The Inconstant. George Farquhar

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      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 marry one of these girls, sirrah!

      Y. Mir. Sir, I'll marry them both, if you please.

      Bis. [Aside.] He'll find that one may serve his turn.

      Old Mir. Both! why, you young dog, d'ye banter me? – Come, sir, take your choice. – Duretete, you shall have your choice too, but Robin shall chuse first. – Come, sir, begin. Well! which d'ye like?

      Y. Mir. Both.

      Old Mir. But which will you marry?

      Y. Mir. Neither.

      Old Mir. Neither! Don't make me angry now, Bob – pray, don't make me angry. – Lookye, sirrah, if I don't dance at your wedding to-morrow, I shall be very glad to cry at your grave.

      Y. Mir. That's a bull, father.

      Old Mir. A bull! Why, how now, ungrateful sir, did I make thee a man, that thou shouldst make me a beast?

      Y. Mir. Your pardon, sir; I only meant your expression.

      Old Mir. Harkye, Bob, learn better manners to your father before strangers! I won't be angry this time: But oons, if ever you do't again, you rascal! – remember what I say.[Exit.

      Y. Mir. Pshaw! what does the old fellow mean by mewing me up here with a couple of green girls? – Come, Duretete, will you go?

      Oriana. I hope, Mr. Mirabel, you han't forgot —

      Y. Mir. No, no, madam, I han't forgot, I have brought you a thousand little Italian curiosities; I'll assure you, madam, as far as a hundred pistoles would reach, I han't forgot the least circumstance.

      Oriana. Sir, you misunderstand me.

      Y. Mir. Odso! the relics, madam, from Rome. I do remember, now, you made a vow of chastity before my departure; a vow of chastity, or something like it – was it not, madam?

      Oriana. O sir, I'm answered at present.[Exit.

      Y. Mir. She was coming full mouth upon me with her contract – 'Would I might despatch t'other!

      Dur. Mirabel, that lady there, observe her, she's wondrous pretty, 'faith! and seems to have but few words; I like her mainly – speak to her, man, pr'ythee speak to her.

      Y. Mir. Madam, here's a gentleman, who declares —

      Dur. Madam, don't believe him, I declare nothing – What, the devil, do you mean, man?

      Y. Mir. He says, madam, that you are as beautiful as an angel.

      Dur. He tells a damned lie, madam! I say no such thing – Are you mad, Mirabel? Why, I shall drop down with shame.