SCENE III.

OLD MIRABEL'S _House_.

_Enter_ DURETETE, _with a Letter_.

_Dur._ [Reads.] _My rudeness was only a proof of your humour, which I have found so agreeable, that I own myself penitent, and willing to make any reparation upon your first appearance to_ BISARRE.

Mirabel swears she loves me, and this confirms it; then farewell gallantry, and welcome revenge! 'Tis my turn now to be upon the sublime; I'll take her off; I warrant her!

_Enter_ BISARRE.

Well, mistress, do you love me?

_Bis._ I hope, sir, you will pardon the modesty of----

_Dur._ Of what? of a dancing devil!--Do you love me, I say?

_Bis._ Perhaps I----

_Dur._ What?

_Bis._ Perhaps I do not.

_Dur._ Ha! abused again! Death, woman, I'll----

_Bis._ Hold, hold, sir! I do, do!

_Dur._ Confirm it, then, by your obedience; stand there, and ogle me now, as if your heart, blood, and soul, were like to fly out at your eyes--First, the direct surprise. [_She looks full upon him._] Right; next, the _deux yeux par oblique_. [_She gives him the side Glance._] Right; now depart, and languish. [_She turns from him, and looks over her Shoulder._] Very well; now sigh. [_She sighs._] Now drop your fan on purpose. [_She drops her Fan._] Now take it up again. Come now, confess your faults; are not you a proud--say after me.

_Bis._ Proud.

_Dur._ Impertinent.

_Bis._ Impertinent.

_Dur._ Ridiculous.

_Bis._ Ridiculous.

_Dur._ Flirt.

_Bis._ Puppy.

_Dur._ Zoons! Woman, don't provoke me; we are alone, and you don't know but the devil may tempt me to do you a mischief; ask my pardon immediately.

_Bis._ I do, sir; I only mistook the word.

_Dur._ Cry, then. Have you got e'er a handkerchief?

_Bis._ Yes, sir.

_Dur._ Cry, then, handsomely; cry like a queen in a tragedy. [_She pretending to cry, bursts out a laughing._

_Enter Two_ LADIES, _laughing_.

_Bis._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Both Ladies._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Dur._ Hell broke loose upon me, and all the furies fluttered about my ears! Betrayed again?

_Bis._ That you are, upon my word, my dear Captain; ha! ha! ha!

_Dur._ The Lord deliver me!

_1 Lady._ What! is this the mighty man, with the bull-face, that comes to frighten ladies?

_Dur._ Ah, madam, I'm the best natured fellow in the world.

_Bis._ A man! we're mistaken; a man has manners: the awkward creature is some tinker's trull, in a periwig. Come, ladies, let us examine him. [_They lay hold on him._

_Dur._ Examine! the devil you will!

_Bis._ I'll lay my life, some great dairy maid in man's clothes!

_Dur._ They will do't;--lookye, dear christian women! pray hear me.

_Bis._ Will you ever attempt a lady's honour again?

_Dur._ If you please to let me get away with my honour, I'll do any thing in the world.

_Bis._ Will you persuade your friend to marry mine?

_Dur._ O yes, to be sure.

_Bis._ And will you do the same by me?

_Dur._ Burn me if I do, if the coast be clear. [_Runs out._

_Bis._ Ha! ha! ha! The visit, ladies, was critical for our diversions: we'll go make an end of our tea. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ OLD MIRABEL.

_Y. Mir._ Your patience, sir. I tell you, I won't marry; and, though you send all the bishops in France to persuade me, I shall never believe their doctrine against their practice. You would compel me to that state, which I have heard you curse yourself, when my mother and you have battled it for a whole week together.

_Old Mir._ Never but once, you rogue, and that was when she longed for six Flanders mares: ay, sir, then she was breeding of you, which showed what an expensive dog I should have of you.

_Enter_ PETIT.

Well, Petit, how does she now?

_Petit._ Mad, sir, _con pompos_--Ay, Mr. Mirabel, you'll believe that I speak truth, now, when I confess that I have told you hitherto nothing but lies: our jesting is come to a sad earnest; she's downright distracted!

_Enter_ BISARRE.

_Bis._ Where is this mighty victor!----The great exploit is done. O, sir, [_To the old Gentleman._] your wretched ward has found a tender guardian of you, where her young innocence expected protection, here has she found her ruin.

_Old Mir._ Ay, the fault is mine; for I believe that rogue won't marry, for fear of begetting such another disobedient son as his father did. I have done all I can, madam, and now can do no more than run mad for company. [_Cries._

_Enter_ DUGARD, _with his Sword drawn_.

_Dug._ Away! Revenge! Revenge!

_Old Mir._ Patience! Patience, sir! [OLD MIRABEL _holds him_.] Bob, draw. [_Aside._

_Dug._ Patience! the coward's virtue, and the brave man's failing, when thus provoked--Villain!

_Y. Mir._ Your sister's phrensy shall excuse your madness; and, to show my concern for what she suffers, I'll bear the villain from her brother.--Put up your anger with your sword; I have a heart like yours, that swells at an affront received, but melts at an injury given; and, if the lovely Oriana's grief be such a moving scene, 'twill find a part within this breast, perhaps as tender as a brother's.

_Dug._ To prove that soft compassion for her grief, endeavour to remove it.--There, there, behold an object that's infective; I cannot view her, but I am as mad as she!

_Enter_ ORIANA, _held by Two Maids, who put her in a Chair_.

A sister, that my dying parents left, with their last words and blessing, to my care. Sister, dearest sister! [_Goes to her._

_Old Mir._ Ay, poor child, poor child, d'ye know me?

_Oriana._ You! you are Amadis de Gaul, sir.--Oh! oh, my heart! Were you never in love, fair lady? And do you never dream of flowers and gardens?--I dream of walking fires, and tall gigantic sights. Take heed, it comes now--What's that? Pray stand away: I have seen that face, sure.--How light my head is!

_Y. Mir._ What piercing charms has beauty, even in madness!

_Oriana._ I cannot; for I must be up to go to church, and I must dress me, put on my new gown, and be so fine, to meet my love. Heigho!--Will not you tell me where my heart lies buried?

_Y. Mir._ My very soul is touch'd--Your hand, my fair!

_Oriana._ How soft and gentle you feel! I'll tell you your fortune, friend.

_Y. Mir._ How she stares upon me!

_Oriana._ You have a flattering face; but 'tis a fine one--I warrant you have five hundred mistresses--Ay, to be sure, a mistress for every guinea in his pocket--Will you pray for me? I shall die to-morrow----And will you ring my passing bell?

_Y. Mir._ Do you know me, injured creature?

_Oriana._ No,--but you shall be my intimate acquaintance--in the grave. [_Weeps._

_Y. Mir._ Oh, tears! I must believe you; sure there's a kind of sympathy in madness; for even I, obdurate as I am, do feel my soul so tossed with storms of passion, that I could cry for help as well as she. [_Wipes his Eyes._

_Oriana._ What, have you lost your lover? No, you mock me; I'll go home and pray.

_Y. Mir._ Stay, my fair innocence, and hear me own my love so loud, that I may call your senses to their place, restore them to their charming happy functions, and reinstate myself into your favour.

_Bis._ Let her alone, sir; 'tis all too late: she trembles; hold her, her fits grow stronger by her talking; don't trouble her, she don't know you, sir.

_Old Mir._ Not know him! what then? she loves to see him for all that.

_Enter_ DURETETE.

_Dur._ Where are you all? What the devil! melancholy, and I here! Are ye sad, and such a ridiculous subject, such a very good jest among you as I am?

_Y. Mir._ Away with this impertinence; this is no place for bagatelle; I have murdered my honour, destroyed a lady, and my desire of reparation is come at length too late. See there!

_Dur._ What ails her?

_Y. Mir._ Alas, she's mad!

_Dur._ Mad! dost wonder at that? By this light, they're all so; they're cozening mad; they're brawling mad; they're proud mad: I just now came from a whole world of mad women, that had almost--What, is she dead?

_Y. Mir._ Dead! Heavens forbid.

_Dur._ Heavens further it; for, till they be as cold as a key, there's no trusting them; you're never sure that a woman's in earnest, till she is nailed in her coffin. Shall I talk to her? Are you mad, mistress?

_Bis._ What's that to you, sir?

_Dur._ Oons, madam, are you there? [_Runs off._

_Y. Mir._ Away, thou wild buffoon! How poor and mean this humour now appears? His follies and my own I here disclaim; this lady's phrensy has restored my senses, and, was she perfect now, as once she was, (before you all I speak it) she should be mine; and, as she is, my tears and prayers shall wed her.

_Dug._ How happy had this declaration been some hours ago!

_Bis._ Sir, she beckons to you, and waves us to go off: come, come, let's leave them. [_Exeunt all but_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA.

_Oriana._ Oh, sir!

_Y. Mir._ Speak, my charming angel, if your dear senses have regained their order; speak, fair, and bless me with the news.

_Oriana._ First, let me bless the cunning of my sex, that happy counterfeited phrensy that has restored to my poor labouring breast the dearest, best beloved of men.

_Y. Mir._ Tune all, ye spheres, your instruments of joy, and carry round your spacious orbs the happy sound of Oriana's health; her soul, whose harmony was next to yours, is now in tune again; the counterfeiting fair has played the fool!

She was so mad, to counterfeit for me; I was so mad, to pawn my liberty: But now we both are well, and both are free.

_Oriana._ How, sir? Free!

_Y. Mir._ As air, my dear bedlamite! What, marry a lunatic! Lookye, my dear, you have counterfeited madness so very well this bout, that you'll be apt to play the fool all your life long.----Here, gentlemen!

_Oriana._ Monster! you won't disgrace me!

_Y. Mir._ O' my faith, but I will. Here, come in gentlemen.--A miracle! a miracle! the woman's dispossess'd! the devil's vanished!

_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ DUGARD.

_Old Mir._ Bless us! was she possessed?

_Y. Mir._ With the worst of demons, sir! a marriage devil! a horrid devil! Mr. Dugard, don't be surprised. I promised my endeavours to cure your sister; no mad doctor in Christendom could have done it more effectually. Take her into your charge; and have a care she don't relapse. If she should, employ me not again, for I am no more infallible than others of the faculty; I do cure sometimes.

_Oriana._ Your remedy, most barbarous man, will prove the greatest poison to my health; for, though my former phrensy was but counterfeit, I now shall run into a real madness. [_Exit_; OLD MIRABEL _after_.

_Y. Mir._ What a dangerous precipice have I 'scap'd! Was not I just now upon the brink of destruction?

_Enter_ DURETETE.

Oh, my friend, let me run into thy bosom! no lark escaped from the devouring pounces of a hawk, quakes with more dismal apprehension.

_Dur._ The matter, man!

_Y. Mir._ Marriage! hanging! I was just at the gallows foot, the running noose about my neck, and the cart wheeling from me.--Oh, I shan't be myself this month again!

_Dur._ Did not I tell you so? They are all alike, saints or devils!

_Y. Mir._ Ay, ay: there's no living here with security; this house is so full of stratagem and design, that I must abroad again.

_Dur._ With all my heart; I'll bear thee company, my lad: I'll meet you at the play; and we'll set out for Italy to-morrow morning.

_Y. Mir._ A match; I'll go pay my compliment of leave to my father presently.

_Dur._ I'm afraid he'll stop you.

_Y. Mir._ What, pretend a command over me, after his settlement of a thousand pound a year upon me! No, no, he has passed away his authority with the conveyance; the will of the living father is chiefly obeyed for the sake of the dying one.

Dependence, ev'n a father's sway secures, For, though the son rebels, the heir is yours. [_Exeunt severally._

ACT THE FIFTH.