Fan. But is thy lady persuaded that I'm the ghost of her deceased husband? Ab. I endeavour to make her believe so, and tell her, every time your drum rattles, that her husband is chiding her for entertaining this new lover. Fan. Pr'ythee make use of all thy art; for I'm tired to death with strolling round this wide old house, like a rat behind the wainscot. Ab. 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 myself. Fan. Ah, Mrs Abigail! you have had your intrigues. Ab. For you must know, when I was a romping young girl, I was a mighty lover of hide and seek. Fan. I believe by this time I am as well acquainted with the house as yourself. Ab. You are very much mistaken, Mr Fantome: but no matter for that: Here is to be your station to-night. This place is unknown to any one living besides myself, since the death of the joiner, who, you must understand, being a lover of mine, contrived the wainscot to move to and fro, in the manner that you find it. I designed it for a wardrobe for my lady's cast clothes. Oh, the stomachers, stays, petticoats, commodes, laced shoes, 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. Fan. Well, Mrs Abigail, I hire your closet of you but for this one night—A thousand pounds, you know, is a very good rent. Ab. Well, get you gone: you have such a way with you, there's no denying you any thing. Fun. I am thinking how Tinsel will stare, when he sees me come out of the wall; for I am resolved to make my appearance to-night. Ab. Get you in, get you in; my lady's at the door. Fan. 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. Ab. I'm undone, I'm undone !-[As he is going in.] Mr Fantoine! Mr Fantome! have you put the thousand pound bond into my brother's hand? Fan. Thou shalt have it; I tell thee, thou shalt have it. [FAN. goes in. Ab. No more words-Vanish, vanish! Enter Lady TRUMAN. Ab. [Opening the door.] 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. L_Tru. I have been shewing the garden to Mr Tinsel he's most insufferably witty upon us about this story of the drum. Ab. Indeed, madam, he's a very loose man: I'm afraid 'tis he that hinders my poor master from resting in his grave. L. Tru. Well, an infidel is such a novelty in the country, that I am resolved to divert myself a day or two at least with the oddness of his conversation. Ab. Ah, madam, the drum began to beat in the house as soon as ever that 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 used to be. L. Tru. This baggage has some design upon me, more than I can yet discover. [Aside.]—Mr Fantome was always thy favourite. Ab. Ay, and should have been yours too, by my consent. Mr Fantome was not such a slight fantastic thing as this is-Mr Fantome was the best built man one should see in a summer's day! Mr Fantome was a man of honour, and loved you Poor soul, how has he sighed, when he has talked to me of my hard-hearted lady Well, I had as lief as a thousand pounds you would marry Mr Fantome. - L Tru. To tell thee truly, I loved him well enough till I found he loved me so much. But Mr Tinsel makes his court to me with so much neglect and indifference, and with such an agreeable sauciness-Not that I say I'll marry him. Ab. Marry him, quoth-a! No-If you should, you'll be awakened sooner than married couples generally are-you'll quickly have a drum at your window. L. Tru. I'll hide my contempt of Tinsel for once, if it be but to see what this wench drives at. [Aside. Ab. Why, suppose your husband, after this fair warning he has given you, should 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-shanked fellow? L. Tru. Why wilt thou needs have it to be my husband? He never had any reason to be offended at me. I always loved him while he was living, and should prefer him to any man, were he so still. Mr Tinsel is indeed very idle in his talk; but I fancy, Abigail, a discreet woman might reform him. Ab. That's a likely matter indeed! Did you ever hear of a woman 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 marriage! L, Tru. He is, indeed, at present, too familiar in his conversation. Ab. Familiar, madam! in troth, he's downright rude. L. Tru. But that, you know, Abigail, shews he has no dissimulation in him-Then he is apt to jest a little too much upon grave subjects. Ab. Grave subjects! He jests upon the church. L. Tru. But that, you know, Abigail, may be only to shew his wit-Then it must be owned he's extremely talkative. Ab. Talkative, d'ye call it ! he's downright impertinent. L. Tru. But that, you know, Abigail, is a sign he has been used to good company- -Then, indeed, he is very positive. Ab. Positive! why, he contradicts you in every thing you say. L. Tru. But then, you know, Abigail, he has been educated at the inns of court. Ab. A blessed education indeed! It has made him forget his catechism. L. Tru. You talk as if you hated him. L. Tru. Hold your tongue; here he comes. Tin. My dear widow! Ab. My dear widow! marry come up! [Aside. L. Tru. Let him alone, Abigail; so long as he does not call me my dear wife, there's no harm done. Tin. 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, L. Tru. Ay, Mr Tinsel, what a loss of billetdoux would that be to many a fine lady! Ab. Then you still believe this to be a foolish story? I thought my lady had told you that she had heard it herself. Tin. Fancy! L. Tru. But what if I should tell you my maid was with me? Tin. 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? L. Tru. 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? Tin. Believe me, madam, I could prescribe you a cure for these imaginations. Ab. Don't tell my lady of imaginations, sir: I ve heard it myself. Tin. Hark thee, child- -Art thou not an old maid? Ab. Sir, if I am, it is my own fault. Tin. Whims! freaks! megrims! indeed, Mrs Abigail. Ab. Marry, sir, by your talk, one would believe you thought every thing that was good is a me grim. L. Tru. 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. Ab. A very pretty subject indeed for a lover to divert his mistress with. L. Tru. But I suppose that was only a taste of the conversation you would entertain me with after marriage. Tin. 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. L. Tru. You are a very complaisant person indeed; and so you would make your court to me by persuading me that I was made by chance! Tin. Ha, ha, ha! well said, my dear! Why, faith, thou wert a very lucky hit, that's certain. L. Tru. Pray, Mr Tinsel, where did you learn this odd way of talking? Tin. Ah, widow, 'tis your country innocence makes you think it an odd way of talking. L. Tru. Though you give no credit to stories of apparitions, I hope you believe there are such things as spirits. Tin. Simplicity! Ab. I fancy you don't believe women have souls; d'ye, sir? Tin. Foolish enough! L. Tru. I vow, Mr Tinsel, I'm afraid malicious Ab. I'm sure you are a free speaker! L. Tru. Really, Mr Tinsel, considering that you are so fine a gentleman, I'm amazed where you got all this learning! I wonder it has not spoiled your breeding. Tin. To tell you the truth, I have not time to look into these dry matters myself, but I am convinced, by four or five learned men, whom I sometimes overhear at a coffee-house I frequent, that our forefathers were a pack of asses; that the world has been in error for some thousands of years; and that all the people upon earth, excepting those two or three worthy gentlemen, are im posed upon, cheated, bubbled, abused, bamboozled. Ab. Madam, how can you hear such a profligate? He talks like the London prodigal. L. Tru. Why, really, I'm thinking, if there be no such things as spirits, a woman has no occasion for marrying-She need not be afraid to lie by herself. Tin. 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? L. Tru. Ah, but you are a man of so much knowledge, that you would always be laughing at my ignorance-You learned men are so apt to despise one. Tin. No, child! I'll teach thee my principles-house.thou shouldst be as wise as I am in a week's time. L. Tru. Do you think your principles would make a woman the better wife? Tin. Pr'ythee, widow, don't be queer. L. Tru. I love a gay temper, but I would not have you rally things that are serious. Tin. Well enough, faith!-Where's the jest of rallying any thing else? Ab. Ah, madam, did you ever hear Mr Fantome talk at this rate? [Aside. Tin. But where's this ghost; this son of a whore of a drummer? I'd fain hear him, methinks. Ab. Pray, madam, don't suffer him to give the ghost such ill language, especially when you have reason to believe it is my master. Tin. That's well enough, faith, Nab.-Dost think thy master so unreasonable as to continue his claim to his relict after his bones are laid? Pray, widow, remember the words of your contract: you have fulfilled them to a tittle-Did not you marry Sir George to the tune of till Death us do part? L. Tru. I must not hear Sir George's memory treated in so slight a manner. This fellow must have been at some pains to make himself such a finished coxcomb. [Aside. Tin. Give me but possession of your person, and I'll whirl 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 comedy, played at an assembly, and ambled in a ball or two, has been so little afraid of bug-bears, that she has ventured home in a chair at all hours of the night. [Aside. Ab. Hum!-Sauce-box! Tin. '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 -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. L. Tru. Well, then, you have an opportunity of shewing 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. Tin. 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? L. Tru. No, you're deceived! 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. Tin. How! Ab. That's well put, madam. Tin. Why, faith, I have been looking upon this house, and think it is the prettiest habitation I ever saw in my life. L. Tru. Ay, but then this cruel drum! Tin. For my part, I like this Gothic way of building better than any of your new orders-it would be a thousand pities it should fall to ruin. L. Tru. Ay, but the drum ! Tin. How pleasantly we two could pass our time in this delicious situation! Our lives would be a continued dream of happiness. Come, faith, widow, let's go upon the leads, and take a view of the country. L. Tru. Ay, but the drum! the drum ! Tin. My dear, take my word for it, 'tis all fancy: besides, should he drum in thy very bed-chamber, I should only hug thee the closer. Clasp'd in the folds of love, I'd meet my doom, And act my joys, though thunder shook the [Exeunt. room. ACT II. SCENE I.—Opens, and discovers VELLUM in his enquires after you, tive him admittance. He Office, and a Letter in his Hand. passes for a conjuror, ut is really 'G. TRUMAN. Enter Butler. But. Sir, here's a strange old gentleman that asks for you: he says he's a conjuror, but he looks very suspicious: I wish he ben't a jesuit. Vel. Admit him immediately. But. I wish he ben't a jesuit; but he says nothing but a conjuror. he's Vei. He says right-he is no more than a conjuror. Bring him in, and withdraw. [Exit Butler.] -And fourthly, as I was saying, because Enter Butler, with Sir GEORGE. But. Sir, here is the conjuror-What a devilish long beard he has! I warrant it has been growing these hundred years. [Aside.] [Exit. Sir Geo. Dear Vellum, you have received my letter; but before we proceed, lock the door. Vel It is his voice. [Shuts the door. Sir Geo. In the next place, help me off with this cumbersome cloak. Vel. 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 newspapers in the list of those that were slain. Sir Geo. 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 several months. Upon my release, I was resolved to surprise my wife with the news of my being alive. I know, Vellum, you are a person of so much penetration, that I need no use any further arguments to convince you that I am so. Vel. I am-and moreover, I quesion not but your good lady will likewise be convinced of it. Her honour is a discerning lady. Vel. But her character is unblemished. She has been as virtuous in your absence as a Penelope. Sir Geo. And has had as many suitors. Vel. But she has rejected all. Sir Geo. There thou revivest me.-But what means this Tinsel? Are his visits acceptable? Vel. He is young. Sir Geo. Does she listen to him? Sir Geo. Sure she could never entertain a thought of marrying such a coxcomb! Vel. He is not ill made. Sir Geo. Are the vows and protestations that passed between us come to this? I cann't bear the thought of it! Is Tinsel the man designed for my worthy successor ? Vel. You do not consider that you have been dead these fourteen months. Sir Geo. Was there ever such a dog! [Aside. Vel. And I have often heard her say, that she must never expect to find a second Sir George Truman-meaning your ho—nour. Sir Geo. I think she loved me! But I must search into this story of the drummer, before I discover myself to her. I have put on this habit. of a conjuror, in order to introduce myself. 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. Vel. I am going to lay my accounts before my lady, and I will endeavour to prevail upon her Sir Geo. I am only afraid she should be con-ho-nour to admit the trial of your art. vinced of it to her sorrow. Is she not pleased with her imaginary widowhoot? Tell me truly: -was she afflicted at the report of my death? Vel. Sorely. Sir Geo. How long did ler grief last ? Vel. Longer than I have known any widow's -at least three days. Sir Geo. Three dayssay'st thou? Three whole days! I'm afraid thou atterest me.-Oh, woman, woman! Vel. Grief is twold. Sir Geo. This lockhead is as methodical as ever-but I knowe is honest. [Aside Sir Geo. I have scarce heard of any of these stories, that did not arise from a love intrigue. Amours raise as many ghosts as murders. Vel. Mrs Abigail endeavours to persuade us that 'tis your ho-nour who troubles the house. Sir Geo. That convinces me 'tis a cheat; for I think, Vellum, I may be pretty well assured it is not me. Vel. I am apt to think so, truly; ha, ha, ha! Sir Geo. Abigail 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 hanged if this ghost is not one of Abigail's familiars. Vel. Mrs Abigail has of late been very myste Vel. There is real grief, and there is a methodical grief. She was drowned in tears till such time as the tar had made her widow's weeds-❘rious. Indeed they came her. Sir Geo. ecame her! and was that her comfort? Trub a most seasonable consolation. 1, 1st needs say she paid a due regard to Sir Geo. I fancy, Vellum, thou couldst worm it out of her. I know formerly there was an amour between you. Vel. Mrs Abigail hath her allurements; and she knows I have picked up a competency in your ho- | nour's service. Sir Geo. If thou hast, all I ask of thee, in return, is, that thou wouldst immediately renew thy addresses to her. Coax her up. Thou hast such a silver tongue, Vellum, as 'twill be impossible for her to withstand. Besides, she is so very a woman, that she'll like you 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. Vel. Mrs Abigail was never deaf to me, when I talked upon that subject. I will take an opportunity of addressing myself to her in the most pathetic manner. Sir Geo. 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 employed to lay himself. Vel. You act, indeed, a threefold part in this house: you are a ghost, a conjuror, and my ho— noured master, Sir George Truman; he, he, he! You will pardon me for being jocular. Sir Geo. Oh, Mr Vellum, with all my heart! You know I love you men of wit and humour. Be as merry as thou pleasest, so thou dost thy business. [Mimicking him.] You will remember, Vellum, your commission is twofold: first, to gain admission for me to your lady, and secondly, to get the secret out of Abigail. Vel. It sufficeth. [The scene shuts. Enter Lady TRUMAN. L. Tru. 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 them professed 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 obliged to provide for them. But of all my captives, Mr Tinsel is the most extraordinary in his kind. I hope the diversion I give myself 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 Abigail: I must tease the baggage; for I find she has taken it into her head that I'm entirely at her disposal. Enter ABIGAIL. Ab. 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 enlarged; for truly,'says he, I hate to be straitened. Nay, he was so impudent as to shew me the chamber where he intends to consummate, as he calls it. L. Tru. Well, he's a wild fellow. Ab. Indeed he's a very sad man, madam. L. Tru. He's young, Abigail : 'tis a thousand pities he should be lost: I should be mighty glad to reform him. Ab. Reform him! Marry, hang him. L. Tru. Has he not a great deal of life? Ab. Ay, enough to make your heart ache. L. Tru. I dare say thou think'st him a very agreeable fellow. Ab. He thinks himself so, I'll answer for him. Ab. He ought to be so; for he's very silly. L. Tru. With what raptures he talked ! Ab. Yes; but 'twas in praise of your jointurehouse. L. Tru. He has kept bad company. Ab. They must be very bad indeed, if they were worse than himself. L. Tru. I have a strong fancy a good woman might reform him. Ab. It would be a fine experiment, if it should not succeed. L. Tru. Well, Abigail, we'll talk of that another time. Here comes the steward. I have no further occasion for you at present. [Exit AB. Enter VELLUM. Vel. 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. L. Tru. How comes that to pass? I hope the drum neither eats nor drinks. But read your account, Vellum. Vel. [Putting on and off his spectacles in this scene.] A hogshead and a half of ale.-It is not for the ghost's drinking; but your honour'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. L. Tru. At this rate, they'll take care to be frightened all the year round, I'll answer for them. But go on. Vel. Item, Two sheep and a-Where is the ox?-Oh, here I have him--and an ox-Your honour must always have a piece of cold beef in the house, for the entertainment of so many strangers, who come from all parts to hear 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. L. Tru. Sure no woman in England has a steward that makes such ingenious comments on his works! [Aside. Vel. Item, To Mr Tinsel's servants five bottles of port wine-It was by your honour's order. |