An Op'ra, like an Oglio, nicks the Age;
Farce is the Hafty Pudding of the Stage.
For when you're treated with indifferent Cheer,
You can difpenfe with flender Stage-Coach Fare.
A Paftoral's whipt Cream; Stage-Whims, mere Trafb
And Tragi-Comedy, half Fish and Flefb.

But Comedy, That, that's the darling Cheer;
This Night we hope you'll an Inconftant bear:
Wild Fowl is lik'd in Play-house all the Year.
Yet fince each Mind betrays a diff'rent Tafie,
And every Difh fearce pleases ev'ry Gueft,
If aught you relish, do not damn the reft.
This Favour crav'd, up let the Mufick ftrike:
You're welcome all.

Now fall to, where you like.

или

1.

Dramatis

MEN.

Old Mirabel, an aged Gent. of an

odd Compound, between the

Peevishness incident to his Years, Mr. Pinkethman. and his Fatherly Fondefs towards

his Son.

Young Mirabel, his Son,

Captain Duretete, an honest good

Mr. Wilks.

natur'd Fellow, that thinks him- Mr. Bullock. felf a greater Fool than he is.

Dugard, Brother to Oriana.

Mr. Mills.

Petit, Servant to Dugard, after-2 Mr. Norris.

wards to his Sifter.

ier-}

WOMEN.

Oriana, a Lady contracted to Mi

rabel, who wou'd bring him to >Mrs. Rogers.

Reason.

Four Bravo's, two Gentlemen, and two Ladies.

Soldiers, Servants, and Attendants.

SCENE, The Street.

Enter Dugard, and his Man Petit in Riding Habits.

S

Irrah, What's a Clock?

Pet. Turn'd of Eleven, Sir. Dug. No more! We have rid a fwinging Pace from Nemours fince Two this Morning! Petit, run to Rouleau's and befpeak a Dinner at a Lewis d'Or

Head, to be ready by One.

Pet. How many will there be of you, Sir?

Dug. Let me fee: Mirabel one, Duretete two, my felf three

Pet. And I four.

Dug. How now, Sir, at your old travelling Familiarity! When abroad, you had fome 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 neceffary abroad, but he's too cunning for a Domestick; I muft difpofe of him fome way elfe.- Who's here? Old Mirabel, and my Sifter! my deareft Sifter!

Enter Old Mirabel and Oriana.

Ori. My Brother! Welcome.

Dug. Monfieur Mirabel! I'm heartily glad to fee

you.

Old. Mir. Honest Mr. Dugard, by the blood of the Mirabels I'm your most humble Servant.

Dug. Why, Sir, you've caft your Skin fure, you're brisk and gay, lufty Health about you, no fign of Age but your filver Hairs.

Old Mir. Silver Hairs! Then they are Quick-filver Hairs, Sr. Whilft I have golden Pockets, let my Hairs be Silver an they will. Adsbud Sir, I can dance, and fing, 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 fay ye? Ori. Mr. Mirabel return'd, Sir.

Dug. He's certainly come, and you may fee 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 diforder'd after riding, and I fhall fee him again prefently.

Old. Mir. What! And he was afham'd to ask Bleffing 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 Meffenger.

Ο

Old

Old. Mir. A fine Gentleman! But is the Rogue like me ftill?

Dug. Why yes, Sir; he's very like his Mother, and as like you as moft modern Sons are to their Fathers.

Old Mir. Why, Sir, don't you think that I begat him?

Dug. Why yes, Sir; you marry'd his Mother, and he inherits your Eftate. He's very like you, upon my word.

Ori. And pray, Brother, what's become of his honeft Companion, Duretete?

Dug. Who, the Captain? The very fame he went abroad; he's the only French-man I ever knew that cou'd not change. Your Son, Mr. Mirabel, is more oblig'd to Nature for that Fellow's Compofition, than for his own for he's more happy in Duretete's Folly than his own Wit. In fhort, they are as infeparable as Finger and Thumb; but the firft Inftance in the World, I believe, of Oppofition in Friendship.

Old Mir. Very well; will he be home to Dinner, think ye e?

Dug. Sir, he has order'd me to bespeak a Dinner for us at Rouleau's at a Lewidore a Head.

a

Old Mir. A Lewidore a Head! Well faid, Bob; by the Blood of the Mirabels, Bob's improv'd. But Mr. Dugard, was it fo civil of Bob to vifit Monfieur Rouf feau before his own natural Father? Eh! Heark'e Oriana, what think you, now, of a Fellow that can eat and drink ye a whole Lewidore at a fitting? He must be as ftrong as Hercules, Life and Spirit in abundance. Before Gad I don't wonder at these Men of Quality, that their own Wives can't ferve 'em. A Lewidore a head! 'tis enough to ftock the whole Nation with Bastards, 'tis Faith. Mr. Dugard, I leave you with your Sifter.

[Exit. Dug. Well, Sifter, I need not ask you how you do, your Looks refolve me; fair, tall, well-fhap'd; you're almost grown out of my Remembrance.