_Petit._ Plain, plain, sir! Your mistress and mine is going to be married! _Y. Mir._ I believe you lie, sir. _Petit._ Your humble servant, sir. [_Going._ _Y. Mir._ Come hither, Petit. Married, say you? _Petit._ No, sir, 'tis no matter: I only thought to do you a service; but I shall take care how I confer my favours for the future. _Y. Mir._ Sir, I beg ten thousand pardons. [_Bowing low._ _Petit._ 'Tis enough, sir.--I come to tell you, sir, that Oriana is this moment to be sacrificed; married past redemption! _Y. Mir._ I understand her; she'll take a husband, out of spite to me, and then, out of love to me, she will make him a cuckold! But who is the happy man? _Petit._ A lord, sir. _Y. Mir._ I'm her ladyship's most humble servant. Now must I be a constant attender at my lord's levee, to work my way to my lady's couchee----A countess, I presume, sir---- _Petit._ A Spanish count, sir, that Mr. Dugard knew abroad, is come to Paris, saw your mistress yesterday, marries her to-day, and whips her into Spain to-morrow. _Y. Mir._ Ay, is it so? and must I follow my cuckold over the Pyrenees? Had she married within the precincts of a billet-doux, I would be the man to lead her to church; but, as it happens, I'll forbid the banns! Where is this mighty don? _Petit._ Have a care, sir; he's a rough cross-grained piece, and there's no tampering with him. Would you apply to Mr. Dugard, or the lady herself, something might be done, for it is in despite to you, that the business is carried so hastily. Odso, sir, here he comes! I must be gone. [_Exit._ _Enter_ OLD MIRABEL, _dressed in a Spanish Habit, leading_ ORIANA. _Oriana._ Good my lord, a nobler choice had better suited your lordship's merit. My person, rank, and circumstance, expose me as the public theme of raillery, and subject me so to injurious usage, my lord, that I can lay no claim to any part of your regard, except your pity. _Old Mir._ Breathes he vital air, that dares presume, With rude behaviour, to profane such excellence? Show me the man---- And you shall see how my sudden revenge Shall fall upon the head of such presumption. Is this thing one? [_Strutting up to_ YOUNG MIRABEL. _Y. Mir._ Sir! _Oriana._ Good my lord. _Old Mir._ If he, or any he! _Oriana._ Pray, my lord, the gentleman's a stranger. _Old Mir._ O, your pardon, sir,--but if you had--remember, sir,--the lady now is mine, her injuries are mine; therefore, sir, you understand me----Come, madam. [_Leads_ ORIANA _to the Door; she goes off_; YOUNG MIRABEL _runs to his Father, and pulls him by the Sleeve_. Y. Mir. _Ecoute, Monsieur le Count._ _Old Mir._ Your business, sir? _Y. Mir._ Boh! _Old Mir._ Boh! what language is that, sir? _Y. Mir._ Spanish, my lord. _Old Mir._ What d'ye mean? _Y. Mir._ This, sir. [_Trips up his Heels._