A darker and more silent hour, to break Into the chamber where they think thou sleep'st. This moment, this, heaven hath ordain'd to save thee! Fly to the camp, my son! Doug. And leave you here? No: to the castle let us go together, Call up the ancient servants of your house, Who in their youth did eat your father's bread; Some in your cause will arm. I ask but few Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas! And I am safe. To me they mean no harm. Which I by certain proof will soon confirm. Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet my heart Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me stay, And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm achiev'd. Our foes are two; no more: let me go forth, And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon. Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, or re ver'st Thy father's memory, think of this no more. One thing I have to say before we part: Just as they are separating, enter, from the Wood LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON Lord R. Not in her presence. Now Glen. I'm prepared. Lord R. No; I command thee, stav. [Erit. [GLENALVON makes some steps to the same side of the stage, listens, and speaks. Glen. Demons of death, come settle on my sword The lover and the husband both must die. And to a double slaughter guide it home! Lord R. [Without.] Draw, villain! draw! Doug. [Without.] Assail me not, Lord Ran dolph; Not as thou lov'st thyself. [Clashing of swords. Glen. [Running out.] Now is the time. Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the opposite side of the stage, faint and breathless. Lady R. Lord Randolph, hear me: all shall be thine own! But spare! Oh, spare my son! Enter DOUGLAS, with a sword in each hand. Doug. My mother's voice! I can protect thee still. Lady R. He lives! he lives! For this, for this, to heaven, eternal praise! But sure I saw thee fall. Doug. It was Glenalvon. Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword, Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, my child, How pale thou look'st! and shall I lose thee now? In a most fearful season. War and battle If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein, comfort? The God of battles of my life dispose That which I boast, sounds among martial men, [They embrace. And as high heaven hath will'd it, all must be. [They separate. Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; 'll point it out again. Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faintness, I hope it will not last. [Leans upon his sword. And we must part! the hand of death is on thee! Lady R. There is no hope! Oh! my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas! [DOUGLAS growing more and more faint. Doug. Oh! had I fallen as my brave fathers fell, Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle, Like them I should have smil'd and welcom'd Some noble spirits, judging by themselves, Lady R. Despair, despair! Doug. Oh, had it pleas'd high Heaven to let A little while!my eyes that gaze on thee Enter LORD RANDOLPH and ANNA. Lady R. [Recovering.] Where am I now? Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine. Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim Lady R. Thy innocence! Lord R. My guilt Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'st it. [Exit, running. Lord R. Follow her, Anna: I myself would follow, But in this rage she must abhor my presence. 15 Though slain and baffled by the hand he hated. Foaming with rage and fury to the last. Cursing his conqueror, the felon died. Re-enter ANNA. Anna. My lord! my lord! Lord R. Speak: I can hear of horror. Anna. Horror, indeed! Lord R. Matilda! Anna. Is no more: She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill: Lord R. "Twas I, alas! 'twas I Anna. Oh, had you seen her last despairing look! Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes Down on the deep: then, lifting up her head And her white hands to heaven, seeming to say, Why am I forc'd to this? she plung'd herself Into the empty air. Lord R. I will not vent, In vain complaints, the passion of my soul. [The curtain descends slowly to musie THE INCONSTANT: OR, THE WAY TO WIN HIM: A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY GEORGE FARQUHA R, Esq. REMARKS. THIS lively and entertaining comedy was first acted at Drury Lane in 1702. In his preface, the author observes, that he took the hint from Beaumont and Fletcher's Wild Goose Chase, though, in fact, the main plot and several entire scenes were borrowed from that eccentric piece. The catastrophe of the last act, where Young Mirabel is delivered from the bravoes by the care of Oriana, die guised as his page, was supposed to owe its origin to a similar affair, in which Farquhar himself had some concern when on military duty in France, where the scene is laid. There are still some over-wrought passages in this play, and some improbabilities, almost beyond the pale of that license so liberally allowed to works of imagination: it is still, however, a great favourite. The inimitable performance of Bisarre, by Mrs. Jordon, and of Duretete, by Mr. John Bannister, will long be remembered with delight. Dug. How now, Sir! at your old travelling familiarity! When abroad, you had some freedom for want of better company; but, among my friends at Paris, pray remember your distance Be gone, Sir-[Exit PETIT.] This fellow's wit was necessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a domestic; I must dispose of him some way else. Who's here? Old Mirabel and my sister! my louis-d'or a head! 'tis enough to Enter OLD MIRABEL and ORIANA. see you. stock the whole nation with bastards; 'tis, faith. Mr. Dugaid, I leave you with your sister. [Exit. Dug. Well, sister, I need not ask you how you do, your looks resolve me; fair, tall, wellshaped; you're almost grown out of my remem brance. Ori. Why truly, brother, I look pretty well, thank nature and my toilet; I eat three meals a day, am very merry when up, and sleep soundly when I'm down. Old Mir. Honest Mr. Dugard, by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm your most humble servant. Dug. Why, Sir, you've cast your skin sure, you're brisk and gay, lusty health about you, no sign of but your age silver hairs. Old Mir. Silver hairs! Then they are quick-going silver hairs, Sir. Whilst I have golden pockets, let my hairs be silver an they will. Adsbud, Sir, I can dance, and sing, and drink, and no, I can't wench. But, Mr. Dugard, no news of my son Bob in all your travels? Dug. Your son 's come home, Sir. Old Mir. Come home! Bob come home! By the blood of the Mirabels, Mr. Dugard, what say ye? Ori. Mr. Mirabel returned, Sir? Dug. He's certainly come, and you may see him within this hour or two. Old Mir. Swear it, Mr. Dugard, presently swear it. Dug. Sir, he came to town with me this morning; I left him at the Bagnieurs, being a little disordered after riding, and I shall see him again presently. Old Mir. What! and he was ashamed to ask a blessing with his boots on. A nice dog! Well, and how fares the young rogue? ha? Dug. A fine gentleman, Sir. He'll be his own messenger. Old Mir. A fine gentleman! But is the rogue like me still? Dug. Why yes, Sir; he's very like his mother, and as like you as most modern sons are to their fathers. Old Mir. Why, Sir, don't you think that I begat him? Dug. Why yes, Sir; you married his mother, and he inherits your estate. He's very like you, upon my word. Ori. And pray, brother, what's become of his honest companion, Duretete? Dug. Who, the captain? The very same he went abroad; he's the only Frenchman I ever knew that could not change. Your son, Mr. Mirabel, is more obliged to nature for that fellow's composition than for his own; for he's more happy in Duretete's folly than his own wit. In short, they are as inseparable as finger and thumb; but the first instance in the world, I believe, of opposition in friendship. Old Mir. Very well: will he be home to dinner, think ye? Dug. Sir, he has ordered me to bespeak a dinner for us at Rousseau's, at a louis-d'or a head. Old Mir. A louis-d'or a head! Well said, Bob; by the blood of the Mirabels, Bob's improved. But Mr. Dugard, was it so civil of Bob to visit Monsieur Rousseau before his own natural father, eh? Harkye, Oriana, what think you now of a fellow that can eat and drink ye a whole louis-d'or at a sitting? He must be as strong as Hercules, life and spirit in abundance. Before Gad, I don't wonder at these men of quality, that their own wives can't serve 'em. A Dug. But, sister, you remember that upon my abroad you would choose this old gentleman for your guardian; he's no more related to our family than Prester John, and I have no reason to think you mistrusted my management of your fortune: therefore, pray be so kind as to tell me, without reservation, the true cause of making such a choice. Old Ori. Lookye, brother, you were going a rambling, and 'twas proper, lest I should go a rambling too, that somebody should take care of me. Monsieur Mirabel is an honest gentleman, was our father's friend, and has a young lady in this house whose company I like, and who has chosen him for her guardian as well as I. Dug. Who, Mademoiselle Bisarre ? Ori. The same; we live merrily together, without scandal or reproach; we make much of the old gentleman between us; and he takes care of us; we eat what we like, go to bed when we please, rise when we will, all the week we dance and sing, and upon Sundays go first to church, and then to the play.-Now, brother, besides these motives for choosing this gentleman for my guardian, perhaps I had some private reasons. Dug. Not so private as you imagine, sister; your love to young Mirabel is no secret, I can assure you; but so public that all your friends are ashamed on't. Ori. O'my word, then my friends are very bashful; though I'm afraid, Sir, that those people are not ashamed enough at their own crimes, who have so many blushes to spare for the faults of their neighbours. Dug. Ay but, sister, the people say Ori. Pshaw, hang the people; their court of inquiry is a tavern, and their informer claret; they think as they drink, and swallow reputations like loaches: a lady's health goes briskly round with the glass, but her honour is lost in the toast. Dug. Ay; but, sister, there is still somethingOri. If there be something, brother, 'tis none of the people's something; marriage is my thing, and I'll stick to't. Dug. Marriage! Young Mirable marry! He'll build churches sooner. Take heed, sister, though your honour stood proof to his home-bred assaults, you must keep a stricter guard for the future: he has now got the foreign air, and the Italian softness; his wit's improved by converse, his behaviour finished by observation, and his assurances confirmed by success. Sister, I can assure you he has made his conquests; and 'tis a plague upon your sex, to be the soonest deceived by those very men that you know have been false to others. Ori. For heaven's sake, brother, tell me no more of his faults; for if you do, I shall run mad for him: say no more, Sir; let me but get him into the bands of matrimony, I'll spoil his wandering, I warrant him; I'll lo his business that way, never fear. Dug. Well, sister. I won't pretend to under-| Mir. The women of England were excellent, stand the engagements between you and your did they not take such insufferable pains to ruin lover; I expect when you have need of my council what nature has made so incomparably well. Bet or assistance, you will let me know more of your come, Duretete, let us mind the business in hand; affairs. Mirabel is a gentleman, and, as far as mistresses we must have, and must take up with my honour and interest can reach, you may com- the manufacture of the place, and upon a compe mand me to the furtherance of your happiness: in tent diligence we shall find those in Paris shall the meantime, sister, I have a great mind to make match the Italians from top to toe. you a present of another humble servant; a fellow that I took up at Lyons, who has served me honestly ever since. Ori. Then why will you part with him? Dug. He has gained so insufferably on my good humour, that he's grown too familiar; but the fellow's cunning, and may be serviceable to you in your affair with Mirabel. Here he comes. Enter PETIT. Well, Sir, have you been at Rousseau's? Pet. Yes, Sir, and who should I find there but Mr. Mirabel and the captain, hatching as warmly over a tub of ice, as two hen pheasants over a brood. They would not let me bespeak any thing, for they had dined before I came." Dug. Come, Sir, you shall serve my sister; I shall still continue kind to you.-Wait on your lady home, Petit. [Exit. Ori. No, no, I'll walk home, 'tis but next door. [Exit. Pet. A chair, a chair, a chair! SCENE II-A Tavern. MIRABEL and DURETETE rise from the table. Mir. Welcome to Paris once more, my dear captain; we have eat heartily, drank roundly, paid plentifully, and let it go for once. I liked every thing but our women, they looked so lean and tawdry, poor creatures! 'tis a sure sign the army is not paid.-Give me the plump Venetian, brisk and sanguine, that smiles upon me like the glowing sun, and meets my lips like sparkling wine, her person shining as the glass, and spirit like the foaming liquor. Dur. Ah, Mirabel, Italy, I grant you; but for our women here in France, they are such thin brawn-fallen jades. Dur. Ay, Mirabel, you will do well enough, but what will become of your friend? you know I am so plaguy bashful, so naturally an ass upon these occasions, that Mir. Pshaw, you must be bolder, man: trave three years, and bring home such a baby as bashfulness! A great lusty fellow ! and a soldier! fia upon it. Dur. Lookye, Sir, I can visit, and I can ogl a little as thus, or thus now-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 d'ye 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 frying pan. Mir. Words o'course! never mind 'em: turn you about upon your heel with a jantee 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 a university, or to think that I shoulă 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. 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 [Pulls ou dom. Dur. Let me see now how I look. a pocket-glass, and looks on it.] A side-box Mir. There's nothing on this side the Alps face, say you?'Fs,ad, I don't like it, Mirabel.— worth my humble service 'tye-Ha, Roma la Fie, Sir, don't abe your friends. I could not santa! Italy for my money; their customs, gar-wear such a face or the best countess in Christendens, buildings, paintings, music, polices, wine, and women! the paradise of the world;-not pestered with a parcel of precise old gouty fellows, that would debar their children every pleasure that they themselves are past the sense of; commend me to the Italian familiarity: Here, son, there 's fifty crowns; go pay your girl her week's allowance. Dur. Ay, these are your fathers for you, that understand the necessities of young men ; not like our musty dads, who, because they cannot fish themselves, would muddy the water, and spoil the sport of them that can. But now you talk of the plump, what d'ye think of a Dutch woman? Mir. A Dutch woman's too compact; nay, every thing among them is so; a Dutch man is thick, a Dutch woman is squab, a Dutch horse is round, a Dutch dog is short, a Dutch ship is broad-bottomed; and, in short, one would swear the whole product of the country were cast in the same mould with their cheeses. Dur. Ay, but, Mirabel, you have forgot the English ladies. Mir. Why an't you, blockhead, as well as I? Old Mir. Where's Bob? dear Bob? 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? Mir. Not a farthing, Sir. Old Mir. Why, then, I won't gi' thee a sous. Old Mir. Why, then here's ten more; I love to be charitable to those that don't want it :Well, and how d'ye like Italy, my boys? |