, there's no avoiding it; ftand all Hazards, thou'rt a flout lufty Fellow , and haft a good Eftate; look Bluff, Hector, you have a good Side-box Face, a pretty impudent Face; fo, that's pretty well: • This Fellow went abroad like an Ox, and is return'd like an Afs; [Afide. Dur. Let m e fee now, how I look. [Pulls out a Pocket Glafs, and looks on't.'] A Side-box Face, fay you! 'Egad 1 don't like it, Mirabel. Fye, Sir, don't abule your Friends, I cou'd not wear fuch a Face for the beft Countefs in Chriften-dom. Mir. W h y , can't you, Blockhead, as well asM? Dur. W h y , thou haft impudence to fet a good Face upon any thing; I wou'd change half m y Gold for half thy Braf, with all m y Heart. W h o comes here ? Odfo, Mirabel, your Father! Enter Old Mirabel. OldM. Where's £<>*, dean Bob* Mir. Your Blefiing, Sir. OldM. My Blefling ! Dam'ye, you young Rogue; why did not you come to fee your Father firft, Sirrah ? My dear Boy, I a m heartily glad to fee thee, m y dear Child, faith Captain Duretete, by the Blood of the Mirabels, I'm yours: Well, m y Lads, ye look bravely 'efaith. Bob, haft got any Money left ? Mir. Not a Farthing, Sir. Old AI. W h y , then I won't gi'thee a Soufe. Mir. Sir, I did but jeft, here's ten Piftols. Old M. Why, then here's ten more; I love to be charitalle to thofe that don't want it: Well, and how d'ye like Italy, m y Boys ? Mir. O the Garden of the World, Sir, Rome, Naples, Venice, Milan, and a thouiand others all fine. Old AL |