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Show The Way to win him. 39 Enter Mirabel and Old Mirabel. Your Patience, Sir. I tell you I won't marry; and tho' you fend all the Bifhops in France to perfuade me, I fhall never believe their Doctrine againft their Practice. Old At. But will you difobey your Father, Sir ? Mir. Wou'd m y Father have his youthful Son lie lazing here, bound to a Wife, chain'd like a Monkey to make fport to a W o m a n , fubject to her Whims, Humours, Longings, Vapours and Capriches, to have her one D a y pleas'd, to Morrow peevifh, the next Day mad, the fourth rebellious; and nothing but this fucceftion of Impertinence for Ages together. Be merciful, Sir, to your o w n Flefh and Blood. Old M. But, Sir, did not I bear all this, why fhould not 'you ? Aiir. Then you think, that Marriage, like Treafon, fhould attaint the whole Blood; pray confider, Sir, is it reasonable, becaufe you throw your felf down from one Story, that I muft caft m y felf headlong from the Garret Window, you wou'd compel m e to that State, which I have heard you curfe your felf, when m y Mother and you have battel'd it for a whole Week together. Old M. Never but once, you Rogue, and that was when fhe long'd for fix Flanders Mares: Ay, Sir, then fhe was breeding of you, which fhew'd what an expenfive Dog I fhou'd have of you. Enter Petit. Well Petit, how do's fhe now ? Pet. Mad, Sir, con Pompos. Ay, Mr. Mirabel, you'll believe that I fpeak truth, now, when I confefs that I have told you hitherto nothing but Lies; our jelling is come to a fad Earneft, fhe'sdown-right diffracted. Enter Bifarre. Bif. Where is this mighty Victor ? The great Exploit is done; go triumph in the Glory of your Conqueft , inhumane, barbarous M a n ! O, Sir, (To the Old Gentleman.) your wretched W a r d has found a tender Guardian of you, where her young Innocence expected Protection, here has fhe found her Ruin. Old M. Ay, the fault is mine, for I believe that Rogue wo'n't marry, for fear of begetting fuch a difobedient Son as his Father did. I have done all I can, M a d a m , and now can do no more than run mad for Company. ( Cries. Enter Dugard with his Sword drawn. t Dug. A w a y ! Revenge, Revenge, |