The Inconstant. George Farquhar
A great lusty fellow, and a soldier; fie upon it!
Dur. Lookye, sir, I can visit, and I can ogle a little, – as thus, or thus now. Then I can kiss abundantly – but if they chance to give me a forbidding look, as some women, you know, have a devilish cast with their eyes – or if they cry, "What do you mean? what d'ye take me for? Fie, sir, remember who I am, sir – A person of quality to be used at this rate!" – 'Egad, I'm struck as flat as a fryingpan.
Y. Mir. Words of course! never mind them: Turn you about upon your heel, with a jantée air; hum out the end of an old song; cut a cross caper, and at her again.
Dur. [Imitates him.] No, hang it, 'twill never do! – Oons! what did my father mean, by sticking me up in an university, or to think that I should gain any thing by my head, in a nation, whose genius lies all in their heels! – Well, if ever I come to have children of my own, they shall have the education of the country – they shall learn to dance, before they can walk, and be taught to sing, before they can speak.
Y. Mir. Come, come, throw off that childish humour – put on assurance, there's no avoiding it; stand all hazards, thou'rt a stout, lusty fellow, and hast a good estate; – look bluff, hector, you have a good side-box face, a pretty impudent face; so, that's pretty well. – This fellow went abroad like an ox, and is returned like an ass.[Aside.
Dur. Let me see now, how I look. [Pulls out a Pocket Glass, and looks on it.] A side-box face, say you! – 'Egad, I don't like it, Mirabel! Fie, sir, don't abuse your friends, I could not wear such a face for the best countess in christendom.
Y. Mir. Why can't you, blockhead, as well as I?
Dur. Why, thou hast impudence to set a good face upon any thing; I would change half my gold for half thy brass, with all my heart. Who comes here? Odso, Mirabel, your father!
Old Mir. Where's Bob? – dear Bob?
Y. Mir. Your blessing, sir?
Old Mir. My blessing! Damn ye, ye young rogue, why did not you come to see your father first, sirrah? My dear boy, I am heartily glad to see thee, my dear child, 'faith! – Captain Duretete, by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm yours! Well, my lads, ye look bravely, 'faith. – Bob, hast got any money left?
Y. Mir. Not a farthing, sir.
Old Mir. Why, then, I won't gi' thee a souse.
Y. Mir. I did but jest, here's ten pistoles.
Old Mir. Why, then, here's ten more: I love to be charitable to those that don't want it. – Well, and how do you like Italy, my boys?
Y. Mir. O, the garden of the world, sir! Rome, Naples, Venice, Milan, and a thousand others – all fine.
Old Mir. Ay! say you so? And they say, that Chiari is very fine too.
Dur. Indifferent, sir, very indifferent; a very scurvy air, the most unwholesome to a French constitution in the world.
Y. Mir. Pshaw! nothing on't: these rascally gazetteers have misinformed you.
Old Mir. Misinformed me! Oons, sir, were we not beaten there?
Y. Mir. Beaten, sir! we beaten!
Old Mir. Why, how was it, pray, sweet sir?
Y. Mir. Sir, the captain will tell you.
Dur. No, sir, your son will tell you.
Y. Mir. The captain was in the action, sir.
Dur. Your son saw more than I, sir, for he was a looker on.
Old Mir. Confound you both, for a brace of cowards! here are no Germans to overhear you – why don't ye tell me how it was?
Y. Mir. Why, then, you must know, that we marched up a body of the finest, bravest, well dressed fellows in the universe; our commanders at the head of us, all lace and feather, like so many beaux at a ball – I don't believe there was a man of them but could dance a charmer, Morbleau.
Old Mir. Dance! very well, pretty fellows, 'faith!
Y. Mir. We capered up to their very trenches, and there saw, peeping over, a parcel of scare-crow, olive-coloured, gunpowder fellows, as ugly as the devil.
Dur. E'gad, I shall never forget the looks of them, while I have breath to fetch.
Y. Mir. They were so civil, indeed, as to welcome us with their cannon! but for the rest, we found them such unmannerly, rude, unsociable dogs, that we grew tired of their company, and so we e'en danced back again.
Old Mir. And did ye all come back?
Y. Mir. No, two or three thousand of us staid behind.
Old Mir. Why, Bob, why?
Y. Mir. Pshaw! because they could not come that night.
Dur. No, sir, because they could not come that night.
Y. Mir. But, come, sir, we were talking of something else; pray, how does your lovely charge, the fair Oriana?
Old Mir. Ripe, sir, just ripe; you'll find it better engaging with her than with the Germans, let me tell you. And what would you say, my young Mars, if I had a Venus for thee too? Come, Bob, your apartment is ready, and pray let your friend be my guest too; you shall command the house between ye, and I'll be as merry as the best of you.[Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I
Bis. And you love this young rake, d'ye?
Oriana. Yes.
Bis. In spite of all his ill usage?
Oriana. I can't help it.
Bis. What's the matter wi' ye?
Oriana. Pshaw!
Bis. Um! – before that any young, lying, swearing, flattering, rakehelly fellow, should play such tricks with me – O, the devil take all your Cassandras and Cleopatras for me. – I warrant now, you'll play the fool when he comes, and say you love him! eh?
Oriana. Most certainly; I can't dissemble, Bisarre; besides, 'tis past that, we're contracted.
Bis. Contracted! alack-a-day, poor thing! – What, you have changed rings, or broken an old broadpiece between you! I would make a fool of any fellow in France. Well, I must confess, I do love a little coquetting, with all my heart! my business should be to break gold with my lover one hour, and crack my promise the next; he should find me one day with a prayer book in my hand, and with a play book another. – He should have my consent to buy the wedding ring, and the next moment would I ask him his name.
Oriana. O, my dear! were there no greater tie upon my heart, than there is upon my conscience, I would soon throw the contract out of doors; but the mischief on't is, I am so fond of being tied, that I'm forced to be just, and the strength of my passion keeps down the inclination of my sex.
Bis. But here's the old gentleman!
Old Mir. Where's my wenches? – where's my two little girls? Eh! Have a care, – look to yourselves, 'faith, they're a coming – the travellers are a coming! Well! which of you two will be my daughter-in-law now? Bisarre, Bisarre, what say you, madcap? Mirabel is a pure, wild fellow.
Bis. I like him the worse.
Old Mir. You lie, hussy, you like him the better, indeed you do! What say you, my t'other little filbert, eh?
Oriana. I suppose the gentleman will chuse for himself, sir.
Old Mir. Why, that's discreetly said, and so he shall.
Bob, harkye, you shall