_Old Mir._ A very concise quarrel, truly----I'll bully him.--_Trinidade Seigneur_, give me fair play. [_Offering to rise._ _Y. Mir._ By all means, sir. [_Takes away his Sword._] Now, seigneur, where's that bombast look, and fustian face, your countship wore just now? [_Strikes him._ _Old Mir._ The rogue quarrels well, very well; my own son right!--But hold, sirrah, no more jesting; I'm your father, sir! your father! _Y. Mir._ My father! Then, by this light, I could find in my heart to pay thee. [_Aside._] Is the fellow mad? Why, sure, sir, I han't frighted you out of your senses? _Old Mir._ But you have, sir! _Y. Mir._ Then I'll beat them into you again. [_Offers to strike him._ _Old Mir._ Why, rogue!--Bob! dear Bob! don't you know me, child? _Y. Mir._ Ha! ha! ha! the fellow's downright distracted! Thou miracle of impudence! wouldst thou make me believe, that such a grave gentleman as my father would go a masquerading thus? That a person of threescore and three would run about, in a fool's coat, to disgrace himself and family? why, you impudent villain, do you think I will suffer such an affront to pass upon my honoured father, my worthy father, my dear father? 'Sdeath, sir! mention my father but once again, and I'll send your soul to thy grandfather this minute! [_Offering to stab him._ _Old Mir._ Well, well, I am not your father. _Y. Mir._ Why, then, sir, you are the saucy, hectoring Spaniard, and I'll use you accordingly. _Enter_ DUGARD, ORIANA, MAID, _and_ PETIT. DUGARD _runs to_ YOUNG MIRABEL, _the rest to the Old Gentleman_. _Dug._ Fie, fie, Mirabel! murder your father! _Y. Mir._ My father? What, is the whole family mad? Give me way, sir, I won't be held. _Old Mir._ No? nor I neither; let me begone, pray. [_Offering to go._ _Y. Mir._ My father! _Old Mir._ Ay, you dog's face! I am your father, for I have borne as much for thee, as your mother ever did. _Y. Mir._ O ho! then this was a trick, it seems, a design, a contrivance, a stratagem!--Oh, how my bones ache! _Old Mir._ Your bones, sirrah! why yours? _Y. Mir._ Why sir, han't I been beating my own flesh and blood all this while? O, madam, [_To_ ORIANA.] I wish your ladyship joy of your new dignity. Here was a contrivance indeed! _Oriana._ Pray, sir, don't insult the misfortunes of your own creating. _Dug._ My prudence will be counted cowardice, if I stand tamely now.--[_Comes up between_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and his Sister_.] Well, sir! _Y. Mir._ Well, sir! Do you take me for one of your tenants, sir, that you put on your landlord's face at me? _Dug._ On what presumption, sir, dare you assume thus? [_Draws._ _Old Mir._ What's that to you, sir? [_Draws._ _Petit._ Help! help! the lady faints! [ORIANA _falls into her Maid's Arms_.