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Per. Ay, ay, one thing or other over-reached Periwinkle chous'd too!-Ha, ha, ha!-I shall you all—but I'll take care he shall never finger die with laughing; ha, ha, ha! a penny of her money, I warrant you.—Over Ob. Pr. It had been well if her father had left eached, quoth-a! Why, I might have been over her to wiser heads than thine and mine, friends; reached too, if I had had no more wit. I don't ha, ha, ha! know but this very fellow may be him that was Trade. Well, since you have outwitted us all, directed to me from Grand Cairo t'other day. pray you, what and who are you, sir? Ha, ha, ha!

Sir Phil. Sir, the gentleman is a fine gentleCol. The very same.

man.--I am glad you have got a person, maPer. Are you so, sir? But your trick would dam, who understands dress and good breeding not pass upon me.

-I was resolved she should have a husband Col. No, as you say, at that time it did not: of my choosing. that was not my lucky hour: -But hark ye, sir, Ob. Pr. I am sorry the maiden has fallen into I must let you into one secret You may keep such hands. honest John Tradescant's coat on, for your uncle Trade. A beau! Nay, then she is finely liclp'd Sir Toby Periwinkle is not dead-so the charge up. of mourning will be saved; ha, ha, ha!-Don't Mrs Lov. Why, beaux are great encouragers you remember Mr Pillage, your uncle's steward? of trade, sir; ha, ha, ha! lla, ha, ha!

Col Look ye, gentlemen-I am the person Per. Not dead ?-1 begin to fear I am trick'd who can give the best account of myself; and I too.

must beg Sir Philip's pardon, when I tell him, Col. Don't you remember the signing of a lease, that I have as much aversion to what he calls Mr Periwinkle?

dress and breeding, as I have to the enemies of Per. Well, and what signifies that lease, if my my religion. I have had the honour to serve his uncle is not dead?--Ha! I am sure it was a majesty, and headed a regiment of the bravest lease 1 signed.

fellows that ever push'd bayonet in the throat of Col. Ay, but it was a lease for life, sir, and of a Frenchman; and notwithstanding the fortune this beautiful tenement, I thank you.

this lady brings me, whenever my country wants (Taking hold of Mrs Lovely. my aid, this sword and arm are at her scrvice. Omnes. Ha, ha, ha! Neighbours fare. Free. So then I find you are all trick’d; ha, ha! Therefore, my dear, if thou’lt but deign to smile,

Per. I am certain I read as plain a lease as ever I meet a recompence for all my toil. I read in my life.

Love and religion ne'er admit restraint, Col. You read a lease, I grant you, but you And force makes many sinners, not one saint. sign'd this contract.

(Shewing a paper.

Still free as air the active mind does rove, Per. How durst you put this trick upon me, And searches proper objects for its love ; Mr Freeman ? Did'nt you tell me my uncle was But that once fix'd, 'tis past the pow'r of art dying?

To chace the dear idea from the heart: Free. And would tell you twice as much to 'Tis liberty of choice that sweetens life, serve my friend; ha, ha!

Makes the glad husband, and the happy wife. Sir Phil. What, the learned and famous Mr

[Ertunt cannes.



What new strange ways our modern beaus de- | How must his godship then fair Danaë warm! vise!

In trucking ware for ware there is no harm. What trials of love-skill to gain the prize! Well, after all, that money has a charm. The heathen gods, who never matter'd rapes, But


indeed, that stale invention's past ; Scarce wore such strange variety of shapes. Besides, you know that guineas fall so fast, The devil take their odious barren skulls, Poor nymph must come to pocket-piece at last. To court in form of snakes and filthy bulls. Old Harry's face, or good Queen Bess's ruffOld Jove once nick'd it too, as I am told, Not that I'd take 'em-may do well enough: In a whole lap-full of true standard gold:

No—my ambitious spirit's far above
Those little tricks of mercenary love.
That man be mine, who, like the colonel here,
Can top his character in ev'ry sphere:
Who can a thousand ways employ his wit ;
Out-promise statesmen, and out-cheat a cit;
Beyond the colours of a trav’ller paint,
And cant, and ogle too-beyond a saint.

The last disguise most pleas'd me, I confess :
There's something tempting in the preaching dress;
And pleas'd me more than once a dame of note,
Who lov'd her husband in his footman's coat;
To see one eye in wanton motions play'd,
The other to the heav'nly regions stray'd,
As if for its fellow's frailties it pray'd.
But yet I hope, for all that I have said,
To find my spouse a man of war in bed.








In this grave age, when comedies are few, The mighty critics will not blast, for shame,
We crave your patronage for one that's new; A raw young thing, who dares not tell his name:
Though 'twere poor stuff, yet bid the author fair, Good-natur'd judges will th’ unknown defend,
And let the scarceness recommend the ware. And fear to blame, lest they should hurt a friend:
Long have your ears been filld with tragic parts ; Each wit may praise it for his own dear sake,
Blood and blank-verse have harden'd all your And hint he writ it, if the thing should take :-

But if you're rough, and use him like a dog,
If e'er you smile, 'tis at some party strokes, Depend upon it --he'll remain incog.
Round-heads and wooden-shoes are standing If you should hiss, he swears he'll hiss as high,
jokes :

And, like a culprit, raise the hue and cry.. The same conceit gives claps and hisses birth, If cruel men are still averse to spare You're grown such politicians in your mirth ! These scenes, they fly for refuge to the fair. For once we try (though 'tis, I own, unsafe) Though with a ghost our comedy be heighten'd, To please you all

, and make both parties laugh. Ladies, upon my word, you sha'n't be frighten'd: Our author, anxious for his fame to-night, Oh, 'tis a ghost that scorns to be uncivil, And bashful in his first attempts to write, A well-spread, lusty, jointure-hunting devil: Lies cautiously obscure and unrevealid,

An am'rous ghost, that's faithful, fond, and true, Like ancient actors, in a mask conceald. Made up of flesh and blood-as much as you. Censure, when no man knows who writes the Then, ev'ry evening, come in flocks, undaunted; play,

We never think this house is too much haunted. Were much good malice merely thrown away.



FANTOME, the Drummer.
VELLUM, Sir George Truman's Steward.




SCENE I-A great Hall,

Coach. This makes one almost afraid of one's

own shadow.-As I was walking from the stable Enter the Butler, Coachman, and Gardener. tother night, without my lanthorn, I fell across

But. There came another coach to town last a beam that lay in my way, and faith my heart night, that brought a gentleman to enquire about was in my mouth. I thought I had stumbled over this strange noise we hear in the house. This a spirit. spirit will bring a power of custom to the But. Thou might'st as well have stumbled over George. If so be he continues his pranks, I a straw. Why, a spirit is such a little thing, that design to sell a pot of ale, and set up the sign of I have heard a man, who was a great scholar, the drum.

say, that he'll dance you a Lancashire hornpipe Coach. P'll give madam warning, that's flat- upon the point of a needle. As I sat in the panI've always lived in sober families--I'll not dis- try last night, counting my spoons, the candle, parage myself to be a servant in a house that is methought, burnt blue, and the spay'd bitch lookhaunted.

ed as if she saw something. Gard. I'll e'en marry Nell, and rent a bit of Coach. Ay, poor cur, she's almost frightened ground of my own, if both of you leave madam ; out of her wits. not but that madam's a very good woman, if Mrs Gard. Ay, I warrant ye she hears him, many Abigail did not spoil her. -Come, here's her a time and often, when we don't. health,

But. My lady must have him laid, that's cerBut. 'Tis a very hard thing to be a butler in a tain, whatever it cost her. house that is disturbed. He made such a raeket Gard. I fancy, when one goes to market, one in the cellar last night, that I'm afraid he'll sour might hear of somebody that can make a spell. all the beer in my barrels.

Corach. Why, may not the parson of our parish Coach. Why then, John, we ought to take it off lay him? as fast as we can-Here's to you-He rattled so But. No, no, no; our parson cannot lay him. loud under the tiles last night, that I verily thought Coach. Why not he, as well as another man? the house would have fallen over our heads. I But. Why, ye fool, he is not qualified. He durst not go up into the cock-loft this morning, has not taken the oaths. if I had not got one of the maids to go along Gard. Why, d'ye think, John, that the spirit with me.

would take the law of him ? Faith, I could tell Gard. I thought I heard him in one of my bed- you one way to drive him off. posts. I marvel, John, how he gets into the Couch. How's that? house, when all the gates are shut.

Gard. I'll tell you immediately.-(Drinks)-I But. Why, look ye, Peter, your spirit will fancy Mrs Abigail might scold him out of the creep you into an angre-hole-he'll whisk


house. through a key-hole, without so much as jostling Coach. Ay, she has a tongue that would drown against one of the wards.

his drum, if any thing could. Couch. Poor madam is mainly frighted, that's But. Pugh ! this is all froth: you understand certain, and verily believes it is my master, that nothing of the matter. The next time it makes was killed in the last campaign.

a noise, I tell you what ought to be done-I Bat. Out of all manner of question, Robin, would have the steward speak Latin to it. 'tis Sir George. Mrs Abigail is of opinion it Coach. Ay, that would do, if the steward had can be none but his honour. He always loved but courage. the wars, and, you know, was mightily pleased, Gard. There you have it. He's a fearful man. from a child, with the music of a drum.

If I had as much learning as he, and I met the Gard. I wonder his body was never found ghost, I'd tell him his own. But, a-lack! what after the battle.

can one of us poor men do with a spirit, that can But. Fonnd! Why, ye"fool, is not his body neither write nor read ! here about the house? Dost thou think he can But. Thou art always cracking and boasting, beat his drum without hands and arms ?

Peter : thou dost not know what mischief it might Coach. 'Tis master, as sure as I stand here do thee, if such a silly dog as thee should offer to alive ; and I verily believe I saw him last night in speak to it. For aught I know, he might flea the town-close

thee alive, and make parchment of thy skin, to Gard. Ay! How did he appear?

cover his drum with. Coach. Like a white horse.

Gard. A fiddlestick !--Tell not me I fear But. Phoo, Robin! I tell ye, he has never ap- nothing, not I: I never did harm in my life; I peared yet, but in the shape of the sound of a never committed murder. drum.

But. I verily believe thee. Keep thy tempera

Peter. After supper we'll drink each of us a Gard. I would take himdouble mug, and then let come what will,

[The drum beats: the Gardener endeavours to Gard. Why, that's well said, John-An honest get off, and falls. man, that is not quite sober, has nothing to fear But. Couch. Speak to it, Mrs Abigail ! -Here's to ye-Why, now if he should come Gard. Spare my life, and take all I have ! this minute, here would I stand-Ha! what Coach. Make off, make off, good butler, and noise is that?

let us go hide ourselves in the cellar. But. Coach. Ha! where?

(They all run of. Gard. The devil! the devil! Oh, no; 'tis Mrs Ab. So, now the coast is clear, I may venture Abigail.

to call out my drummer-But first let me shut But. Ay, faith, 'tis she; 'tis Mrs Abigail ! A the door, lest we be surprised.—Mr Fantome! good mistake.—'Tis Mrs Abigail.

Mr Fantome! (He beats.) Nay, nay, pray come

out: the enemy's fied- I must speak with you imEnter ABIGAIL.

mediately Don't stay to beat a parley. Ab. Here are your drunken sots for you! Is [The back scene opens, and discovers Fax. this a time to be guzzling, when gentry are come

TOME with a drum. to the house! Why don't you lay your cloth ? Fan. Dear Mrs Nabby, I have overheard all How come you out of the stables? Why are you that has been said, and find thou hast managed not at work in your garden?

this thing so well, that I could take thee in my Gard. Why, yonder's the fine Londoner and arms and kiss thee—if my drum did not stand madam fetching a walk together, and, methought, in the way. they looked as if they should say they had rather Ab. Well

, o' my conscience, you are the merhave my room than my company.

riest ghost ! and the very picture of Sir George But. And so, forsooth, being all three met to Truman. gether, we are doing our endeavours to drink this Fan. There you flatter me, Mrs Abigail : Sir same drummer out of our heads.

George had that freshness in his looks, that we Gard. For you must know, Mrs Abigail, we men of the town cannot come up to. are all of opinion that one cann't be a match for Ab. Oh, death may have altered you, you know him, unless one be as drunk as a drum. -Besides, you must consider you lost a great deal

Coach. I am resolved to give' madam warning of blood in the battle. to hire herself another coachman; for I came to Fan. Ay, that's right: let me look never so serve my master, d'ye see, while he was alive, pale, this cut cross my forehead will keep me in but do suppose that he has no further occasion countenance. for a coach, now he walks.

Ab. 'Tis just such a one as my master received But. Truly, Mrs Abigail, I must needs say from a cursed French trooper, as my lady's letthat this same spirit is a very odd sort of a body, ter informed her. after all, to fright madam and his old servants at Fan. It happens luckily that this suit of clothes this rate.

of Sir George's fits me so well-I think I cann't Gard. And, truly, Mrs Abigail, I must needs fail hitting the air of a man with whom I was so say, I served my master contentedly while he long acquainted. was living, but I will serve no man living (that Åb. You are the very manis, no man that is not living) without double start when I look upon you. wages.

Fan. But what good will this do me, if I must Ab. Ay, 'tis such cowards as you that go about remain invisible ? with idle stories, to disgrace the house, and bring Ab. Pray, what good did your being visible do so many strangers about it: You first frighten you? The fair Mr Fantome thought no woman yourselves, and then your neighbours.

could withstand him-But when you were seen Gurd. Frightened! Í scorn your words.-Fright- by my lady in her proper person, after she had ened, quoth-a!

taken a full survey of you, and heard all the pret; Ab. What, you sot, are you growing pot-vali- - ty things you could say, she very civilly dismiss'd

you, for the sake of this empty, noisy creature, Gard. Frightened with a drum ! that's a good Tinsel. She fancies you have been gone from one! It will do us no harm, I'll answer for it: hence this fortnight. it will bring no blood-shed along with it, take my Fan. Why, really, I love thy lady so well, that word. It sounds as like a train-band drum as though I had no hopes of gaining her for myself

, ever I heard in my life.

I could not bear to see her given to another, espeBut. Prythee, Peter, don't be so presumptu- cially such a wretch as Tinsel.

Ab. Well, tell me truly, Mr Fantome, have Ab. Well, these drunken rogues take it as I not you a great opinion of my fidelity to my dear could wish.

(Aside. lady, that I would not suffer her to be deluded in Gard. I scorn to be frightened, now I am in this manner for less than a thousand pounds ? for't: If old dub-a-dub should come into the room, Fan. Thou art always reminding I would take him

promise—Thou shalt have it, if thou canst bring But. Pr’ythee hold thy tongue,

our project to bear: Dost not know that stories

I vow I almost



me of my

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