SCENE II.

_The Inside of a Monastery._

_Enter_ ORIANA, _in a Nun's Habit, and_ BISARRE.

_Oriana._ I hope, Bisarre, there is no harm in jesting with this religious habit.

_Bis._ To me, the greatest jest in the habit, is taking it in earnest.

_Oriana._ But I'm reconciled, methinks, to the mortification of a nunnery; because I fancy the habit becomes me.

_Bis._ A well-contrived mortification, truly, that makes a woman look ten times handsomer than she did before!--Ay, my dear, were there any religion in becoming dress, our sex's devotion were rightly placed; for our toilets would do the work of the altar; we should all be canonized.

_Oriana._ But don't you think there is a great deal of merit in dedicating a beautiful face and person to the service of religion?

_Bis._ Not half so much as devoting them to a pretty fellow. Come, come, mind your business. Mirabel loves you, 'tis now plain, and hold him to't; give fresh orders that he shan't see you: we get more by hiding our faces, sometimes, than by exposing them; a very mask, you see, whets desire; but a pair of keen eyes, through an iron grate, fire double upon them, with view and disguise. But I must begone upon my affairs; I have brought my captain about again.

_Oriana._ But why will you trouble yourself with that coxcomb?

_Bis._ Because he is a coxcomb: had I not better have a lover like him, that I can make an ass of, than a lover like yours, to make a fool of me. [_Knocking below._] A message from Mirabel, I'll lay my life! [_She runs to the Door._] Come hither! run, thou charming nun, come hither!

_Oriana._ What's the news? [_Runs to her._

_Bis._ Don't you see who's below?

_Oriana._ I see nobody but a friar.

_Bis._ Ah, thou poor blind Cupid! A friar! Don't you see a villanous genteel mien, under that cloak of hypocrisy?

_Oriana._ As I live, Mirabel turned friar! I hope, in Heaven, he's not in earnest.

_Bis._ In earnest! Ha! ha! ha! are you in earnest? Remember what I say, if you would yield to advantage, and hold out the attack; to draw him on, keep him off, to be sure.

The cunning gamesters never gain too fast, But lose at first, to win the more at last. [_Exit._

_Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL, _in a Friar's Habit_.

_Y. Mir._ 'Save you, sister--Your brother, young lady, having a regard for your soul's health, has sent me to prepare you for the sacred habit, by confession.

_Oriana._ My brother's care I own; and to you, sacred sir, I confess, that the great crying sin, which I have long indulged, and now prepare to expiate, was love. My morning thoughts, my evening prayers, my daily musings, nightly cares, was love!

_Y. Mir._ She's downright stark mad in earnest! Death and confusion, I have lost her! [_Aside._]--You confess your fault, madam, in such moving terms, that I could almost be in love with the sin.

_Oriana._ Take care, sir; crimes, like virtues, are their own rewards; my chief delight became my only grief; he, in whose breast I thought my heart secure, turned robber, and despoiled the treasure that he kept.

_Y. Mir._ Perhaps that treasure he esteemed so much, that, like the miser, though afraid to use it, he reserves it safe.

_Oriana._ No, holy father: who can be miser in another's wealth, that's prodigal of his own? His heart was open, shared to all he knew, and what, alas! must then become of mine! But the same eyes, that drew this passion in, shall send it out in tears, to which now hear my vow----

_Y. Mir._ [_Discovering himself._] No, my fair angel! Here, on my knees, behold the criminal, that vows repentance his. [_Kneels._] Ha! no concern upon her!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Old Mir._ Where, where's this counterfeit nun?

_Oriana._ Madness! confusion! I'm ruined!

_Y. Mir._ What do I hear? [_Puts on his Hood._] What did you say, sir?

_Old Mir._ I say she's a counterfeit, and you may be another, for aught I know, sir: I have lost my child by these tricks, sir.

_Y. Mir._ What tricks, sir?

_Old Mir._ By a pretended trick, sir. A contrivance to bring my son to reason, and it has made him stark mad; I have lost him, and a thousand pound a year.

_Y. Mir._ [_Discovering himself._] My dear father, I'm your most humble servant.

_Old Mir._ My dear boy! [_Runs and kisses him._]--Welcome, _ex inferis_, my dear boy! 'tis all a trick, she's no more a nun than I am.

_Y. Mir._ No!

_Old Mir._ The devil a bit.

_Y. Mir._ Then kiss me again, my dear dad, for the most happy news--And now, most venerable holy sister, [_Kneels._

Your mercy and your pardon I implore, For the offence of asking it before.

Lookye, my dear counterfeiting nun, take my advice, be a nun in good earnest; women make the best nuns always, when they can't do otherwise.

_Oriana._ O, sir! how unhappily have you destroyed what was so near perfection! He is the counterfeit, that has deceived you.

_Old Mir._ Ha! Lookye, sir, I recant; she is a nun.

_Y. Mir._ Sir, your humble servant; then I'm a friar this moment.

_Old Mir._ Was ever an old fool so bantered by a brace o' young ones! Hang you both! you're both counterfeits, and my plot's spoiled, that's all.

_Oriana._ Shame and confusion, love, anger, and disappointment, will work my brain to madness! [_Takes off her Habit--Exit._

_Y. Mir._ Ay, ay, throw by the rags; they have served a turn for us both, and they shall e'en go off together. [_Takes off his Habit._

[_Exit, throwing away the Habit._