OCR Text |
Show 2 $ The Inconjlant : Or, Old M* No ! nor I neither; let me be gone, pray. [Offering to go. Mir. M y Father! Old M. Ay, you Dog's face, I a m your Father, for I have bore as much for thee, as your Mother ever did. Mir. O ho! then this was a Trick it feems, a Defign, a Contrivance, a Stratagem Oh! how my Bones ake! Old Ad. Your Bones, Sirrah, w h y yours ? Mir. W h y , Sir, ha'n't I been beating m y own Flefh and Blood all this while ? O Madam, [To Oriana.] I wifh your Ladylhip Joy of your new Dignity. Here was a Contrivance indeed. Pet. The Contrivance was well enough, Sir, for they im-pes'd upon us all. Mir. Well, m y dear Dulcinea, did your Don Ouixot battel for you bravely ? M y Father will anlwer for the force of my Love. Ori. Pray, Sir, don't infult the Misfortunes of your own creating. Dug. M y Prudence will be counted Cowardice if I ftand tamely now. [Comes up between Mirabel and his Sifter,] Well, Sir ! Aiir. Well, Sir! do you take m e for one of your Tenants, Sir, that you put on your Landlord-face at m e ? Dug. O n what prefumption, Sir, dare you aflume thus? [Dram. Old Ai. What's that to you, Sir. [Draws. Pet. Help, help, the Lady faints. [Oriana falls into her Maids Arms. Adir. Vapours! Vapours! fhe'll come to her felf: If it be an angry Fit, a Dram of Affa Fcetida if Jealoufie, Hartshorn in W a t e r - if the Mother, burnt Feathers- if Grief, Ratafia if it be ftrait Stays, or Corns, there's nothing like a Dram of plain Brandy. [Exit. Ori. Hold off, give me Air O my Brother, wou'd you preferve m y Life, endanger not your o w n ; wou'd you defend m y Reputation, leave it to it felf; 'tis a dear Vindication that's purchas'd by the Sword ; for tho' our Champion prove Victorious, yet our Honour is wounded. Old M. Ay, and your Lover m a y be wounded, that's ano* ther thing. But I think you're pretty brisk again, m y Child. Ori. Ay, Sir, m y Indifpofition was only pretence to divert the Quarrel; the capricious Tafte of your Sex excufes this Artifice in curs. 5 Fctf |