pleasure with their commands, and gives our duty the wings of inclination. Mrs. S. That flight was above the pitch of a livery: and, sir, would you not be satisfied to serve a lady again? Arch. As groom of the chamber, madam, but not as a footman. Mrs. S. I suppose you served as footman before? Arch. For that reason, I would not serve in that post again; for my memory is too weak for the load of messages that the ladies lay upon their servants in London. My Lady Howd'ye, the last mistress I served, called me up one morning, and told me, "Martin, go to my Lady Allnight, with my humble service; tell her I was to wait on her ladyship yesterday, and left word with Mrs. Rebecca, that the preliminaries of the affair she knows of are stopped, till we know the concurrence of the person I know of, for which there are circumstances wanting, which we shall accommodate at the old place; but that, in the meantime, there is a person about her ladyship, that, from several hints and surmises, was accessory at a certain time to the disappointment that naturally attend things, that to her knowledge are of more importance Scrub. Brother Martin! brother Martin ! FATHER AND SON. (FROM "THE INCONSTANT.") [Old Mirabel, guardian of Oriana, to whom his son young Mirabel was engaged. However, three years' absence changes him, and although he loves Oriana he has formed a resolution never to marry. Dugard is brother to Oriana, and Petit her page.] Enter OLD and YOUNG MIRABEL, meeting. Old Mir. Are not you a great rogue, sirrah? Y. Mir. That's a little out of my comprehension, sir; for I've heard say that I resemble my father. Old Mir. Your father is your very humble slave. I tell thee what, child, thou art a very pretty fellow, and I love thee heartily; and a Mrs. S. and Dor. Ha, ha! Where are you very great villain, and I hate thee mortally. going, sir? Arch. Why, I hav'n't half done. Y. Mir. Villain, sir! Then I must be a very impudent one; for I can't recollect any pas Scrub. I should not remember a quarter sage of my life that I'm ashamed of. of it. Arch. The whole howd'ye was about half an hour long; I happened to misplace two syllables, and was turned off, and rendered incapable- Dor. The pleasantest fellow, sister, I ever saw. But, friend, if your master be married, I presume you still serve a lady? Arch. No, madam; I take care never to come into a married family; the commands of the master and mistress are always so contrary that 'tis impossible to please both. Old Mir. Come hither, my dear friend; dost see this picture? [Shows him a little picture. Y. Mir. Oriana's? Psha! Old Mir. What, sir, won't you look upon't? Bob, dear Bob, pr'ythee come hither, now. Dost want any money, child? Y. Mir. No, sir. Old Mir. Why then, here's some for thee: come here now. How canst thou be so hardhearted an unnatural, unmannerly rascal (don't mistake me, child, I a'n't angry), as to abuse this tender, lovely, good-natured, dear Dor. There's a main point gained. My lord rogue? Why, she sighs for thee, and cries for is not married, I find. Mrs. S. But I wonder, friend, that in so many good services you had not a better provision made for you. thee, pouts for thee, and snubs for thee; the poor little heart of it is like to burst. Come, my dear boy, be good-natured, like your own father; be now; and then, see here, read this; Arch. I don't know how, madam; I am the effigies of the lovely Oriana, with thirty very well as I am. Mrs. S. Something for a pair of gloves. [Offering him money. Arch. I humbly beg leave to be excused. My master, madam, pays me; nor dare I take money from any other hand without injuring his honour and disobeying his commands. thousand pounds to her portion !— thirty Y. Mir. Will you hear me speak, sir? thirty thousand tongues, you could not outtalk thirty thousand pounds, sir. Y. Mir. Nay, sir, if you won't hear me, I'll begone, sir: I'll take post for Italy, this moment. Old Mir. Ah, the fellow knows I won't part with him! Well, sir, what have you to say? Y. Mir. The universal reception, sir, that marriage has had in the world, is enough to fix it for a public good, and to draw every body into the common cause; but there are some constitutions, like some instruments, so peculiarly singular, that they make tolerable music by themselves, but never do well in a concert. Old Mir. Why, this is reason, I must confess but yet it is nonsense, too, for though you should reason like an angel, if you argue yourself out of a good estate, you talk like a fool. Y. Mir. But, sir, if you bribe me into bondage with the riches of Croesus, you leave me but a beggar, for want of my liberty. Old Mir. Was ever such a perverse fool heard? 'Sdeath, sir! why did I give you education? was it to dispute me out of my senses? Of what colour, now, is the head of this cane? You'll say, 'tis white, and, ten to one, make me believe it too. I thought that young fellows studied to get money. Y. Mir. No, sir, I have studied to despise it; my reading was not to make me rich, but happy, sir. Old Mir. Lookye, friend, you may persuade me out of my designs, but I'll command you out of yours; and though you may convince my reason that you are in the right, yet there is an old attendant of sixty-three, called Positiveness, which you, nor all the wits of Italy, shall ever be able to shake: so, sir, you're a wit, and I'm a father: you may talk, but I'll be obeyed. Y. Mir. This it is to have the son a finer gentleman than the father; they first give us breeding, that they don't understand; then they turn us out of doors, because we are wiser than themselves. But I'm a little beforehand with the old gentleman. (Aside.) Sir, you have been pleased to settle a thousand pounds sterling a year upon me; in return for which, I have a very great honour for you and your family, and shall take care that your only and beloved son shall do nothing to make him hate his father, or to hang himself. So, dear sir, I'm your very humble servant. [Runs off. Old Mir. Here, sirrah! rogue! Bob! villain! Enter DUGARD. Dug. Ah, sir! 'tis but what he deserves. Old Mir. 'Tis false, sir! he don't deserve it: what have you to say against my boy, sir! Dug. I shall only repeat your own words. Old Mir. What have you to do with my words? I have swallowed my words already; I have eaten them up. I say, that Bob's an honest fellow, and who dares deny it? Dug. Come, sir, 'tis no time for trifling: my sister is abused; you are made sensible of the affront, and your honour is concerned to see her redressed. Old Mir. Lookye, Mr. Dugard, good words go farthest. I will do your sister justice, but it must be after my own rate; nobody must abuse my son but myself; for, although Robin be a sad dog, yet he's nobody's puppy but my own. [Old Mirabel and Oriana cause the report to be circulated that she is about to be married to a Spanish nobleman, with a view to stimulate Young Mirabel by jealousy. Old Mirabel personates the nobleman.] YOUNG MIRABEL solus. 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 Y. Mir. 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. Ecoutez, Monsieur le Count. Y. Mir. Boh! Old Mir. Boh! what language is that, sir? Old Mir. What d'ye mean? 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 ha'n'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 Old Mirabel. 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 either; let me begone, [Offering to go. pray. 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, ha'n'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, after other plots, which fail to effect a conquest of Young Mirabel, goes into his service disguised as a page and saves his life. His gratitude and love at length conquer his prejudice against marriage, and to his father's delight he confesses himself in the wrong and marries Oriana.] HENRY DODWELL. BORN 1641 DIED 1711. [Henry Dodwell was born in Dublin in | look after his property, and, catching the October, 1641, whither his mother had fled for refuge on the breaking out of the rebellion in that year. For the first six years of his life he remained in the city of his birth, but early in 1648 his parents carried him with them to England. Soon after this he was placed in a school at York, where he remained for five years, and where, says one of his biographers, "he laid the foundation of that great learning which he afterwards acquired." While he was at York his father returned to Ireland to plague there, died at Waterford. His mother following his father with the same business in view, fell into a consumption, and soon after died in the house of her brother Sir Henry Slingsby. Left thus without his parents Dodwell was so reduced in circumstances that he could not procure pens and ink for the purposes of study, and began to use charcoal instead. He also suffered much even in such necessary matters as food and lodging. In 1654, while struggling on, a mere boy, in such miserable conditions, his uncle, Henry | lished his Discourse concerning Sanchoniathon, Dodwell, rector of Newbourn in Suffolk, sent for him, paid what debts he owed, and took him into his own house. There he remained a year, at the end of which time he was sent to Dublin to school for yet another year. In 1656 he entered Trinity College of that city, where he was under the care of the learned Dr. Sterne, nephew of Archbishop Usher. Before long he was chosen, first scholar and then fellow, but in 1666 he threw up his fellowship to avoid going into holy orders. Jeremy Taylor, bishop of Down and Connor, offered to procure a dispensation of the statute which required fellows to enter into holy orders; but rather than create a precedent which might be hurtful to the university, Dodwell refused to accept the offer. After this, in the same year, he went over to England, and resided for a time at Oxford, as the place then in possession of the best library in the kingdom. Before long, however, he returned again to Ireland, and there in 1672 he edited and issued a posthumous treatise of his tutor Dr. Sterne. To this he wrote an apologetic preface, and in 1673 he also wrote a preface to an edition in English of Francis de Sales' Introduction to a Devout Life. In the same year he began to write the numerous pamphlets on the nonjuring and other semi-political subjects which have been attributed to his pen, and in 1674 he returned to England and settled in London. In 1688 he was elected, without his knowledge or application, Camden professor of history at Oxford, and a few weeks afterwards was created M.A. of that university. However, in November, 1691, he was deprived of his appointment for refusing to take the oaths of allegiance to William and Mary. After leaving Oxford, Dodwell retired to Cookham in Berkshire, and from thence he moved to Shottesbrooke, where he resided for the remainder of his life. By this time Dodwell's property in Ireland had become valuable; but instead of applying it to his own uses he placed it in the hands of a relative, receiving himself only a small portion of the proceeds. This small portion the relative after some years grumbled at paying, and Dodwell, vexed at the ingratitude, ejected him, placed the property in the hands of an agent, and, though fifty-three years of age, married and had a large family born to him. Before this, however, Dodwell, whose life for years had been a busy round of authorship, had pub 1681, and Dissertationes Cyprianicæ, 1682. The chief works that followed were Annules Velleiani, &c., 1698; De Veteribus Græcorum Romanorumque Cyclis, &c., 1701; Annals of Thucydides and Xenophon, 1702; Chronology of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 1704; two exercitations on the dispute between Bentley and Boyle; Discourse on the Natural Mortality of the Soul, 1706; three pieces in defence of this work, 1707-8. In 1711 he wrote a pamphlet in defence of his returning to the Church of England, which he had left on the deprivation of the bishops, and which he thought it only schismatic to refrain from rejoining after the death of the deprived prelates. In the same year also appeared his discourse on the use of incense, and some other of his less important things appeared about this time and after his death. Having spent a laborious, studious, pious, and ascetic life, Dodwell passed away in his seventieth year on the 7th of June, 1711. Of Dodwell's works the best known is his Discourse on the Natural Mortality of the Soul, a treatise that created a mighty stir, and has been attacked by a host of writers, and by Dr. Samuel Clarke in particular. His work on the Greek and Roman cycles, De Veteribus Græcorum Romanorumque Cyclis, &c., Dr. Hulleys calls "a most excellent book, the most elaborate of all our author's pieces, and which seems to have been the work of the greatest part of his life." His other works have been fiercely attacked and defended, as might be expected; but on all hands it is agreed that they display great learning and force, and are undoubtedly the productions of a man of genius. Gibbon says of him: "Dodwell's learning was immense: in this part of history especially (that of the Upper Empire) the most minute fact or passage could not escape him; and his skill in employing them is equal to his learning. The worst of this author is his method and style; the one perplexed beyond imagination, the other negligent to a degree of barbarism." As we have said, Dodwell lived a studious and laborious life, and he carried his application to study so far that he generally travelled on foot and read as he walked. The style of this author is so perplexing, and his reasoning so abstruse, that no specimen short enough and of sufficient interest can be found suitable for the pages of this book.] [Mary, daughter of Viscount Molesworth | Or if she blames their suit, or if approves, of Swords, and wife of George Monk, Esq., was born in Dublin, in the year 1677 so far as we can ascertain. Her father was a peer of Ireland, and author of An Account of Den-One feeds, one comforts, does to all incline, mark; her mother was sister of Richard, earl And each assists with kind parental care; of Bellamont. While a mere child she dis- Or once denying us some needful grace, played great ability for learning, and with Only denies to move an ardent prayer; very little help soon acquired a perfect know- Or courted for imaginary wants, Seems to deny, but in denying grants. ledge of the Latin, Spanish, and Italian languages. Reading the best authors, and especially the poets in these tongues, taught her to become facile in verse-making, an ability she turned to account by translating into English many sprightly and philosophically witty pieces. She also wrote many original fugitive poems, and had in contemplation the production of something more important, when she was removed by death in 1715, at the early age of thirty-eight. Her poems were shortly after collected by her father, and published under the title of Marinda: Poems and Translations upon Several Occasions, And whether pleased or grieved, yet still she loves- 1716. In his Lives of the Poets Jacob says that her poems and translations "show the true spirit and numbers of poetry, delicacy of turns, and justness of thought and expression." They are, indeed, remarkable for a neatness of manner not common in her time, and for a wit untinged by the lurid glare of immodesty that shone more or less out of the works of almost every other contemporary writer. In her hands the English language seemed as full of sparkle and light as if Italian, and she appeared to play with it as easily as a clever swordsman with his rapier.] ON A STATUE OF A LADY. See how in this marble statue EPITAPH ON A GALLANT LADY. O'er this marble drop a tear, Here lies fair Rosalinde; ON PROVIDENCE. As a kind mother with indulgent eye ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. Upon a time, as poets tell, Down he went singing, as they say, |
