_Dur._ The Lord deliver me! _1 Lady._ What! is this the mighty man, with the bull-face, that comes to frighten ladies? _Dur._ Ah, madam, I'm the best natured fellow in the world. _Bis._ A man! we're mistaken; a man has manners: the awkward creature is some tinker's trull, in a periwig. Come, ladies, let us examine him. [_They lay hold on him._ _Dur._ Examine! the devil you will! _Bis._ I'll lay my life, some great dairy maid in man's clothes! _Dur._ They will do't;--lookye, dear christian women! pray hear me. _Bis._ Will you ever attempt a lady's honour again? _Dur._ If you please to let me get away with my honour, I'll do any thing in the world. _Bis._ Will you persuade your friend to marry mine? _Dur._ O yes, to be sure. _Bis._ And will you do the same by me? _Dur._ Burn me if I do, if the coast be clear. [_Runs out._ _Bis._ Ha! ha! ha! The visit, ladies, was critical for our diversions: we'll go make an end of our tea. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ OLD MIRABEL. _Y. Mir._ Your patience, sir. I tell you, I won't marry; and, though you send all the bishops in France to persuade me, I shall never believe their doctrine against their practice. You would compel me to that state, which I have heard you curse yourself, when my mother and you have battled it for a whole week together. _Old Mir._ Never but once, you rogue, and that was when she longed for six Flanders mares: ay, sir, then she was breeding of you, which showed what an expensive dog I should have of you. _Enter_ PETIT. Well, Petit, how does she now? _Petit._ Mad, sir, _con pompos_--Ay, Mr. Mirabel, you'll believe that I speak truth, now, when I confess that I have told you hitherto nothing but lies: our jesting is come to a sad earnest; she's downright distracted! _Enter_ BISARRE. _Bis._ Where is this mighty victor!----The great exploit is done. O, sir, [_To the old Gentleman._] your wretched ward has found a tender guardian of you, where her young innocence expected protection, here has she found her ruin. _Old Mir._ Ay, the fault is mine; for I believe that rogue won't marry, for fear of begetting such another disobedient son as his father did. I have done all I can, madam, and now can do no more than run mad for company. [_Cries._ _Enter_ DUGARD, _with his Sword drawn_. _Dug._ Away! Revenge! Revenge! _Old Mir._ Patience! Patience, sir! [OLD MIRABEL _holds him_.] Bob, draw. [_Aside._ _Dug._ Patience! the coward's virtue, and the brave man's failing, when thus provoked--Villain!