_Dur._ [_Imitates him._] No, hang it, 'twill never do!--Oons! what did my father mean, by sticking me up in an university, or to think that I should 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. _Y. 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._ _Dur._ Let me see now, how I look. [_Pulls out a Pocket Glass, and looks on it._] A side-box face, say you!--'Egad, I don't like it, Mirabel! Fie, sir, don't abuse your friends, I could not wear such a face for the best countess in christendom. _Y. Mir._ Why can't you, blockhead, as well as I? _Dur._ Why, thou hast impudence to set a good face upon any thing; I would change half my gold for half thy brass, with all my heart. Who comes here? Odso, Mirabel, your father! _Enter_ OLD MIRABEL. _Old Mir._ Where's Bob?--dear Bob? _Y. Mir._ Your blessing, sir? _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? _Y. Mir._ Not a farthing, sir. _Old Mir._ Why, then, I won't gi' thee a souse. _Y. Mir._ I did but jest, here's ten pistoles. _Old Mir._ Why, then, here's ten more: I love to be charitable to those that don't want it.--Well, and how do you like Italy, my boys? _Y. Mir._ O, the garden of the world, sir! Rome, Naples, Venice, Milan, and a thousand others--all fine. _Old Mir._ Ay! say you so? And they say, that Chiari is very fine too. _Dur._ Indifferent, sir, very indifferent; a very scurvy air, the most unwholesome to a French constitution in the world. _Y. Mir._ Pshaw! nothing on't: these rascally gazetteers have misinformed you. _Old Mir._ Misinformed me! Oons, sir, were we not beaten there? _Y. Mir._ Beaten, sir! we beaten! _Old Mir._ Why, how was it, pray, sweet sir? _Y. Mir._ Sir, the captain will tell you. _Dur._ No, sir, your son will tell you. _Y. Mir._ The captain was in the action, sir. _Dur._ Your son saw more than I, sir, for he was a looker on. _Old Mir._ Confound you both, for a brace of cowards! here are no Germans to overhear you--why don't ye tell me how it was?