ACT I. SCENE I.

THERE came another Coach to Town laſt Night, that brought a Gentleman to enquire about this ſtrange Noiſe, we hear in the Houſe. This Spirit will bring a power of Cuſtom to the George—If ſo be he continues his Pranks, I deſign to ſell a Pot of Ale, and ſet up the Sign of the Drum.

I'll give Madam warning, that's flat—I've always liv'd in Sober Families. I'll not diſparage my ſelf to be a Servant in a Houſe that is haunted.

I'll e'en marry Nell, and rent a bit of Ground of my own, if both of you leave Madam; not but that Madam's a very good Woman—if Mrs. Abigal did not ſpoil her—come, here's her Health.

It's a very hard thing to be a Butler in a Houſe, that is diſturb'd. He made ſuch a Racket in the Cellar laſt Night, that I'm afraid he'll ſower all the Beer in my Barrels.

Why then, John, we ought to take it off as faſt as we can. Here's to you—He rattled ſo loud under the Tiles laſt Night, that I verily thought the Houſe wou'd have fallen over our Heads. I durſt not go up into the Cock-Loft this Morning, if I had not got one of the Maids to go along with me.

I thought I heard him in one of my Bed-Poſts—I marvel, John, how he gets into the Houſe when all the Gates are ſhut.

Why look ye Peter, your Spirit will creep you into an Augre-Hole:—he'll whisk ye through a Key-Hole, without ſo much as juſtling againſt one of the Wards.

Poor Madam is mainly frighted that's certain, and ve⯑rily believes 'tis my Maſter that was kill'd in the laſt Campaign.

Out of all manner of Queſtion, Robin, 'tis Sir George. Mrs. Abigal is of Opinion it can be none but his Honour; he always lov'd the Wars, and you know was mightily pleas'd from a Child with the Muſick of a Drum.

I wonder his Body was never found after the Battle.

Found! Why, ye Fool, is not his Body here about the Houſe? Doſt thou think he can beat his Drum without Hands and Arms?

'Tis Maſter as ſure as I ſtand here alive, and I verily believe I ſaw him laſt Night in the Town-Cloſe.

Ay! how did he appear?

Like a White-Horſe.

Pho, Robin, I tell ye he has never appear'd yet but in the Shape of the Sound of a Drum,

This makes one almoſt afraid of one's own Shadow. As I was walking from the Stable t'other Night without my Lan⯑thorn, I fell a-croſs a Beam, that lay in my way, and Faith my Heart was in my Mouth—I thought I had ſtumbled over a Spirit.

Thou might'ſt as well have ſtumbled over a Straw; why, a Spirit is ſuch a little little Thing, that I have heard a Man, who was a great Scholar, ſay, that he'll dance ye a Lancaſhire Horn-Pipe upon the point of a Needle—As I ſat in the Pantry laſt Night counting my Spoons, the Candle methought burnt blue, and the ſpay'd Bitch look'd as if ſhe ſaw ſomething.

Ay poor Cur, ſhe's almoſt frighten'd out of her Wits.

Ay I warrant ye, ſhe hears him many a time and often when we don't.

My Lady muſt have him Laid, that's certain, whatever it coſt her.

I fancy, when one goes to Market, one might hear of ſome body that can make a Spell.

Why may not the Parſon of our Pariſh lay him?

No, no, no, our Parſon cannot lay him.

Why not he as well as another Man?

Why, ye Fool, he is not qualified—He has not taken the Oaths.

Why, d'ye think John, that the Spirit wou'd take the Law of him?—faith, I cou'd tell you one way to drive him off.

How's that?

I'll tell you immediately

—I fancy Mrs. Abigal might Scold him out of the Houſe.

Ay, ſhe has a Tongue that would drown his Drum, if any thing cou'd.

Pugh, this is all froth! you underſtand nothing of the Matter—the next time it makes a Noiſe, I tell you what ought to be done,—I wou'd have the Steward ſpeak Latin to it.

Ay that wou'd do, if the Steward had but Courage.

There you have it—He's a fearful Man. If I had as much Learning as he, and I met the Ghoſt, I'd tell him his own! but alack what can one of us poor Men do with a Spirit, that can neither Write nor Read?

Thou art always cracking and boaſting, Peter, thou doſt not know what Miſchief it might do thee, if ſuch a ſilly Dog as thee ſhould offer to ſpeak to it. For ought I know, he might flea thee alive, and make Parchment of thy Skin to cover his Drum with.

A Fidleſtick! tell not me—I fear nothing; not I! I never did harm in my Life, I never committed Murder.

I verily believe thee, keep thy Temper, Peter; after Supper we'll drink each of us a double Mug, and then let come what will.

Why that's well ſaid John, an honeſt Man that is not quite ſober, has nothing to fear—Here's to ye—why how if he ſhou'd come this Minute, here wou'd I ſtand. Ha! what Noiſe is that?

Ha! where?

The Devil! the Devil! Oh no, 'tis Mrs. Abigal.

Ay faith! 'tis ſhe; 'tis Mrs. Abigal! a good Miſtake! 'tis Mrs. Abigal.

Here are your drunken Sots for you! Is this a time to be guz⯑ling, when Gentry are come to the Houſe! why don't You lay your Cloth? How come You out of the Stables? Why are not You at work in your Garden?

Why, yonder's the fine Londoner and Madam fetching a walk together, and me-thought they look'd as if they ſhould ſay they had rather have my Room than my Company.

And ſo forſooth being all three met-together, we are doing our Endeavours to drink this ſame Drummer out of our Heads.

For you muſt know, Mrs. Abigal, we are all of Opinion that one can't be a Match for him, unleſs one be as Drunk as a Drum.

I am reſolved to give Madam Warning to hire herſelf another Coachman; for I came to ſerve my Maſter, d'ye ſee, while he was alive, but do ſuppoſe that he has no further occaſion for a Coach, now he Walks.

Truly, Mrs. Abigal, I muſt needs ſay, that this ſame Spirit is a very odd ſort of a Body, after all, to fright Madam and his old Servants at this rate.

And truly, Mrs. Abigal, I muſt needs ſay, I ſerv'd my my Maſter contentedly, while he was living; but I will ſerve no Man living (that is, no Man that is not living) without double Wages.

Ay, 'tis ſuch Cowards as you that go about with Idle Sto⯑ries, to diſgrace the Houſe, and bring ſo many Strangers about it; you firſt frighten your ſelves, and then your Neighbours.

Frighten'd! I ſcorn your Words. Frighten'd quoth-a!

What you Sot! are you grown Pot-valiant?

Frighten'd with a Drum! that's a good one! it will do us no harm, I'll anſwer for it. It will bring no Blood-ſhed along with it, take my Word. It ſounds as like a Train-Band Drum as ever I heard in my Life.

Prithee, Peter, don't be ſo preſumptuous.

Well, theſe drunken Rogues take it as I cou'd wiſh.

I ſcorn to be frightned, now I am in for't; if old Dub-a-dub ſhou'd come into the Room, I wou'd take him—

Prithee hold thy Tongue.

I would take him—

Speak to it, Mrs. Abigal.

Spare my Life, and take all I have.

Make off, make off, good Butler, and let us go hide our ſelves in the Cellar.

So, now the Coaſt is clear, I may venture to call out my Drummer.—But firſt let me ſhut the Door, leſt we be ſur⯑priz'd. Mr. Fantome, Mr. Fantome!

Nay, nay, pray come out, the Enemy's fled—I muſt ſpeak with you im⯑mediately—don't ſtay to beat a Parley.

Dear Mrs. Nabby, I have overheard all that has been ſaid, and find thou haſt manag'd this thing ſo well, that I cou'd take thee in my Arms, and kiſs thee—if my Drum did not ſtand in my way.

Well, O' my Conſcience, you are the merrieſt Ghoſt! and the very Picture of Sir George Truman.

There you flatter me, Mrs. Abigal; Sir George had that freſh⯑neſs in his Looks, that we Men of the Town cannot come up to.

Oh! Death may have alter'd you, you know—beſides, you muſt conſider, you loſt a great deal of Blood in the Battle.

Ay, that's right; let me look never ſo pale, this Cut croſs my Forehead will keep me in Countenance.

'Tis juſt ſuch a one as my Maſter receiv'd from a curſed French Trooper, as my Lady's Letter inform'd her.

It happens luckily that this Suit of Cloaths of Sir George's fits me ſo well,—I think I can't fail hitting the Air of a Man with whom I was ſo long acquainted.

You are the very Man—I vow I almoſt ſtart when I look upon you.

But what good will this do me, if I muſt remain in⯑viſible?

Pray what good did your being viſible do you? the fair Mr. Fantome thought no Woman cou'd withſtand him—But when you were ſeen by my Lady in your proper Perſon, after ſhe had taken a full ſurvey of you, and heard all the pretty things you cou'd ſay, ſhe very civilly diſmiſs'd you for the ſake of this empty, noiſy Creature Tinſel. She fancies you have been gone from hence this Fortnight.

Why really I love thy Lady ſo well, that tho' I had no hopes of gaining her for my ſelf, I cou'd not bear to ſee her given to another, eſpecially to ſuch a Wretch as Tinſel.

Well, tell me truly Mr. Fantome, have not you a great Opinion of my Fidelity to my dear Lady, that I wou'd not ſuf⯑fer her to be deluded in this manner, for leſs than a Thouſand Pound?

Thou art always reminding me of my Promiſe—thou ſhalt have it, if thou canſt bring our Project to bear; do'ſt not know that Stories of Ghoſts and Apparitions generally end in a Pot of Money?

Why, truly now Mr. Fantome, I ſhou'd think my ſelf a very bad Woman, if I had done what I do, for a Farthing leſs.

Dear Abigal, how I admire thy Virtue!

No, no, Mr. Fantome, I defy the worſt of my Enemies to ſay I love Miſchief for Miſchief ſake.

But is thy Lady perſwaded that I am the Ghoſt of her deceaſed Husband?

I endeavour to make her believe ſo, and tell her every time your Drum rattles, that her Husband is chiding her for enter⯑taining this new Lover:

Prithee make uſe of all thy Art, for I am tir'd to Death with ſtrowling round this wide Old Houſe, like a Rat behind a Wainſcot.

Did not I tell you, 'twas the pureſt place in the World for you to play your Tricks in; there's none of the Family that knows every Hole and Corner in it, beſides my ſelf.

Ah Mrs. Abigal! You have had your Intrigues.—

For you muſt know when I was a romping young Girl I was a mighty lover of Hide and Seek.

I believe, by this Time, I am as well acquainted with the Houſe as your ſelf.

You are very much miſtaken, Mr. Fantome; but no mat⯑ter for that; here is to be your Station to Night. This is the Place unknown to any one living beſides my ſelf, ſince the Death of the Joyner; who, you muſt underſtand, being a Lover of mine, contriv'd the Wainſcot to move to and fro, in the manner that you find it. I deſign'd it for a Wardrobe for my Lady's caſt [7] Cloaths. Oh! the Stomachers, Stays, Pettycoats, Commodes, lac'd Shooes, and good things that I have had in it!—pray take care you don't break the Cherry-Brandy Bottle, that ſtands up in the Corner.

Well Mrs. Abigal, I hire your Cloſet of you, but for this one Night—a thouſand Pound you know is a very good Rent.

Well, get you gone; you have ſuch a way with you there's no denying you any thing!

I'm a thinking how Tinſel will ſtare, when he ſees me come out of the Wall: for I am reſolved to make my Appearance to Night.

Get you in, get you in, my Lady's at the Door.

Pray take care ſhe does not keep me up ſo late, as ſhe did laſt Night; or depend upon it I'll beat the Tattoo.

I'm undone, I'm undone—

Mr. Fantome, Mr. Fantome, you have put the thouſand Pound Bond into my Brother's Hands.

Thou ſhalt have it, I tell thee, thou ſhalt have it.

No more Words—Vaniſh, Vaniſh.

Oh, dear Madam, was it you that made ſuch a knocking? my Heart does ſo beat—I vow you have frighted me to Death—I thought verily it had been the Drummer.

I have been ſhowing the Garden to Mr. Tinſel; he's moſt inſufferably witty upon us about this Story of the Drum.

Indeed, Madam, he's a very looſe Man! I'm afraid 'tis he that hinders my poor Maſter from reſting in his Grave.

Well! an Infidel is ſuch a Novelty in the Country, that I am reſolv'd to divert my ſelf a Day or two at leaſt with the Odd⯑neſs of his Converſation.

Ah, Madam! the Drum begun to beat in the Houſe as ſoon as ever this Creature was admitted to viſit you. All the while Mr. Fantome made his Addreſſes to you, there was not a Mouſe ſtirring in the Family more than us'd to be—

This Baggage has ſome Deſign upon me, more than I can yet diſcover.

—Mr. Fantome was always thy Fa⯑vourite.

Ay, and ſhou'd have been yours too, by my Conſent! Mr. [8] Fantome was not ſuch a ſlight fantaſtick thing as this is.—Mr. Fantome was the beſt-built Man one ſhou'd ſee in a Summer's Day! Mr. Fantome was a Man of Honour, and lov'd you! Poor Soul! how has he ſigh'd when he has talk'd to me of my hard⯑hearted Lady—Well! I had as lief as a thouſand Pound, you wou'd marry Mr. Fantome!

To tell thee-truly, I lov'd him well enough till I found he lov'd me ſo much. But Mr. Tinſel makes his Court to me with ſo much Neglect and Indifference, and with ſuch an agree⯑able Saucineſs—Not that I ſay I'll marry him.

Marry him, quoth-a! no, if you ſhould, you'll be awa⯑ken'd ſooner than married Couples generally are—You'll quick⯑ly have a Drum at your Window.

I'll hide my Contempt of Tinſel for once, if it be but to ſee what this Wench drives at.

Why, ſuppoſe your Husband, after this fair Warning he has given you, ſhou'd ſound you an Alarm at Midnight; then open your Curtains with a Face as pale as my Apron, and cry out with a hollow Voice, What doſt thou do in Bed with this Spindle-ſhank'd Fellow?

Why wilt thou needs have it to be my Husband? he never had any reaſon to be offended at me. I always lov'd him while he was living, and ſhou'd prefer him to any Man, were he ſo ſtill. Mr. Tinſel is indeed very idle in his Talk, but I fancy, Abigal, a diſcreet Woman might reform him.

That's a likely matter indeed; did you ever hear of a Wo⯑man who had Power over a Man, when ſhe was his Wife, that had none while ſhe was his Miſtreſs! Oh! there's nothing in the World improves a Man in his Complaiſance like Mar⯑riage!

He is indeed, at preſent, too familiar in his Conver⯑ſation.

Familiar! Madam, in Troth he's down-right rude.

But that you know, Abigal, ſhows he has no Diſſimu⯑lation in him—Then he is apt to jeſt a little too much upon grave Subjects.

Grave Subjects! he jeſts upon the Church.

But that you know, Abigal, may be only to ſhow his Wit—Then it muſt be own'd, he is extreamly Talkative.

Talkative d'ye call it! he's down-right Impertinent.

But that you know, Abigal, is a Sign he has been us'd to good Company—Then indeed he is very poſitive.

Poſitive! Why he contradicts you in every thing you ſay.

But then you know, Abigal, he has been educated at the Inns of Court.

A bleſſed Education indeed! it has made him forget his Catechiſm!

You talk as if you hated him.

You talk as if you lov'd him.

Hold your Tongue! here he comes.

My dear Widow!

My dear Widow! marry come up!

Let him alone, Abigal; ſo long as he does not call me My dear Wife, there's no Harm done.

I have been moſt ridiculouſly diverted ſince I left you—Your Servants have made a Convert of my Booby. His Head is ſo filled with this fooliſh Story of a Drummer, that I expect the Rogue will be afraid hereafter to go upon a Meſſage by Moon-light.

Ah, Mr. Tinſel, what a Loſs of Billet-doux would that be to many a fine Lady!

Then you ſtill believe this to be a fooliſh Story? I thought my Lady had told you, that ſhe had heard it her ſelf.

Ha, ha, ha!

Why, you would not perſwade us out of our Senſes?

Ha, ha, ha!

There's Manners for you, Madam.

Admirably rally'd! that Laugh is unanſwerable! Now I'll be hang'd if you could forbear being witty upon me, if I ſhould tell you I heard it no longer ago than laſt Night.

Fancy!

But what if I ſhould tell you my Maid was with me!

Vapours! Vapours! Pray, my dear Widow, will you anſwer me one Queſtion?—Had you ever this Noiſe of a Drum in your Head, all the while your Husband was living?

And pray, Mr. Tinſel, will you let me ask you another Queſtion? Do you think we can Hear in the Country, as well as you do in Town?

Believe me, Madam, I could preſcribe you a Cure for theſe Imaginations.

Don't tell my Lady of Imaginations, Sir, I have heard it my ſelf.

Hark thee, Child—art thou not an old Maid?

Sir, if I am, it is my own Fault.

Whims! Freaks! Megrims! indeed Mrs. Abigal.

Marry, Sir, by your Talk one would believe you thought every thing that was good is a Megrim.

Why truly I don't very well underſtand what you meant by your Doctrine to me in the Garden juſt now, that every thing we ſaw was made by Chance.

A very pretty Subject indeed for a Lover to divert his Miſtreſs with.

But I ſuppoſe that was only a Taſte of the Conver⯑ſation you would entertain me with after Marriage.

Oh, I ſhall then have time to read you ſuch Lectures of Motions, Atoms, and Nature—that you ſhall learn to think as Freely as the beſt of us, and be convinced in leſs than a Month, that all about us is Chance-work.

You are a very complaiſant Perſon indeed; and ſo you would make your Court to me, by perſwading me that I was made by Chance!

Ha, ha, ha! well ſaid, my Dear! why, faith, thou wert a very lucky Hit, that's certain!

Pray, Mr. Tinſel, where did you learn this odd way of talking?

Ah, Widow, 'tis your Country Innocence makes you think it an odd way of talking.

Tho' you give no Credit to Stories of Apparitions, I hope you believe there are ſuch things as Spirits!

Simplicity!

I fancy you don't believe Women have Souls, d'ye Sir?

Fooliſh enough!

I vow, Mr. Tinſel, I'm afraid malicious People will ſay I'm in Love with an Atheiſt.

Oh, my Dear, that's an old-faſhion'd Word—I'm a Free-thinker, Child.

I am ſure you are a Free-ſpeaker!

Really, Mr. Tinſel, conſidering that you are ſo fine a Gentleman, I'm amaz'd where you got all this Learning! I wonder it has not ſpoil'd your Breeding.

To tell you the Truth, I have not time to look into theſe dry Matters my ſelf, but I am convinc'd by four or five learned Men, whom I ſometimes over-hear at a Coffee-houſe I frequent, that our Fore-fathers were a Pack of Aſſes, that the World has been in an Error for ſome Thouſands of Years, and that all the People upon Earth, excepting thoſe two or three worthy Gentlemen, are impos'd upon, cheated, bubbled, abus'd, bamboozl'd—

Madam, how can you hear ſuch a Profligate? he talks like the London Prodigal.

Why really, I'm a thinking, if there be no ſuch things as Spirits, a Woman has no Occaſion for marrying—She need not be afraid to lye by her ſelf.

Ah! my Dear! are Husbands good for nothing but to frighten away Spirits? Doſt thou think I could not inſtruct thee in ſeveral other Comforts of Matrimony?

Ah! but you are a Man of ſo much Knowledge, that you would always be laughing at my Ignorance—You learn⯑ed Men are ſo apt to deſpiſe one!

No, Child! I'd teach thee my Principles, thou ſhould'ſt be as wiſe as I am—in a Week's time.

Do you think your Principles would make a Woman the better Wife?

Prithee, Widow, don't be queer.

I love a gay Temper, but I would not have you rally things that are ſerious.

Well enough faith! where's the Jeſt of rallying any thing elſe!

Ah, Madam, did you ever hear Mr. Fantome talk at this Rate?

But where's this Ghoſt! this Son of a Whore of a Drummer? I'd fain hear him methinks.

Pray, Madam, don't ſuffer him to give the Ghoſt ſuch ill Language, eſpecially when you have Reaſon to believe it is my Maſter.

That's well enough faith; Nab; doſt thou think thy Maſter is ſo unreaſonable, as to continue his Claim to his Re⯑lict [12] after his Bones are laid? Pray, Widow, remember the Words of your Contract, you have fulfill'd them to a Tittle—Did not you marry Sir George to the Tune of 'till Death us do part?

I muſt not hear Sir George's Memory treated in ſo ſlight a Manner—This Fellow muſt have been at ſome Pains make himſelf ſuch a finiſh'd Coxcomb.

Give me but Poſſeſſion of your Perſon, and I'll whirle you up to Town for a Winter, and cure you at once. Oh! I have known many a Country Lady come to London with frightful Stories of the Hall-Houſe being haunted, of Fairies, Spirits, and Witches; that by the time ſhe had ſeen a Come⯑dy, play'd at an Aſſembly, and ambled in a Ball or two, has been ſo little afraid of Bugbears, that ſhe has ventur'd home in a Chair at all Hours of the Night.

Hum—Sauce-box.

'Tis the Solitude of the Country that creates theſe Whimſies; there was never ſuch a thing as a Ghoſt heard of at London, except in the Play-houſe—Oh we'd paſs all our time in London. 'Tis the Scene of Pleaſure and Diverſions, where there's ſomething to amuſe you every Hour of the Day. Life's not Life in the Country.

Well then, you have an Opportunity of ſhowing the Sincerity of that Love to me which you profeſs. You may give a Proof that you have an Affection to my Perſon, not my Jointure.

Your Jointure! How can you think me ſuch a Dog! But, Child, won't your Jointure be the ſame thing in London as in the Country?

No, you're deceiv'd! You muſt know it is ſettled on me by Marriage-Articles, on Condition that I live in this old Manſion-Houſe, and keep it up in Repair.

How!

That's well put, Madam.

Why faith I have been looking upon this Houſe, and think it is the prettieſt Habitation I ever ſaw in my Life.

Ay, but then this cruel Drum!

Something ſo venerable in it!

Ay, but the Drum!

For my part, I like this Gothick Way of Building better than any of your new Orders—it wou'd be a thouſand pities it ſhou'd fall to Ruin.

Ay, but the Drum!

How pleaſantly we two could paſs our Time in this delicious Situation. Our Lives wou'd be a continued Dream of Happineſs. Come, faith, Widow, let's go upon the Leads, and take a View of the Country.

Ay, but the Drum! the Drum!

My Dear, take my Word for't 'tis all Fancy: Beſides, ſhou'd he drum in thy very Bed-Chamber, I ſhou'd only hug thee the cloſer.

ACT II. SCENE I.

THIS Letter aſtoniſheth; may I believe my own Eyes—or rather my Spectacles—

This amazeth me! and yet the Reaſons why I ſhould believe he is ſtill living are manifold—Firſt, Becauſe this has often been the Caſe of other Military Adventurers.

Secondly, Becauſe the News of his Death was firſt publiſh'd in Dier's Letter.

Thirdly, Becauſe this Letter can be written by none but himſelf—I know his Hand, and manner of Spelling.

Fourthly,—

Sir, here's a ſtrange old Gentleman that asks for you; he ſays he's a Conjurer, but he looks very ſuſpicious; I wiſh he ben't a Jeſuit.

Admit him immediately.

I wiſh he ben't a Jeſuit; but he ſays he's nothing but a Conjurer.

He ſays right—He is no more than a Conjurer. Bring him in and withdraw.

And Fourthly, As I was ſaying, Becauſe—

Sir, here is the Conjurer—What a deviliſh long Beard he has! I warrant it has been growing theſe hundred Years.

Dear Vellum, you have receiv'd my Letter: But before we proceed lock the Door.

It is his Voice.

In the next place help me off with this cumberſome Cloak.

It is his Shape.

So, now lay my Beard upon the Table.

It is his Face, every Lineament!

Well now, I have put off the Conjurer and the old Man, I can talk to thee more at my Eaſe.

Believe me, my good Maſter, I am as much rejoiced to ſee you alive, as I was upon the Day you were born. Your Name was, in all the News-Papers, in the Liſt of thoſe that were ſlain.

We have not Time to be particular. I ſhall only tell thee in general, that I was taken Priſoner in the Battle, and was under cloſe Confinement for ſeveral Months. Upon my Releaſe, I was reſolv'd to ſurprize my Wife with the News of my being alive. I know, Vellum, you are a Perſon of ſo much Penetration, that I need not uſe any further Arguments to con⯑vince you that I am ſo:

I am—and moreover, I queſtion not but your good Lady will likewiſe be convinced of it. Her Ho—nour is a diſ⯑cerning Lady.

I'm only afraid ſhe ſhou'd be convinc'd of it to her Sorrow. Is not ſhe pleas'd with her imaginary Widowhood? Tell me truly, was ſhe afflicted at the Report of my Death?

Sorely.

How long did her Grief laſt?

Longer than I have known any Widow's—at leaſt three Days.

Three Days, ſayſt thou? Three whole Days? I'm afraid thou flattereſt me!—O Woman! Woman!

Grief is twofold.

This Blockhead is as methodical as ever—but I know he's honeſt.

There is a real Grief, and there is a methodical Grief; ſhe was drown'd in Tears 'till ſuch time as the Taylor had made her Widow's Weeds—Indeed they became her.

Became her! And was that her Comfort? Truly a moſt ſeaſonable Conſolation!

But I muſt needs ſay ſhe paid a due Regard to your Memory, and could not forbear weeping when ſhe ſaw Com⯑pany.

That was kind indeed! I find ſhe griev'd with a great deal of Good-Breeding. But how comes this Gang of Lovers about her?

Her Jointure is conſiderable.

How this Fool torments me!

Her Perſon is amiable—

Death!

But her Character is unblemiſh'd. She has been as vir⯑tuous in your Abſence as a Penelope—

And has had as many Suitors.

Several have made their Overtures.

Several!

But ſhe has rejected all.

There thou reviv'ſt me—But what means this Tinſel? Are his Viſits acceptable?

He is young.

Does ſhe liſten to him?

He is gay.

Sure ſhe could never entertain a Thought of marry⯑ing ſuch a Coxcomb!

He is not ill made.

Are the Vows and Proteſtations that paſt between us come to this! I can't bear the Thought of it! Is Tinſel the Man deſign'd for my worthy Succeſſor?

You do not conſider that you have been dead theſe fourteen Months—

Was there ever ſuch a Dog?

And I have often heard her ſay, that ſhe muſt never expect to find a ſecond Sir G. Truman—meaning your Ho—nour.

I think ſhe lov'd me; but I muſt ſearch into this Story of the Drummer before I diſcover my ſelf to her. I have put on this Habit of a Conjurer, in order to introduce my ſelf. It muſt be your Buſineſs to recommend me as a moſt profound Perſon, that by my great Knowledge in the curious Arts can ſilence the Drummer, and diſpoſſeſs the Houſe.

I am going to lay my Accounts before my Lady, and I will endeavour to prevail upon her Ho—nour to admit the Tryal of your Art.

I have ſcarce heard of any of theſe Stories that did not ariſe from a Love Intrigue—Amours raiſe as many Ghoſts as Murders.

Mrs. Abigal endeavours to perſwade us, that 'tis your Ho—nour who troubles the Houſe.

That convinces me 'tis a Cheat; for I think, Vellum, I may be pretty well aſſur'd it is not me.

I am apt to think ſo truly. Ha—ha—ha!

Abigal had always an Aſcendant over her Lady, and if there is a Trick in this Matter, depend upon it ſhe is at the Bottom of it. I'll be hang'd if this Ghoſt be not one of Abi⯑gal's Familiars.

Mrs. Abigal has of late been very myſterious.

I fancy, Vellum, thou could'ſt worm it out of her. I know formerly there was an Amour between you.

Mrs. Abigal hath her Allurements, and ſhe knows I have pick'd up a Competency in your Ho—nour's Service.

If thou ha'ſt, all I ask of thee in return is, that thou would'ſt immediately renew thy Addreſſes to her. Coax her up. Thou haſt ſuch a Silver Tongue, Vellum, as 'twill be im⯑poſſible for her to withſtand. Beſides, ſhe is ſo very a Wo⯑man, that ſhe'll like thee the better for giving her the Pleaſure of telling a Secret. In ſhort, wheedle her out of it, and I ſhall act by the Advice which thou giveſt me.

Mrs. Abigal was never deaf to me, when I talked upon that Subject. I will take an Opportunity of addreſſing my ſelf to her in the moſt pathetick Manner.

In the mean time lock me up in your Office, and bring me word what Succeſs you have—Well, ſure I am the firſt that ever was employ'd to lay himſelf.

You act indeed a threefold Part in this Houſe; you are a Ghoſt, a Conjurer, and my Ho—noured Maſter Sir George Truman; he, he, he! You will pardon me for being jocular.

O, Mr. Vellum, with all my Heart. You know I love you Men of Wit and Humour. Be as merry as thou pleaſeſt, ſo thou do'ſt thy Buſineſs.

You will remember, Vellum, your Commiſſion is two-fold, firſt to gain Admiſſion for me to your Lady, and ſecondly to get the Secret out of Abigal.

It ſufficeth.

Women who have been happy in a firſt Marriage, are the moſt apt to venture upon a ſecond. But for my part, I had a Husband ſo every way ſuited to my Inclinations, that I muſt entirely forget him, before I can like another Man. I have now been a Widow but fourteen Months, and have had twice as many Lovers, all of 'em profeſt Admirers of my Perſon, but paſſionately in love with my Jointure. I think it is a Revenge I owe my Sex to make an Example of this worthleſs Tribe of Fellows, who grow impudent, dreſs themſelves fine, and fancy we are oblig'd to provide for 'em. But of all my Captives, Mr. Tinſel is the moſt extraordinary in his kind. I hope the Diverſion I give my ſelf with him is unblameable. I'm ſure 'tis neceſſary to turn my Thoughts off from the Memory of that dear Man, who has been the greateſt Happineſs and Affliction of my Life. My Heart would be a Prey to Melancholy, if I did not find theſe innocent Methods of relieving it. But here comes Abigal. I muſt teaze the Baggage, for I find ſhe has taken it into her Head that I am entirely at her Diſpoſal.

Madam! Madam! yonder's Mr. Tinſel has as good as taken Poſſeſſion of your Houſe. Marry, he ſays, he muſt have Sir George's Apartment enlarg'd; for truly, ſays he, I hate to be ſtraiten'd. Nay, he was ſo impudent as to ſhew me the Chamber where he intends to conſummate, as he calls it.

Well! he's a wild Fellow.

Indeed he's a very ſad Man, Madam.

He's young, Abigal; 'tis a thouſand Pities he ſhould be loſt; I ſhould be mighty glad to reform him.

Reform him! marry hang him!

Has not he a great deal of Life?

Ay, enough to make your Heart ake.

I dare ſay thou think'ſt him a very agreeable Fellow.

He thinks himſelf ſo, I'll anſwer for him.

He's very good-natur'd!

He ought to be ſo, for he's very ſilly.

Doſt thou think he loves me?

Mr. Fantome did I am ſure.

With what Raptures he talk'd!

Yes, but 'twas in Praiſe of your Jointure-Houſe.

He has kept bad Company.

They muſt be very bad indeed, if they were worſe than himſelf.

I have a ſtrong Fancy a good Woman might re⯑form him.

It wou'd be a fine Experiment, if it ſhou'd not ſucceed.

Well, Abigal, we'll talk of that another time; here comes the Steward, I have no further Occaſion for you at preſent.

Madam, is your Ho—nour at Leiſure to look into the Accounts of the laſt Week? They riſe very high—Houſe-keeping is chargeable in a Houſe that is haunted.

How comes that to paſs? I hope the Drum neither eats nor drinks? But read your Account, Vellum.

A Hog⯑ſhead and a Half of Ale—it is not for the Ghoſt's Drinking—But your Ho—nour's Servants ſay they muſt have ſomething to keep up their Courage againſt this ſtrange Noiſe. They tell me they expect a double Quantity of Malt in their Small-Beer ſo long as the Houſe continues in this Condition.

At this rate they'll take care to be frighten'd all the Year round, I'll anſwer for 'em. But go on.

Item, Two Sheep, and a—Where is the Ox?—Oh, here I have him—and an Ox—Your Ho—nour muſt al⯑ways have a Piece of cold Beef in the Houſe for the Entertain⯑ment of ſo many Strangers, who come from all Parts to hear [20] this Drum. Item, Bread, ten Peck-Loaves—They cannot eat Beef without Bread—Item, three Barrels of Table Beer—They muſt have Drink with their Meat.

Sure no Woman in England has a Steward that makes ſuch ingenious Comments on his Works.

Item, to Mr. Tinſel's Servants five Bottles of Port Wine—It was by your Ho—nour's Order—Item, three Bottles of Sack for the uſe of Mrs. Abigal.

I ſuppoſe that was by Your own Order.

We have been long Friends, we are your Ho—nour's An⯑cient Servants, Sack is an Innocent Cordial, and gives her Spirit to chide the Servants, when they are tardy in their Bus'neſs; he, he, he! pardon me for being Jocular.

Well, I ſee you'll come together at laſt.

Item, a dozen Pound of Watch-Lights for the Uſe of the Servants.

For the Uſe of the Servants! What, are the Rogues a⯑fraid of ſleeping in the Dark? What an unfortunate Woman am I! This is ſuch a particular Diſtreſs, it puts me to my Wits End. Vellum, what wou'd you adviſe me to do?

Madam, your Ho—nour has two Points to conſider. Im⯑primis, To retrench theſe Extravagant Expences, which ſo many Strangers bring upon you.—Secondly, To clear the Houſe of this Inviſible Drummer

This learned Diviſion leaves me juſt as wiſe as I was. But how muſt we bring theſe two Points to bear?

I beſeech your Ho—nour to give me the hearing.

I do. But prithee take pity on me, and be not tedious.

I will be conciſe. There is a certain Perſon arrived this Morning, an aged Man of a venerable Aſpect, and of a long hoary Beard, that reacheth down to his Girdle. The common People call him a Wizard, a White-Witch, a Conjurer, a Cunning-Man, a Necromancer, a—

No matter for his Titles. But what of all this?

Give me the hearing, good my Lady! he pretends to great Skill in the Occult Sciences, and is come hither upon the rumor of this Drum. If one may believe him, he knows the Secret of laying Ghoſts, or of quieting Houſes that are haunted.

Pho, theſe are Idle Stories to amuſe the Country Peo⯑ple, this can do us no good.

It can do us no harm, my Lady.

I dare ſay thou do'ſt not believe there is any thing in it thy ſelf.

I cannot ſay, I do; there is no danger however in the Experiment. Let him try his Skill; if it ſhou'd ſucceed, we are rid of the Drum; if it ſhou'd not, we may tell the World that it has, and by that means at leaſt get out of this Expenſive way of living; ſo that it muſt turn to your Advantage one way or ano⯑ther.

I think you argue very rightly. But where is the Man? I would fain ſee him. He muſt be a Curioſity.

I have already diſcours'd him, and he is to be with me, in my Office, half an Hour hence. He asks nothing for his Pains, till he has done his Work;—no Cure, no Mony.

That Circumſtance, I muſt confeſs, wou'd make one be⯑lieve there is more in his Art than one wou'd imagine. Pray Vel⯑lum go and fetch him hither immediately.

I am gone. He ſhall be forth-coming forthwith.

Rare News, my Lads, rare News!

What's the Matter? haſt thou got any more Vales for us?

No, 'tis better than that.

Is there another Stranger come to the Houſe?

Ay, ſuch a Stranger as will make all our Lives eaſy.

What! is he a Lord?

A Lord! No, nothing like it,—He's a Conjurer.

A Conjurer! what, is he come a wooing to my Lady?

No, no, you Fool, he's come a purpoſe to lay the Spirit.

Ay marry that's good News indeed; But where is he?

He's lock'd up with the Steward in his Office, they are laying their Heads together very cloſe. I fancy they are caſting a Figure.

Prithee John, what ſort of a Creature is a Conjurer?

Why he's made much as other Men are, if it was not for his long grey Beard.

Look ye Peter, it ſtands with reaſon, that a Conjurer ſhou'd have a long grey Beard—for did ye ever know a Witch that was not an Old Woman?

Why! I remember a Conjurer once at a Fayr, that to my thinking was a very Smock-fac'd Man, and yet he ſpew'd out fifty Yards of green Ferret. I fancy, John, if thou'dſt get him into the Pantry and give him a Cup of Ale, he'd ſhew us a few Tricks. Do'ſt think we cou'd not perſuade him to ſwallow one of thy Caſe-Knives for his Diverſion? He'll certainly bring it up again.

Peter! thou art ſuch a Wiſe-acre! Thou do'ſt not know the Difference between a Conjurer and a Jugler. This Man muſt be a very great Maſter of his Trade. His Beard is at leaſt half a Yard long, he's dreſs'd in a ſtrange dark Cloak, as black as a Cole, your Conjurer always goes in Mourning.

Is he a Gentleman, had he a Sword by his Side?

No, no, he's too grave a Man for that, a Conjurer is as grave as a Judge,—but he had a long white Wand in his Hand.

You may be ſure there's a good deal of Vertue in that Wand—I fancy 'tis made out of Witch Elm.

I warrant you if the Ghoſt appears, he'll whisk ye that Wand before his Eyes, and ſtrike you the Drum-ſtick out of his Hand.

No; the Wand, look ye, is to make a Circle, and if he once gets the Ghoſt in a Circle, then he has him—let him get out again if he can. A Circle, you muſt know, is a Conjurer's Trap.

But what will he do with him, when he has him there?

Why then he'll overpower him with his Learning.

If he can once compaſs him, and get him in Lobs-Pound, he'll make nothing of him, but ſpeak a few hard Words to him, and perhaps bind him over to his good Behaviour, for a Thou⯑ſand Years.

Ay, ay, hell ſend him packing to his Grave again with a Flea in his Ear, I warrant him.

No, no, I wou'd adviſe Madam to ſpare no Coſt. If the Conjurer be but well paid, he'll take pains upon the Ghoſt, and lay him, look ye, in the Red-Sea—and then he's laid for ever.

Ay marry, that wou'd ſpoil his Drum for him.

Why John, there muſt be a power of Spirits in that ſame Red-Sea—I warrant ye they are as plenty as Fiſh.

Well, I wiſh after all that he may not be too hard for the Conjurer; I'm afraid he'll find a tough bit of work on't.

I wiſh the Spirit may not carry a Corner of the Houſe off with him.

As for that, Peter, you may be ſure that the Steward has made his Bargain with the Cunning-Man beforehand, that he ſhall ſtand to all Coſts, and Damages—But hark! yon⯑der's Mrs. Abigal, we ſhall have her with us immediately, if we do not get off.

Ay Lads! if we could get Mrs. Abigal well laid too—we ſhould lead merry Lives.

ACT III. SCENE I.

I Wonder I don't hear of Vellum yet. But I know his Wiſdom will do nothing raſhly. The Fellow has been ſo us'd to Form in Buſineſs, that it has infected his whole Converſation. But I muſt not find Fault with that punctual and exact Behaviour which has been of ſo much Uſe to me; my E⯑ſtate is the better for it.

Well Vellum, I'm impatient to hear your Succeſs.

Firſt, let me lock the Door.

Will your Lady admit me?

If this Lock is not mended ſoon, it will be quite ſpoiled.

Prithee let the Lock alone at preſent, and anſwer me.

Delays in Buſineſs are dangerous—I muſt ſend for the Smith next Week—and in the mean time will take a minute of it.

But what ſays your Lady?

This Pen is naught, and wants mending—My Lady, did you ſay?

Does ſhe admit me?

I have gain'd Admiſſion for you as a Conjurer.

That's enough! I'll gain admiſſion for my ſelf as a Husband. Does ſhe believe there's any thing in my Art?

It is hard to know what a Woman believes.

Did ſhe ask no Queſtions about me?

Sundry.—She deſires to talk with you her ſelf, before you enter upon your Buſineſs.

But when?

Immediately. This Inſtant.

Pugh. What haſt thou been doing all this while! Why didſt not tell me ſo? Give me my Cloak—Have you yet met with Abigal?

I have not yet had an Opportunity of talking with her. But we have interchanged ſome languiſhing Glances.

Let thee alone for that Vellum, I have formerly ſeen thee ogle her through thy Spectacles. Well! This is a moſt [25] Venerable Cloak. After the buſineſs of this Day is over, I'll make thee a Preſent of it. 'Twill become thee mightily.

He, he, he! wou'd you make a Conjurer of your Stew⯑ard?

Prithee don't be Jocular, I'm in haſte. Help me on with my Beard.

And what will your Ho—nour do with your caſt Beard?

Why, faith, thy Gravity wants only ſuch a Beard to it; if thou would'ſt wear it with the Cloak, thou woud'ſt make a moſt compleat Heathen Philoſopher. But where's my Wand?

A fine taper Stick! It is well choſen. I will keep this till you are Sheriff of the County. It is not my cuſtome to let any thing be loſt.

Come Vellum, lead the way. You muſt introduce me to your Lady. Thou'rt the fitteſt Fellow in the World to be a Maſter of the Ceremonies to a Conjurer.

Nabby, Nabby, whither ſo faſt Child?

Keep your Hands to your ſelf. I'm going to call the Stew⯑ard to my Lady.

What? Goodman Two fold? I met him walking with a ſtrange old Fellow yonder. I ſuppoſe he belongs to the Family too. He looks very antique. He muſt be ſome of the Furniture of this old Manſion-Houſe.

What does the Man mean? Don't think to palm me, as you do my Lady.

Prithee, Nabby, tell me one thing; What's the reaſon thou art my Enemy?

Marry, becauſe I'm a Friend to my Lady.

Doſt thou ſee any thing about me thou doſt not like? Come hither, Huſſy, give me a Kiſs. Don't be ill-natur'd.

Sir, I know how to be civil.

—This Rogue will carry off my Lady, if I don't take care.

Thy Lips are as ſoft as Velvet, Abigal. I muſt get thee a Husband.

Ay, now you don't ſpeak idly, I can talk to you.

I have one in my Eye for thee. Doſt thou love a young luſty Son of a Whore?

Laud, how you talk!

This is a thundering Dog.

What is he?

A private Gentleman.

Ay! where does he live?

In the Horſe-Guards—But he has one Fault I muſt tell thee of. If thou canſt bear with that, he's a Man for thy pur⯑poſe.

Pray, Mr. Tinſel, what may that be?

He's but five and twenty Years Old.

'Tis no matter for his Age, if he has been well educated.

No Man better, Child; he'll tye a Wigg, toſs a Die, make a Paſs, and ſwear with ſuch a Grace, as wou'd make thy Heart leap to hear him.

Half theſe Accompliſhments will do, provided he has an Eſtate—Pray what has he?

Not a Farthing.

Pax on him, what do I give him the hearing for!

But as for that I wou'd make it up to him.

How?

Why look ye, Child, as ſoon as I have married thy La⯑dy, I deſign to diſcard this old Prig of a Steward, and to put this honeſt Gentleman, I am ſpeaking of, into his place.

This Fellow's a Fool—I'll have no more to ſay to him.—Hark! my Lady's a coming!

Depend upon it, Nab, I'll remember my Promiſe.

Ay, and ſo will I too—to your Coſt.

My Dear is purely fitted up with a Maid—But I ſhall rid the Houſe of her.

Oh, Mr. Tinſel, I am glad to meet you here. I am going to give you an Entertainment, that won't be diſagreeable to a Man of Wit and Pleaſure of the Town—There may be ſomething diverting in a Converſation between a Conjurer, and this conceited Aſs.

She loves me to Diſtraction, I ſee that.

—Prithee, Widow, explain thy ſelf.

You muſt know here is a ſtrange ſort of a Man come to Town, who undertakes to free the Houſe from this Diſturbance. The Steward believes him a Conjurer.

Ay! thy Steward is a deep one!

He's to be here immediately. It is indeed an odd Fi⯑gure of a Man.

Oh! I warrant you he has ſtudy'd the Black Art! Ha, ha, ha! Is not it an Oxford Scholar?—Widow, thy Houſe is the moſt extraordinarily inhabited of any Widow's this Day in Chriſtendom.—I think thy four chief Domeſticks are—a wither'd Abigal—a ſuperannuated Steward,—a Ghoſt—and a Conjurer.

And you wou'd have it inhabited by a Fifth, who is a more extraordinary Perſon than any of all theſe Four.

It's a ſure Sign a Woman loves you, when ſhe imitates your Manner.

—Thou'rt very ſmart, my Dear. But, ſee! ſmoak the Doctor.

I will introduce this profound Perſon to your Ladyſhip, and then leave him with you—Sir, this is her Ho—nour.

I know it well.

That dear Woman! The Sight of her un-mans me. I cou'd weep for Tenderneſs, did not I, at the ſame time, feel an Indignation riſe in me, to ſee that Wretch with her: And yet I cannot but ſmile to ſee her in the Company of her firſt and ſecond Husband at the ſame time.

Mr. Tinſel do You ſpeak to him; you are us'd to the Company of Men of Learning.

Old Gentleman, thou doſt not look like an Inhabitant of this World; I ſuppoſe thou art lately come down from the Stars. Pray what News is ſtirring in the Zodiack?

News that ought to make the Heart of a Coward tremble. Mars is now entring into the firſt Houſe, and will ſhortly appear in all his Domal Dignities—

Mars? Prithee Father Grey-beard explain thy ſelf.

The Entrance of Mars into his Houſe, portends the Entrance of a Maſter into this Family—and that ſoon.

D'ye hear that, Widow? The Stars have cut me out for thy Husband. This Houſe is to have a Maſter, and that ſoon—Hark thee, old Gadbury, Is not Mars very like a young Fellow call'd Tom Tinſel?

Not ſo much as Venus is like this Lady.

A Word in your Ear, Doctor; theſe two Planets will be in Conjunction by and by; I can tell you that.

Curſe on this impertinent Fop! I ſhall ſcarce forbear diſcovering my ſelf—Madam, I am told that your Houſe is viſited with ſtrange Noiſes.

And I am told that you can quiet them. I muſt confeſs I had a Curioſity to ſee the Perſon I had heard ſo much of; and, indeed, your Aſpect ſhows that you have had much Experience in the World. You muſt be a very aged Man.

My Aſpect deceives you; What do you think is my real Age?

I ſhou'd gueſs thee within three Years of Methuſelah. Pri⯑thee tell me, Was't not thou born before the Flood?

Truly I ſhou'd gueſs you to be in your ſecond or third Century. I warrant you, you have Great Grand-children with Beards of a Foot long.

Ha, ha, ha! If there be Truth in Man, I was but five and thirty laſt Auguſt. O! the Study of the Occult Sciences makes a Man's Beard grow faſter than you wou'd imagine.

What an Eſcape you have had, Mr. Tinſel, that you were not bred a Scholar!

And ſo I fancy, Doctor, thou think'ſt me an illiterate Fellow, becauſe I have a ſmooth Chin?

Hark ye, Sir, a Word in your Ear. You are a Cox⯑comb, by all the Rules of Phyſiognomy: But let that be a Secret between you and me.

Pray, Mr. Tinſel, what is it the Doctor whiſpers?

Only a Compliment, Child, upon two or three of my Features. It does not become Me to repeat it.

Pray, Doctor, examine this Gentleman's Face, and tell me his Fortune.

If I may believe the Lines of his Face, he likes it bet⯑ter than I do, or—than you do, fair Lady.

Widow, I hope now thou'rt convinc'd he's a Cheat.

For my part I believe he's a Witch—go on Doctor.

He will be croſs'd in Love; and that ſoon.

Prithee, Doctor, tell us the Truth. Doſt not thou live in Moor-Fields?

Take my Word for it, thou ſhalt never live in my La⯑dy Truman's Manſion-Houſe.

Pray, old Gentleman, haſt thou never been plu [...]'d by the Beard when thou wert ſaucy?

Nay Mr. Tinſel, you are angry! do you think I [...] marry a Man that dares not have his Fortune told?

Let him be angry—I matter not—He is [...] liv'd. He will ſoon die of—

Come, come, ſpeak out, old Hocus, he, he, he! this Fellow makes me burſt with Laughing.

He will ſoon die of a Fright—or of the—let me ſee your Noſe—Ay—'tis ſo!

You Son of a Whore! I'll run ye through the Body. I never yet made the Sun ſhine through a Conjurer—

Oh, fy. Mr. Tinſel! you will not kill an old Man?

An old Man! The Dog ſays he's but Five and thirty.

Oh, fy; Mr. Tinſel, I did not think you could have been ſo paſſionate; I hate a paſſionate Man. Put up your Sword, or I muſt never ſee you again.

Ha, ha, ha! I was but in jeſt, my Dear. I had a mind to have made an Experiment upon the Doctor's Body. I wou'd but have drill'd a little Eyelet-hole in it, and have ſeen whether he had Art enough to cloſe it up again.

Courage is but ill ſhown before a Lady. But know, if ever I meet thee again, thou ſhalt find this Arm can wield other Weapons beſides this Wand.

Ha, ha, ha!

Well, learned Sir, you are to give a Proof of your Art, not of your Courage. Or if you will ſhow your Cou⯑rage, let it be at Nine a Clock—for that is the time the Noiſe is generally heard.

And look ye, old Gentleman, if thou doſt not do thy Buſineſs well, I can tell thee by the little Skill I have, that thou wilt be toſs'd in a Blanket before Ten. We'll do our Endea⯑vour to ſend thee back to the Stars again.

I'll go and prepare my ſelf for the Ceremonies—And, Lady, as you expect they ſhou'd ſucceed to your Wiſhes, treat that Fellow with the Contempt he deſerves.

The ſaucieſt Dog I ever talk'd with in my whole Life!

Methinks he's a diverting Fellow; one may ſee he's no Fool.

No Fool! Ay but thou doſt not take him for a Con⯑ [...]

Truly I don't know what to take him for; I am re⯑ſolv'd to employ him however. When a Sickneſs is deſperate, we often try Remedies that we have no great Faith in.

Madam, the Tea is ready in the Parlour as you ordered.

Come, Mr. Tinſel, we may there talk of this Subject more at leiſure.

Sure never any Lady had ſuch Servants as mine has! Well, if I get this Thouſand Pound, I hope to have ſome of my own. Let me ſee, I'll have a pretty tight Girl—juſt ſuch as I was ten Years ago (I'm afraid I may ſay twenty) ſhe ſhall dreſs me and flatter me—for I will be flatter'd, that's pos! My La⯑dy's caſt Suits will ſerve her after I have given them the wear⯑ing. Beſides, when I am worth a Thouſand Pound, I ſhall cer⯑tainly carry off the Steward—Madam Vellum!—how prettily that will ſound! here, bring out Madam Vellum's Chaiſe—Nay I do not know but it may be a Chariot—It will break the Attorney's Wife's Heart—for I ſhall take place of every Body in the Pariſh but my Lady. If I have a Son, he ſhall be call'd Fantome. But ſee Mr. Vellum, as I could wiſh. I know his Humour, and will do my utmoſt to gain his Heart.

Mrs. Abigal, don't I break in upon you unſeaſonably?

Oh, No, Mr. Vellum, your Viſits are always ſeaſonable.

I have brought with me a Taſte of freſh Canary, which I think is delicious.

Pray ſet it down—I have a Dram-Glaſs juſt by—

I'll pledge you; my Lady's good Health.

And your own with it—ſweet Mrs Abigal.

Pray, good Mr. Vellum, buy me a little Parcel of this Sack, and put it under the Article of Tea—I would not have my Name appear to it.

Mrs. Abigal, your Name ſeldom appears in my Bills—and yet—if you will allow me a merry Expreſſion—You have been always in my Books, Mrs. Abigal. Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Vellum, you are ſuch a dry jeſting Man!

Why truly, Mrs. Abigal, I have been looking over my Papers—and I find you have been a long time my Debtor.

Your Debtor! For what, Mr. Vellum?

For my Heart, Mrs. Abigal—And our Accounts will not be balanc'd between us, 'till I have yours in Exchange for it. Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! You are the moſt gallant Dun, Mr. Vellum.

But I am not us'd to be paid by Words only, Mrs. Abi⯑gal; when will you be out of my Debt?

Oh, Mr. Vellum, you make one bluſh—My humble Ser⯑vice to you.

I muſt anſwer you, Mrs. Abigal, in the Country Phraſe—Your Love is ſufficient. Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! Well, I muſt own I love a merry Man!

Let me ſee, how long is it, Mrs. Abigal, ſince I firſt broke my Mind to you—It was, I think, Undecimo Guliel⯑mi—We have convers'd together theſe fifteen Years—and yet, Mrs. Abigal, I muſt drink to our better Acquaintance. He, he, he—Mrs. Abigal, you know I am naturally jocoſe.

Ah, you Men love to make Sport with us ſilly Crea⯑tures.

Mrs. Abigal, I have a Trifle about me, which I wou'd willingly make you a Preſent of. It is indeed but a little Toy.

You are always exceedingly obliging.

It is but a little Toy—ſcarce worth your Acceptance.

Pray do not keep me in Suſpence; what is it, Mr. Vellum?

A Silver Thimble.

I always ſaid Mr. Vellum was a generous Lover.

But I muſt put it on my ſelf, Mrs. Abigal—You have the prettieſt Tip of a Finger—I muſt take the Freedom to ſalute it.

Oh fye! you make me aſham'd, Mr. Vellum; how can you do ſo? I proteſt I am in ſuch a Confuſion—

This Finger is not the Finger of Idleneſs; it bears the honourable Scars of the Needle—But why are you ſo cruel as not to [...]?

Oh, I vow you preſs it ſo hard! pray give me my Fin⯑ger again.

This Middle Finger, Mrs. Abigal, has a pretty Neigh⯑bour—A Wedding Ring would become it mightily——He, he, he.

You're ſo full of your Jokes. Ay, but where muſt I find one for it?

I deſign this Thimble only as the Forerunner of it, they will ſet off each other, and are—indeed a twofold Em⯑blem. The firſt will put you in mind of being a good Huſwife, and the other of being a good Wife. Ha, ha, ha!

Yes, yes, I ſee you laugh at me.

Indeed I am ſerious.

I thought you had quite forſaken me—I am ſure you cannot forget the many repeated Vows and Promiſes you for⯑merly made me.

I ſhou'd as ſoon forget the Multiplication Table.

I have always taken your part before may Lady.

You have ſo, and I have Item'd it in my Memory.

For I have always look'd upon your Intereſt as my own.

It is nothing but your Cruelty can hinder them from being ſo.

I muſt ſtrike while the Iron's hot.

—Well, Mr. Vellum, there is no refuſing you, you have ſuch a bewitching Tongue!

How? Speak that again!

Why then in plain Engliſh I love you.

I'm Overjoy'd!

I muſt own my Paſſion for you,

I'm Tranſported!

Dear Charming Man!

Thou Summ Total of all my Happineſs! I ſhall grow Ex⯑travagant! I can't forbear!—to drink thy vertuous Inclinations in a Bumper of Sack. Your Lady muſt make haſte, my Duck, or we ſhall provide a young Steward to the Eſtate, before ſhe has an Heir to it—prithee my Dear, doe's ſhe intend to Marry Mr. Tinſel?

Marry him! my Love, No, no! we muſt take care of that! there wou'd be no ſtaying in the Houſe for us if ſhe did. That young Rake-hell wou'd ſend all the old Servants a Grazing. [33] You and I ſhou'd be diſcarded before the Honey Moon was at an End.

Prithee, ſweet one, does not this Drum put the Thoughts of Marriage out of her Head?

This Drum, my Dear, if it be well manag'd, will be no leſs than a Thouſand Pound in our way.

Ay, ſayſt thou ſo, my Turtle?

Since we are now as good as Man and Wife—I mean, almoſt as good as Man and Wife—I ought to conceal no⯑thing from you.

Certainly my Dove, not from thy Yoke-Fellow, thy Help-Mate, thy own Fleſh and Blood!

Huſh! I hear Mr. Tinſel's Laugh, my Lady and he are a coming this way; if you will take a turn without, I'll tell you the whole Contrivance.

Give me your Hand, Chicken.

Here take it, you have my Heart already.

We ſhall have much Iſſue.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

JOHN, I have certain Orders to give you—and there⯑fore be attentive.

Attentive! Ay, let me alone for that.—I ſuppoſe he means being Sober.

You know I have always recommended to you a Method in your Buſineſs, I wou'd have your Knives and Forks, your Spoons and Napkins, your Plate and Glaſſes, laid in a Method.

Ah, Maſter Vellum, you are ſuch a ſweet-ſpoken Man, it does one's Heart good to receive your Orders.

Method, John, makes Buſineſs eaſie, it baniſhes all Per⯑plexity and Confuſion out of Families.

How he talks! I cou'd hear him all Day.

And now John, let me know whether your Table-lin⯑nen, your Side-Board, your Cellar, and every thing elſe within your Province, are properly and methodically diſpos'd for an En⯑tertainment this Evening.

Maſter Vellum, they ſhall be ready at a quarter of an hour's Warning. But pray Sir, is this Entertainment to be made for the Conjurer?

It is, John, for the Conjurer, and yet it is not for the Conjurer.

Why, look you Maſter Vellum, if it is for the Conjurer, the Cook-Maid ſhou'd have Orders to get him ſome Diſhes to his Palate. Perhaps he may like a little Brimſtone in his Sauce.

This Conjurer, John, is a complicated Creature, an Am⯑phibious Animal, a Perſon of a Two-fold Nature—But he eats and drinks like other Men.

Marry, Maſter Vellum, he ſhou'd eat and drink as much as two other Men, by the Account you give of him.

Thy Conceit is not amiſs, he is indeed a double Man, ha, ha, ha!

Ha! I underſtand you, He's one of your Hermaphrodites, as they call 'em.

He is Married, and he is not Married—He hath a Beard, and he hath no Beard. He is Old, and he is Young.

How charmingly he talks! I fancy, Maſter Vellum, you cou'd make a Riddle. The ſame Man Old and Young! How do you make that out, Maſter Vellum?

Thou haſt heard of a Snake caſting his Skin, and reco⯑vering his Youth. Such is this Sage Perſon.

Nay 'tis no wonder a Conjurer ſhou'd be like a Serpent.

When he has thrown aſide the old Conjurer's Slough that hangs about him, he'll come out as fine a young Gentleman as ever was ſeen in this Houſe.

Does he intend to ſup in his Slough?

That Time will ſhow.

Well, I have not a Head for theſe things. Indeed, Mr. Vellum, I have not underſtood one Word you have ſaid this half Hour.

I did not intend thou ſhou'dſt—But to our Buſineſs—Let there be a Table ſpread in the Great-Hall. Let your Pots and Glaſſes be waſh'd, and in a Readineſs. Bid the Cook provide a plentiful Supper, and ſee that all the Servants be in their beſt Liveries.

Ay! now I underſtand every Word you ſay. But I wou'd rather hear you talk a little in that t'other Way.

I ſhall explain to thee what I have ſaid by and by—Bid Suſan lay two Pillows upon your Lady's Bed.

Two Pillows! Madam won't ſleep upon 'em both! She is not a double Woman too?

She will ſleep upon neither. But hark, Mrs. Abigal, I think I hear her chiding the Cook-Maid.

Then I'll away, or it will be my Turn next; She, I am ſure, ſpeaks plain Engliſh, one may eaſily underſtand every Word She ſays.

Servants are good for nothing, unleſs they have an Opi⯑nion of the Perſon's Underſtanding who has the Direction of them.—But ſee Mrs. Abigal! ſhe has a bewitching Counte⯑nance, I wiſh I may not be tempted to marry her in good Earneſt.

Ha! Mr. Vellum.

What brings my Sweet one hither?

I am coming to ſpeak to my Friend behind the Wainſcot. It is fit, Child, he ſhou'd have an Account of this Conjurer, that he may not be ſurpriz'd.

That wou'd be as much as thy thouſand Pound is worth.

I'll ſpeak low—Walls have Ears.

But heark you Ducklin! be ſure you do not tell him that I am let into the Secret.

That's a good one indeed! as if I ſhou'd ever tell what paſſes between you and me.

No, no, my Child, that muſt not be; he, he, he! that muſt not be; he, he, he!

You will always be waggiſh.

Adieu, and let me hear the reſult of your Conference.

How can you leave one ſo ſoon? I ſhall think it an Age till I ſee you again.

Adieu my pretty one.

Adieu ſweet Mr. Vellum.

My pretty one.—

Dear Mr. Vellum!

My pretty one!

I have him—if I can but get this Thouſand Pound.

Ha. Three Raps upon the Drum! the Signal Mr. Fantome and I agreed upon, when he had a mind to ſpeak with me.

Very well, I hear you; come Fox, come out of your Hole.

You may leave your Drum in the Ward-robe, till you have Occaſion for it.

Well, Mrs. Abigal, I want to hear what is a doing in the World.

You are a very inquiſitive Spirit. But I muſt tell you, if you do not take care of your ſelf, you will be Laid this Evening.

I have overheard ſomething of that Matter. But let me alone for the Doctor—I'll engage to give a good Account of [37] Him. I am more in pain about Tinſel. When a Lady's in the Caſe, I'm more afraid of one Fop than twenty Conjurers.

To tell you truly, he preſſes his Attacks with ſo much Impudence, that he has made more Progreſs with my Lady in two Days, than you did in two Months.

I ſhall attack her in another manner, if thou canſt but procure me another Interview. There's nothing makes a Lover ſo keen, as being kept up in the Dark.

Pray no more of your diſtant Bows, your reſpectful Com⯑pliments—Realy, Mr. Fantome, you're only fit to make Love a-croſs a Tea-Table.

My dear Girl, I can't forbear hugging thee for thy good Advice.

Ay, now I have ſome Hopes of you; but why don't you do ſo to my Lady?

Child, I always thought your Lady lov'd to be treated with Reſpect.

Believe me, Mr. Fantome, there is not ſo great a diffe⯑rence between Woman and Woman, as you imagine. You ſee Tinſel has nothing but his Saucineſs to recommend him.

Tinſel is too great a Coxcomb to be capable of Love—And let me tell thee, Abigal, a Man, who is ſincere in his Paſ⯑ſion, makes but a very awkard Profeſſion of it—But I'll mend my Manners.

Ay, or you'll never gain a Widow—Come, I muſt tutor you a little; ſuppoſe me to be my Lady, and let me ſee how you'll behave your ſelf.

I'm afraid, Child, we han't time for ſuch a piece of Mummery.

Oh, it will be quickly over, if you play your Part well.

Why then, dear Mrs. Ab—I mean my Lady Tru⯑man.

Ay! but you han't ſaluted me.

That's right; Faith I forgot that Circumſtance.

Nectar and Ambroſia!

That's very well—

How long muſt I be condemn'd to languiſh! when ſhall my Sufferings have an end! My Life! my Happineſs, my All is wound up in you—

Well! why don't you ſqueeze my Hand?

What, thus?

Thus? Ay—Now throw your Arm about my Middle; Hug me cloſer.—You are not afraid of hurting me! Now pour forth a Volley of Rapture and Nonſenſe, till you are out of Breath.

Tranſport and Extaſy! where am I!—my Life, my Bliſs!—I rage, I burn, I bleed, I dye.

Go on, go on.

Flames and Darts—Bear me to the gloomy Shade, Rocks and Grottoes—Flowers, Zephyrs, and purling Streams.

Oh! Mr. Fantome, you have a Tongue wou'd undo a Veſtal! You were born for the Ruin of our Sex.

This will do then, Abigal?

Ay, this is talking like a Lover. Tho' I only repreſent my Lady, I take a Pleaſure in hearing you. Well, o' my Con⯑ſcience when a Man of Senſe has a little Daſh of the Coxcomb in him, no Woman can reſiſt him. Go on at this rate, and the thouſand Pound is as good as in my Pocket.

I ſhall think it an Age till I have an Opportunity of put⯑ting this Leſſon in Practice.

You may do it ſoon, if you make good Uſe of your Time; Mr. Tinſel will be here with my Lady at Eight, and at Nine the Conjurer is to take you in Hand.

Let me alone with both of them.

Well! fore-warn'd, fore-arm'd. Get into your Box, and I'll endeavour to diſpoſe every thing in your Favour.

Mrs. Abigal is withdrawn.—I was in hopes to have heard what paſs'd between her and her inviſible Correſpondent.

Vellum! Vellum!

Vellum! We are methinks very familiar; I am not us'd to be call'd ſo by any but their Ho—nours—What wou'd you, Mr. Tinſel?

Let me beg a Favour of thee, old Gentleman.

What is that, good Sir?

Prithee run and fetch me the Rent-Roll of thy Lady's Eſtate.

The Rent-roll?

The Rent-roll? Ay, the Rent-roll! Doſt not under⯑ſtand what that means?

Why? have you Thoughts of purchaſing of it?

Thou haſt hit it, old Boy; that is my very Intention.

The Purchaſe will be conſiderable.

And for that reaſon I have bid thy Lady very high—She is to have no leſs for it than this entire Perſon of mine.

Is your whole Eſtate Perſonal, Mr. Tinſel—he, he, he!

Why, you queer old Dog, you don't pretend to jeſt, d'ye? Look ye, Vellum, if you think of being continued my Steward, you muſt learn to walk with your Toes out.

An inſolent Companion!

Thou'rt confounded rich, I ſee, by that Dangling of thy Arms.

An ungracious Bird!

Thou ſhalt lend me a couple of Thouſand Pounds.

A very Profligate!

Look ye, Vellum, I intend to be kind to you—I'll borrow ſome Mony of you.

I cannot but ſmile to conſider the Diſappointment this young Fellow will meet with; I will make my ſelf merry with him.

And ſo, Mr. Tinſel, you promiſe you will be a very kind Maſter to me?

What will you give for a Life in the Houſe you live in?

What do you think of Five Hundred Pounds?—Ha, ha, ha!

That's too little.

And yet it is more than I ſhall give you—And I will offer you two Reaſons for it.

Prithee what are they?

Firſt, becauſe the Tenement is not in your Diſpoſal; and Secondly, becauſe it never will be in your Diſpoſal; and ſo fare you well, good Mr. Tinſel. Ha, ha, ha! You will pardon me for being jocular.

This Rogue is as ſaucy as the Conjurer; I'll be hang'd if they are not a-kin.

Mr. Tinſel! what, all alone? You Free-thinkers are great Admirers of Solitude.

No faith, I have been talking with thy Steward; a very groteſque Figure of a Fellow, the very Picture of one of our Benchers. How can you bear his Converſation?

I keep him for my Steward, and not my Companion. He's a ſober Man.

Yes, yes, he looks like a Put—a queer old Dog, as ever I ſaw in my Life: We muſt turn him off, Widow. He cheats thee confoundedly, I ſee that.

Indeed you're miſtaken, he has always had the Re⯑putation of being a very honeſt Man.

What? I ſuppoſe he goes to Church.

Goes to Church! ſo do you too, I hope.

I wou'd for once, Widow, to make ſure of you.

Ah, Mr. Tinſel, a Husband who would not continue to go thither, wou'd quickly forget the Promiſes he made there.

Faith very innocent and very ridiculous! Well then, I warrant thee, Widow, thou wou'dſt not for the World marry a Sabbath-breaker!

Truly they generally come to a bad End. I remember the Conjurer told you, you were ſhort-liv'd.

The Conjurer! Ha, ha, ha!

Indeed you're very witty!

Indeed you're very handſome.

I wiſh the Fool does not love me!

Thou art the Idol I adore. Here muſt I pay my Devo⯑tion—Prithee, Widow, haſt thou any Timber upon thy Eſtate?

The moſt impudent Fellow I ever met with.

I take Notice thou haſt a great deal of old Plate here in the Houſe, Widow.

Mr. Tinſel, you are a very obſerving Man.

Thy large Silver Ciſtern would make a very good Coach, and half a Dozen Salvers that I ſaw on the Side-board, might be turn'd into ſix as pretty Horſes as any that appear in the Ring.

You have a very good Fancy, Mr. Tinſel—What pretty Transformations you could make in my Houſe—But I'll ſee where 'twill end.

Then I obſerve, Child, you have two or three Services of gilt Plate; we'd eat always in China, my Dear.

I perceive you are an excellent Manager—How quickly you have taken an Inventory of my Goods!

Now hark ye, Widow, to ſhow you the Love that I have for you—

Very well, let me hear.

You have an old-faſhion'd Gold Caudle-Cup, with the Figure of a Saint upon the Lid on't.

I have, what then?

Why look ye, I'd ſell the Caudle-Cup with the old Saint for as much Money as they'd fetch, which I wou'd con⯑vert into a Diamond Buckle, and make you a Preſent of it.

Oh you are generous to an Extravagance. But pray, Mr. Tinſel, don't diſpoſe of my Goods before you are ſure of my Perſon. I find you have taken a great Affection to my Moveables.

My Dear, I love every thing that belongs to you.

I ſee you do, Sir, you need not make any Proteſtati⯑ons upon that Subject.

Pho, pho, my Dear, we are growing Serious; and, let me tell you, that's the very next Step to being Dull. Come, that pretty Face was never made to look grave with.

Believe me, Sir, whatever you may think, Marriage is a ſerious Subject.

For that very Reaſon, my Dear, let us get over it as faſt as we can.

I ſhould be very much in haſte for a Husband, if I married within fourteen Months after Sir George's Deceaſe.

Pray, my Dear, let me ask you a Queſtion; Do'ſt not thou think that Sir George is as dead at preſent, to all Intents and Purpoſes, as he will be a Twelve-month hence?

Yes, but Decency! Mr. Tinſel—

Or do'ſt thou think thou'lt be more a Widow then, than thou art now?

The World would ſay I never lov'd my Firſt Husband.

Ah, my Dear, they wou'd ſay you lov'd your Second; and they wou'd own I deſerv'd it, for I ſhall love thee moſt in⯑ordinately.

But what wou'd People think?

Think! why they wou'd think thee the Mirrour of Wi⯑dowhood.—That a Woman ſhou'd live fourteen whole Months after the Deceaſe of her Spouſe, without having engaged herſelf. Why, about Town, we know many a Woman of Quality's Se⯑cond Husband ſeveral Years before the Death of the Firſt.

Ay, I know you Wits have your common-place Jeſts upon us poor Widows.

I'll tell you a Story, Widow; I know a certain Lady, who conſidering the Crazineſs of her Husband, had, in caſe of Mortality, engaged her ſelf to two young Fellows of my Acquaintance. They grew ſuch deſperate Rivals for her, while her Husband was alive, that one of them pink'd the t'other in a Duel. But the good Lady was no ſooner a Widow, but what did my Dowager do? Why faith, being a Woman of Honour, ſhe married a Third, to whom, it ſeems, ſhe had gi⯑ven her firſt Promiſe.

And this is a true Story upon your own Knowledge?

Every Tittle, as I hope to be marry'd, or never believe Tom Tinſel.

Pray, Mr. Tinſel, do you call this talking like a Wit, or like a Rake?

Innocent enough, he, he, he! Why! where's the Dif⯑ference, my Dear?

Yes, Mr. Tinſel, the only Man I ever lov'd in my Life, had a great deal of the one, and nothing of the other in him.

Nay now you grow vapouriſh; thou'lt begin to fancy thou hear'ſt the Drum by and by.

If you had been here laſt Night about this time, you would not have been ſo merry.

About this time, ſay'ſt thou? Come faith, for the Hu⯑mour's ſake, we'll ſit down and liſten.

I will, if you'll promiſe to be ſerious.

Serious! never fear me, Child. Ha, ha, ha! Do'ſt not hear him?

You break your World already. Pray, Mr. Tinſel, do you laugh to ſhow your Wit or your Teeth?

Why, both! my Dear.—I'm glad, however, that ſhe has taken notice of my Teeth.

But you look ſerious, Child; I fancy thou hear'ſt the Drum, do'ſt not?

Don't talk ſo raſhly?

Why, my Dear, you cou'd not look more frighted if you had Lucifer's Drum-Major in your Houſe.

Mr. Tinſel, I muſt deſire to ſee you no more in it, if you do not leave this idle way of Talking.

Child, I thought I had told you what is my Opinion of Spirits, as we were drinking a diſh of Tea but juſt now.—There is no ſuch thing I give thee my Word.

Oh, Mr. Tinſel, your Authority muſt be of great weight to thoſe that know you.

For my part, Child, I have made my ſelf eaſy in thoſe Points.

Sure nothing was ever like this Fellow's Vanity, but his Ignorance.

I'll tell thee what now, Widow—I wou'd engage by the help of a white Sheet and a penny-worth of Link in a dark Night, to frighten you a whole Country Village out of their Sen⯑ces, and the Vicar into the bargain.

Hark! hark! what Noiſe is that! Heaven defend us! this is more than Fancy.

It beats more terrible than ever.

'Tis very dreadful! What a Dog have I been to ſpeak a⯑gainſt my Conſcience, only to ſhow my Parts!

It comes nearer and nearer. I wiſh you have not anger'd it by your fooliſh Diſcourſe.

Indeed, Madam, I did not ſpeak from my Heart; I hope it will do me no hurt, for a little harmleſs Raillery.

Harmleſs, d'ye call it? it beats hard by us, as if it wou'd break through the Wall.

What a Devil had I to do with a white Sheet?

Mercy on us! it appears.

Oh! 'tis he! 'tis he himſelf, 'tis Sir George! 'tis my Husband.

Now wou'd I give Ten Thouſand Pound that I were in Town.

I beg Ten Thouſand Pardons. I'll never talk at this rate any more.

By my Soul, Sir George, I was not in earneſt

have Compaſſion on my Youth, and conſider I am but a Coxcomb—

But ſee he [44] waves me off—ay with all my Heart—What a Devil had I to do with a white Sheet?

The Scoundrel is gone, and has left his Miſtreſs be⯑hind him. I'm miſtaken if he makes Love in this Houſe any more. I have now only the Conjurer to deal with. I don't queſtion but I ſhall make his Reverence ſcamper as faſt as the Lover. And then the Day's my own. But the Servants are coming. I muſt get into my Cup-board.

Oh my poor Lady! This wicked Drum has frighted Mr. Tinſel out of his Wits, and my Lady into a Swoon. Let me bend her a little forward. She revives. Here, carry her into the freſh Air and ſhe'll recover.

This is a little barbarous to my Lady, but 'tis all for her Good: and I know her ſo well, that ſhe wou'd not be angry with me, if ſhe knew what I was to get by it. And if any of her Friends ſhou'd blame me for it hereafter,

ACT V. SCENE I.

AN't pleaſe your Worſhip, Mr. Conjurer, the Steward has given all of us Orders to do whatſoever you ſhall bid us, and to pay you the ſame Reſpect, as if you were our Maſter.

Thou ſay'ſt well.

An't pleaſe your Conjurerſhip's Worſhip, ſhall I ſet the Table down here?

Here, Peter.

Peter!—He knows my Name by his Learning.

I have brought you, Reverend Sir, the largeſt El⯑bow Chair in the Houſe; 'tis that the Steward ſits in when he holds a Court.

Place it there.

Sir, will you pleaſe to want any thing elſe?

Paper, and a Pen and Ink.

Sir, I believe we have Paper that is fit for your Pur⯑poſe! My Lady's mourning Paper, that is black'd at the Edges—Wou'd you chuſe to write with a Crow Quill?

There is none better.

Coachman, go fetch the Paper and Standiſh out of the little Parlour.

Peter, prithee do thou go along with me—I'm afraid—You know I went with you laſt Night into the Garden, when the Cook-Maid wanted a handful of Parſley.

Why, you don't think I'll ſtay with the Conjurer by my ſelf!

Come, we'll all three go and fetch the Pen and Ink together.

There's nothing, I ſee, makes ſuch ſtrong Al⯑liances as Fear. Theſe Fellows are all enter'd into a Confede⯑racy againſt the Ghoſt. There muſt be abundance of Buſineſs done in the Family at this rate. But here comes the Triple-Alliance. Who cou'd have thought theſe three Rogues cou'd have found each of 'em an Employment in fetching a Pen and Ink!

Sir, there is your Paper.

Sir, there is your Standiſh.

Sir, there is your Crow-quill Pen—I'm glad I have got rid on't.

He forgets that he's to make a Circle—Doctor, ſhall I help you to a Bit of Chalk?

It is no matter.

Look ye, Sir, I ſhow'd you the Spot where he's heard ofteneſt, if your Worſhip can but ferret him out of that old Wall in the next Room—

We ſhall try.

That's right, John. His Worſhip muſt let fly all his Learning at that old Wall.

Sir, if I was worthy to adviſe you, I wou'd have a Bottle of good October by me. Shall I ſet a Cup of old Stingo at your Elbow?

I thank thee—we ſhall do without it.

John, he ſeems a very good-natur'd Man for a Con⯑jurer.

I'll take this Opportunity of enquiring after a Bit of Plate I have loſt. I fancy, whilſt he is in my Lady's Pay, one may hedge in a Queſtion or two into the Bargain. Sir, Sir, may I beg a word in your Ear?

What wouldſt thou?

Sir, I know I need not tell you, that I loſt one of my Silver Spoons laſt Week.

Mark'd with a Swan's Neck—

My Lady's Creſt! He knows every thing.

How wou'd your Worſhip adviſe me to recover it again?

Hum!

What muſt I do to come at it?

Drink nothing but Small-Beer for a Fortnight—

Small Beer! Rot-gut!

If thou drink'ſt a ſingle Drop of Ale before fifteen Days are expir'd—it is as much—as thy Spoon—is worth.

I ſhall never recover it that way; I'll e'en buy a new one.

D'ye mind how they whiſper?

I'll be hang'd if he be not asking him ſomething about Nell—

I'll take this Opportunity of putting a Queſtion to him about poor Dobbing: I fancy he cou'd give me better Council than the Farrier.

A prodigious Man! he knows every thing: Now is the time to find out thy Pick-ax.

I have nothing to give him: Does not he expect to have his Hand croſs'd with Silver?

Sir, may a Man venture to ask you a Queſtion?

Ask it.

I have a poor Horſe in the Stable that's bewitch'd—

A bay Gelding.

How cou'd he know that?—

Bought at Banbury.

Whew—ſo it was o' my Conſcience.

Six Year old laſt Lammas.

To a Day.

Now, Sir, I wou'd know whe⯑ther the poor Beaſt is bewitch'd by Goody Crouch or Goody Flye?

Neither.

Then it muſt be Goody Gurton! for ſhe is the next oldeſt Woman in the Pariſh.

Ha'ſt thou done, Robin?

He can tell thee any thing.

Sir, I wou'd beg to take you a little fur⯑ther out of hearing——

Speak.

The Butler and I, Mr. Doctor, were both of us in Love at the ſame time with a certain Perſon.

A Woman.

How cou'd he know that!

Go on.

This Woman has lately had two Children at a Birth.

Twins.

Prodigious! where could he hear that?

Proceed.

Now, becauſe I us'd to meet her ſometimes in the Garden, ſhe has laid them both—

To Thee.

What a Power of Learning he muſt have! he knows every thing.

Ha'ſt thou done?

I wou'd deſire to know whether I am really Father to them both?

Stand before me, let me ſurvey thee round.

Look yonder, John, the ſilly Dog is turning about under the Conjurer's Wand. If he has been ſaucy to him, we ſhall ſee him puff'd off in a Whirlwind immediately.

Twins, do'ſt thou ſay?

Ay, are they both mine d'ye think?

Own but one of them.

Ah, but Mrs. Abigal will have me take care of them both—ſhe's always for the Butler—If my poor Maſter Sir George had been alive, he wou'd have made him go Halves with me.

What, was Sir George a kind Maſter?

Was he! Ay, my Fellow-Servants will bear me Wit⯑neſs.

Did ye love Sir George?

Every Body lov'd him—

There was not a dry Eye in the Pariſh at the News of his Death—

He was the beſt Neighbour—

The kindeſt Husband—

The trueſt Friend to the Poor—

My good Lady took on mightily, we all thought it wou'd have been the Death of her——

I proteſt theſe Fellows melt me! I think the time long till I am their Maſter again, that I may be kind to them.

Have you provided the Doctor ev'ry thing he has Occaſion for? if ſo,—you may depart.

I can as yet ſee no hurt in my Wife's Behaviour; but ſtill have ſome certain Pangs and Doubts, that are natu⯑ral to the Heart of a fond Man. I muſt take the Advan⯑tage of my Diſguiſe to be thoroughly ſatisfied. It wou'd neither be for her Happineſs, nor mine, to make my ſelf known to her till I am ſo

Dear Vellum! I am im⯑patient to hear ſome News of my Wife, how does ſhe af⯑ter her Fright?

It is a Saying ſomewhere in my Lord Coke, that a Widow—

I ask of my Wife, and thou talk'ſt to me of my Lord Coke—prithee tell me how ſhe does, for I am in Pain for her.

She is pretty well recover'd Mrs. Abigal has put her in good Heart; and I have given her great hopes from your Skill.

That I think cannot fail, ſince thou haſt got this Secret out of Abigal! But I could not have thought my Friend Fantome would have ſerved me thus—

You will ſtill fancy you are a living Man—

That he ſhou'd endeavour to Enſnare my Wife—

You have no Right in her, after your Demiſe Death extinguiſhes all Property,—Quoad hanc—It is a Maxim in the Law.

A Pox on your Learning! Well, but what is become of Tinſel?

He ruſh'd out of the Houſe, call'd for his Horſe, clap'd Spurs to his ſides, and was out of ſight in leſs time, than I—can—tell—ten.

This is Whimſical enough! my Wife will have a quick Succeſſion of Lovers, in one Day—Fantome has driven out Tinſel, and I ſhall drive out Fantome.

Ev'n as one Wedge driveth out another—he, he, he! you muſt pardon me for being Jocular.

Was there ever ſuch a provoking Blockhead! but he means me well.—Well! I muſt have Satisfaction of this Traitour Fantome; and cannot take a more proper one, than by turning him out of my Houſe, in a manner that ſhall throw Shame upon him, and make him ridiculous as long as he lives.—You muſt remember, Vellum, you have abundance of Buſineſs upon your Hands, and I have but juſt time to tell it you over, all I require of you is Diſpatch, there⯑fore hear me.

There is nothing more requiſite in Buſineſs than Diſpatch—

Then hear me.

It is indeed the Life of Buſineſs—

Hear Me then, I ſay.

And as one has rightly obſerved, the Benefit that at⯑tends it is four-fold. Firſt—

There is no bearing this! Thou art a going to deſcribe Diſpatch, when thou ſhouldſt be practiſing it.

But your Ho—nour will not give me the hear⯑ing—

Thou wilt not give me the hearing.

I am ſtill.

In the Firſt place, you are to lay my Wigg, Hat, and Sword ready for me in the Cloſet, and one of my Scarlet Coats. You know how Abigal has deſcribed the Ghoſt to you.

It ſhall be done.

Then you muſt remember, whilſt I am laying this Ghoſt, you are to prepare my Wife for the Reception of her real Husband; tell her the whole Story, and do it with all the Art you are Maſter of, that the Surpriſe may not be too great for her.

It ſhall be done—But ſince her Ho—nour has ſeen this Apparition, ſhe deſires to ſee you once more, before you en⯑counter it.

I ſhall expect her impatiently. For now I can talk to her without being interrupted by that impertinent Rogue Tin⯑ſel. I hope thou haſt not told Abigal any thing of the Secret.

Mrs. Abigal is a Woman; there are many Reaſons why ſhe ſhou'd not be acquainted with it: I ſhall only mention Six—

Huſh, here ſhe comes! Oh my Heart!

O that lov'd Woman! How I long to take her in my Arms! If I find I am ſtill Dear to her Memory, it will be a return to Life indeed! But I muſt take care of indulging this Tenderneſs, and put on a Behaviour more ſuitable to my preſent Character.

This is ſurprizing indeed! So all the Ser⯑vants tell me; They ſay he knows every thing that has happen'd in the Family.

A parcel of credulous Fools! They firſt tell him their Secrets, and then wonder how he comes to know them.

Learned Sir, may I have ſome Converſation with you, before you begin your Ceremonies?

Speak! But hold—firſt let me feel your Pulſe?

What can you learn from that?

I have already learn'd a Secret from it, that will aſto⯑niſh you.

Pray, what is it?

You will have a Husband within this half Hour.

I'm glad to hear that—He muſt mean Mr. Fan⯑tome; I begin to think there's a good deal of Truth in his Art.

Alas! I fear you mean I ſhall ſee Sir George's Appa⯑rition a ſecond time.

Have Courage, you ſhall ſee the Apparition no more. The Husband I mention ſhall be as much alive as I am.

Mr. Fantome to be ſure.

Impoſſible! I lov'd my firſt too well.

You cou'd not love the firſt better than you will love the ſecond.

I'll be hang'd if my dear Steward has not in⯑ſtructed him; he means Mr. Fantome to be ſure; the Thouſand Pound is our own!

Alas! you did not know Sir George.

As well as I do my ſelf—I ſaw him with you in the red Damask Room, when he firſt made Love to you; your Mother left you together, under Pretence of receiving a Viſit from Mrs. Hawthorn, on her Return from London.

This is aſtoniſhing!

You were a great Admirer of a ſingle Life for the firſt half Hour; your Refuſals then grew ſtill fainter and fainter. With what Extaſy did Sir George kiſs your Hand, when you told him you ſhou'd always follow the Advice of your Mamma!

Every Circumſtance to a Tittle!

Then, Lady! the Wedding Night! I ſaw you in your white Sattin Night-gown; you wou'd not come out of your Dreſſing-Room, till Sir George took you out by Force. He drew you gently by the Hand—You ſtruggled—but he was too ſtrong for you—You bluſh'd, He—

Oh! ſtop there! go no farther!—He knows every thing.

Truly, Mr. Conjurer, I believe you have been a Wagg in your Youth.

Mrs. Abigal, you know what your good Word coſt Sir George, a Purſe of Broad Pieces, Mrs. Abigal—

The Devil's in him.

Pray, Sir, ſince you have told ſo far, you ſhould tell my Lady that I refus'd to take them.

'Tis true, Child, he was forc'd to thruſt them into your Boſome.

This Rogue will mention the Thouſand Pound, if I don't [53] take care

Pray, Sir, tho' you are a Conjurer, methinks you need not be a Blab—

Sir, ſince I have now no Reaſon to doubt of your Art, I muſt beſeech you to treat this Apparition gently—It has the reſemblance of my deceas'd Husband, if there be any un⯑diſcover'd Secret, any thing that troubles his Reſt, learn it of him.

I muſt to that End be ſincerely informed by you, whether your Heart be engaged to another; Have not you re⯑ceiv'd the Addreſſes of many Lovers ſince his Death?

I have been oblig'd to receive more Viſits, than have been agreeable.

Was not Tinſel welcome?—I'm afraid to hear an Anſwer to my own Queſtion.

He was well recommended.

Racks!

Of a good Family.

Tortures!

Heir to a conſiderable Eſtate!

Death!

And you ſtill love him?—I'm Diſtracted!

No, I deſpiſe him. I found he had a deſign upon my Fortune, was Baſe, Profligate, Cowardly, and ev'ry thing that cou'd be expected from a Man of the vileſt Principles!—

I'm Recover'd.

Oh, Madam, had you ſeen how like a Scoundrel he look'd when he left your Ladyſhip in a Swoon. Where have you left my Lady? ſays I. In an Elbow-Chair, Child, ſays he. And where are you going? ſays I. To Town, Child, ſays he: For to tell thee truly, Child, ſays he, I don't care for living under the ſame Roof with the Devil, ſays he.

Well, Lady, I ſee nothing in all this, that may hinder Sir George's Spirit from being at Reſt.

If he knows any thing of what paſſes in my Heart, he cannot but be ſatisfy'd of that Fondneſs which I bear to his Memory. My Sorrow for him is always freſh when I think of him. He was the kindeſt, trueſt, tendereſt—Tears will not let me go on—

This quite o'erpowers me—I ſhall diſcover my ſelf [54] before my time.

—Madam, you may now retire and leave to me my ſelf.

Succeſs attend you!

I wiſh Mr. Fantome gets well off from this old Don—I know he'll be with him immediately.

My Heart is now at Eaſe, ſhe is the ſame dear Woman I left her—Now for my Revenge upon Fantome.—I ſhall cut the Ceremonies ſhort—A few Words will do his Buſineſs—Now let me ſeat my ſelf in form.—A good eaſy Chair for a Conjurer this!—Now for a few Mathematical Scratches—a good lucky Scrawl, that—faith I think it looks very Aſtro⯑logical—Theſe two or three magical Pot-hooks about it, make it a compleat Conjurer's Scheme.

Ha, ha, ha, Sir, are you there? Enter Drummer. Now muſt I pore upon my Paper.

Prithee don't make a Noiſe, I'm buſy.

A pretty March! prithee beat that over again.

Ha! you're very perfect in the Step of a Ghoſt. You ſtalk it Majeſtically.

How the Rogue ſtares, he acts it to Admirati⯑on; I'll be hang'd if he has not been practiſing this half hour in Mrs. Abigal's Wardrobe.

Prithee don't play the Fool!

Nay, nay, enough of this good Mr. Fantome.

Death! I'm diſcover'd. This Jade Abigal has betray'd me.

Mr. Fantome, upon the Word of an Aſtrologer, your Thouſand Pound Bribe will never gain my Lady Truman.

'Tis plain, She has told him all.

Let me adviſe you to make off as faſt as you can, or I plainly perceive by my Art, Mr. Ghoſt will have his Bones broke.

Look'ye, Old Gentleman, I perceive you have learnt this Secret from Mrs. Abigal.

I have learn'd it from my Art.

Thy Art! prithee no more of that. Look ye, I know you are a Cheat as much as I am. And if thou'lt keep my Coun⯑ſel, I'll give thee ten Broad Pieces.—

I am not Mercenary! Young Man, I ſcorn thy Gold.

I'll make them up Twenty.—

Avaunt! and that quickly, or I'll raiſe ſuch an Ap⯑parition, as ſhall—

An Apparition, Old Gentleman! you miſtake your Man, I am not to be frighten'd with Bugbears.—

Let me retire but for a few Moments, and I will give thee ſuch a Proof of my Art—

Why, if thou haſt any Hocus-pocus Tricks to play, why canſt not do them here?

The raiſing of a Spirit, requires certain Secret Myſteries to be performed, and Words to be mutter'd in private.—

Well, if I ſee through your Trick, will you promiſe to be my Friend.

I will—attend and tremble.

A very ſolemn old Aſs! But I ſmoak him,—he has a mind to raiſe his Price upon me. I cou'd not think this Slut wou'd have us'd me thus.—I begin to grow horribly tir'd of my Drum, I wiſh I was well rid of it. However I have got this by it, that it has driven off Tinſel for good and all; I ſhan't have the Mortification to ſee my Miſtreſs carry'd off by ſuch a Ri⯑val, Well, whatever happens, I muſt ſtop this Old Fellow's Mouth, I muſt not be ſparing in Huſh-Money. But here he comes.

Ha! what's that! Sir George Truman! This can be no Counterfeit. His Dreſs! his Shape! his Face! the very Wound of which he dy'd! Nay, then 'tis time to decamp!

Ha, ha, ha! Fare you well, good Sir George—The Enemy has left me Maſter of the Field: Here are the Marks of my Victory. This Drum will I hang up in my great Hall as the Trophy of the Day.

Yonder he is. O' my Conſcience he has driven off the Conjurer. Mr. Fantome, Mr. Fantome! I give you Joy, I give you Joy. What do you think of your Thouſand Pounds now? Why does not the Man ſpeak?

Ha!

Oh! 'tis my Maſter!

Good Mrs. Abigal not ſo faſt.

Are you alive, Sir? He has given my Shoulder ſuch a curſed Tweak! they muſt be real Fingers. I feel 'em I'm ſure.

What do'ſt think?

Think, Sir? Think? Troth I don't know what to think. Pray, Sir, how—

No Queſtions, good Abigal. Thy Curioſity ſhall be ſatisfied in due time. Where's your Lady?

Oh, I'm ſo frighted—and ſo glad!—

Where's your Lady, I ask you—

Marry I don't know where I am my ſelf—I can't forbear weeping for Joy—

Your Lady! I ſay your Lady! I muſt bring you to your ſelf with one Pinch more—

Oh! ſhe has been talking a good while with the Stew⯑ard.

Then he has open'd the whole Story to her, I'm glad he has prepar'd her. Oh! here ſhe comes.

Where is he? let me fly into his Arms! my Life! my Soul! my Husband!

Oh! let me catch thee to my Heart, deareſt of Wo⯑men!

Are you then ſtill alive, and are you here! I can ſcarce believe my Senſes! Now am I happy indeed!

My Heart is too full to anſwer thee.

How could you be ſo cruel to defer giving me that Joy which you knew I muſt receive from your Preſence? You have [57] robb'd my Life of ſome Hours of Happineſs that ought to have been in it.

It was to make our Happineſs the more ſincere and unmixt. There will be now no Doubts to daſh it. What has been the Affliction of our Lives, has given a Variety to them, and will hereafter ſupply us with a thouſand Materials to talk of.

I am now ſatisfy'd that it is not in the Power of Ab⯑ſence to leſſen your Love towards me.

And I am ſatisfy'd that it is not in the Power of Death to deſtroy that Love which makes me the happieſt of Men.

Was ever Woman ſo bleſt! to find again the Darling of her Soul, when ſhe thought him loſt for ever! to enter into a kind of ſecond Marriage with the only Man whom ſhe was ever capable of loving!

May it be as happy as our firſt, I deſire no more! Be⯑lieve me, my Dear, I want Words to expreſs thoſe Tranſports of Joy and Tenderneſs which are every Moment riſing in my Heart whilſt I ſpeak to thee.

Juſt as the Steward told us, Lads! Look you there, if he ben't with my Lady already?

He! he! he! what a joyful Night will this be for Ma⯑dam!

As I was coming in at the Gate, a ſtrange Gentleman whisk'd by me; but he took to his Heels, and made away to the George. If I did not ſee Maſter before me, I ſhou'd have ſworn it had been his Honour!

Ha'ſt given Orders for the Bells to be ſet a ringing?

Never trouble thy Head about that, 'tis done.

My Dear, I long as much to tell you my whole Story, as you do to hear it. In the mean while, I am to look upon this as my Wedding Day. I'll have nothing but the Voice of Mirth and Feaſting in my Houſe. My poor Neigh⯑bours and my Servants ſhall rejoyce with me. My Hall ſhall be free to every one, and let my Cellars be thrown open.

Ah! bleſs your Honour, may you never die again!

The ſame good Man that ever he was!

Whurra!

Vellum, thou haſt done me much Service to Day. I know thou lov'ſt Abigal, but ſhe's diſappointed in a Fortune. I'll make it up to both of you. I'll give thee a Thouſand Pound with her. It is not fit there ſhou'd be one ſad Heart in my Houſe to Night.

What you do for Abigal, I know is meant as a Com⯑pliment to me. This is a new Inſtance of your Love.

Mr. Vellum, you are a well-ſpoken Man: Pray do you thank my Maſter and my Lady.

Vellum, I hope you are not diſpleas'd with the Gift I make you.