SCENE I.

Enter VELLUM and Butler. Vel. John, I have certain orders to give you -and therefore be attentive.

But. Attentive! Ay, let me alone for that.-I suppose he means being sober. [Aside. Vel. You know I have always recommended to you a method in your busines: I would have your knives and forks, your spoons and napkins, your plate and glasses, laid in a method.

But. Ay, Master Vellum! you are such a sweet-spoken man, it does one's heart good to receive your orders.

Vel. Method, John, makes business easy: it banishes all perplexity and confusion out of families. But. How he talks! I could hear him all day. Vel. And now, John, let me know whether your table-linen, your side-board, your cellar, and every thing else within your province, are properly and methodically disposed for an entertainment this evening.

But. 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 conjuror? Vel. It is, John, for the conjuror, and yet it is not for the conjuror.

But. Why, look you, Master Vellum, if it is for the conjuror, the cook-maid should have orders to get him some dishes to his palate. Perhaps he may like a little brimstone in his sauce.

Vel. This conjuror, John, is a complicated creature, an amphibious animal, a person of a twofold nature-But he eats and drinks like other men. But. Marry, Master Vellum, he should eat and drink as much as two other men, by the account you give of him.

Vel. Thy conceit is not amiss: he is indeed a double man; ha, ha, ha!

But. Ha! I understand you; he's one of your hermaphrodites, as they call them.

Vel. He is married, and he is not marriedHe hath a beard, and he hath no beard-He is old, and he is young.

But. How charmingly he talks! I fancy, Master Vellum, you could make a riddle. The same man old and young! How do you make that out, Master Vellum?

Vel. Thou hast heard of a snake casting his skin, and recovering his youth. Such is this sage person.

But. Nay, 'tis no wonder a conjuror should be like a serpent.

Vel. When he has thrown aside the old conjuror's slough that hangs about him, he'licome out as fine a young gentleman as ever was seen in this house.

But. Does he intend to sup in his slough?
Vel. That time will shew.

But. Well, I have not a head for these things. Indeed, Mr Vellum, I have not understood one word you have said this half bour.

Vel. I did not intend thou shouldst.-But to our business.-Let there be a table spread in the great hall. Lt your pots and glasses be washed, and in a readiness. Bid the cook provide a plentiful supper; and see that all the servants are in their best liveries.

But. Ay, now I understand every word you say. But I would rather hear you talk a little in that t'other way.

Vel I shall explain to thee what I have said by and by.-Bid Susan lay two pillows upon your la dy's bed.

But Two pillows! Madam won't sleep upon them both! She is not a double woman too?

Vel. She will sleep upon neither.—But hark, Mrs Abigail; I think I hear her chiding the cookmaid.

But. 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.

[Exit Butler.

Vel. Servants are good for nothing, unless they have an opinion of the person's understanding who has the direction of them.-But see, Mrs Abigail! she has a bewitching countenance: I wish I may not be tempted to marry her in good

earnest.

Enter ABIGAIL.

Ab. Ha! Mr Vellum.

Vel. What brings my sweet one hither?

Ab. I am coming to speak to my friend behind the wainscot. It is fit, child, he should have an account of this conjuror, that he may not be surprised.

Vel. That would be as much as thy thousand pounds is worth.

Ab. I'll speak low-Walls have ears.

[Pointing at the wainscot. Vel. But hark you, duckling! be sure you do not tell him that I am let into the secret.

Ab. That's a good one indeed! as if I should ever tell what passes between you and me. Vel. No, no, my child, that must not be! he, he, he! that must not be; he, he, he!

Ab. You will always be waggish. Vel. Adieu, and let me hear the result of your conference.

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

Vel. Adieu, my pretty one!
Ab. Adieu, sweet Mr Vellum !
Vel. My pretty one!

As he is going of.

Ab. Dear Mr Vellum! Vel. My pretty one! [Exit. Ab. I have him-If I can but get this thousand pounds.

[FANT. gives three raps upon his drum behind the wainscot.

Ab. Ha! Three raps upon the drum! the sig nal Mr Fantome and I agreed upon, when he had a mind to speak with me. [FANTOME raps again. Very well, I hear you.-Come, fox, come out of your hole.

SCENE II-Opens, and FANTOME comes out.

Ab. You may leave your drum in the wardrobe, till you have occasion for it.

Fan. Well, Mrs Abigail, I want to hear what's doing in the world.

Ab. You are a very inquisitive spirit. But I must tell you, if you do not take care of yourself, you will be laid this evening.

Fun. I have overheard something of that matter. But let me alone for the doctor-I'll engage to give a good account of him. I am more in pain about Tinsel. When a lady's in the case, I'm more afraid of one fop than twenty conjurors. Ab. 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.

Fan. 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,

Ab. Pray, no more of your distant bows, your respectful compliments-Really, Mr Fantome, you're only fit to make love across a tea-table.

Fan. My dear girl, I cann't forbear hugging thee for thy good advice.

Ab. Ay, now I have some hopes of you; but why don't you do so to my lady?

Fan. Child, I always thought your lady loved to be treated with respect.

Ab. Believe me, Mr Fantome, there is not so great a difference between woman and woman ås you imagine. You see Tinsel has nothing but his sauciness to recommend him.

Fan. Tinsel is too great a coxcomb to be capable of love-And let me tell thee, Abigail, a man who is sincere in his passion makes but a very awkward profession of it--But I'll mend my manners.

Ab. 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 yourself. Fan. I'm afraid, child, we ha'n't time for such a piece of mummery.

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

Fan. Why, then, dear Mrs Ab- -I mean, my lady Truman.

Ab. Ay, but you ha'n't saluted me.

Fan. That's right: faith, I forgot that circumstance. [Kisses her.] Nectar and ambrosia !

Ab. That's very well.

Fan. How long must I be condemned to languish? When shall my sufferings have an end? My life, my happiness, my all is wound up in you.

Ab. Well, why don't you squeeze my hand ? Fan. What! thus?

Ab. 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.

Fan. Transport and ecstacy! Where am I?My life, my bliss!-I rage, I burn, I bleed, I die! Ab. Go on, go on.

Fan. Flames and darts-Bear me to the gloomy shade, rocks, and grottos-flowers, zephyrs, and purling streams.

Ab. Oh, Mr Fantome, you have a tongue would undo a vestal! You were born for the ruin of our sex.

Fan. This will do then, Abigail?

Ab. Ay, this is talking like a lover; though I only represent my lady, I take pleasure in hearing you. Well, o' my conscience, 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 pounds is as good as in my pocket. Fan. I shall think it an age till I have an opportunity of putting this lesson in practice.

Ab. 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 conjuror is to take you in hand.

Fan. Let me alone with both of them.

Ab. Well! forewarn'd, fore-arm'd.-Get into your box, and I'll endeavour to dispose every thing in your favour.

[FANTOME goes in. Exit ABIGAIL.

very high-She is to have no less for it than this entire person of mine.

Vel. Is your whole estate personal, Mr Tinsel -he, he, he!

Tin. 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.

Vel. [Aside.] An insolent companion! Tin. Thou'rt confounded rich, I see, by that dangling of thy arms.

Vel. [Aside.] An ungracious bird!

Tin. Thou shalt lend me a couple of thousand pounds.

Vel. [Aside.] A very profligate! Tin. Look ye, Vellum, I intend to be kind to you--I'll borrow some money of you.

Vel. I cannot but smile to consider the disappointment this young fellow will meet with: I will make myself merry with him. [Aside.]-And so, Mr Tinsel, you promise you will be a very kind master to me. [Stifling a laugh. Tin. What will you give for a life in the house you live in?

Vel. What do you think of five hundred pounds? —Ha, ha, ha !

L. Tru. I wish the fool does not love me. [Aside. Tin. Thou art the idol I adore: here must I pay my devotion.-Pr'ythee, widow, hast thou any timber upon thy estate?

L. Tru. The most impudent fellow I ever met with. [Aside. Tin. I take notice thou hast a great deal of old plate here in the house, widow.

L. Tru. Mr Tinsel, you are a very observing man.

Tin. Thy large silver cistern would make a very good coach, and half a dozen salvers, that I saw on the sideboard, might be turned into six as pretty horses as any that appear in the ring.

Tin. That's too little.

Vel. First, because the tenement is not in your disposal; and, secondly, because it never will be in your disposal; and so fare thee well, good Mr Tinsel. Ha, ha, ha! You will pardon me for being jocular. [Exit VELLUM. Tin. This rogue is as saucy as the conjuror : I'll be hanged if they are not a-kin.

Enter Lady TRUMAN.

L. Tru. Mr Tinsel! What! all alone? You free-thinkers are great admirers of solitude.

Tin. 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?

L. Tru. I keep him for my steward, and not my companion: He's a sober man.

Tin. 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.

L. Tru. Indeed you're mistaken: he has always had the reputation of being a very honest

man.

Tin. What! I suppose he goes to church. L. Tru. Goes to church! So do you too, I hope.

Tin. I would for once, widow, to make sure of you.

L. Tru. Ah, Mr Tinsel ! a husband who would not continue to go thither would quickly forget the promises he made there.

Tin. Faith, very innocent, and very ridiculous! Well then, I warrant thee, widow, thou wouldst not for the world marry a Sabbath-breaker!

china, my dear.

L. Tru. I perceive you are an excellent manager-How quickly you have taken an inventory of my goods.

Tin. Now, hark ye, widow, to shew you the love that I have for you

L. Tru. Very well, let me hear.

Tin. You have an old-fashioned gold caudlecup, with a figure of a saint upon the lid on't. L. Tru. I have:-What then?

Tin. Why, look ye, I'd sell the caudle-cup with the old saint, for as much money as they'd fetch, which I would convert into a diamond buckle, and make you a present of it.

L. Tru. 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. Tin. My dear, I love every thing that belongs to you.

L. Tru. I see you do, sir: you need not make any protestations upon that subject.

Tin. 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.

L. Tru. Believe me, sir, whatever you think, marriage is a serious subject.

Tin. For that very reason, my dear, let us run over it as fast as we can.

L. Tru. I should be very much in haste for a husband, if I married within fourteen months after Sir George's decease.

Tin. Pray, my dear, let me ask you a question :-Dost not thou think that Sir George is as dead at present, to all intents and purposes, as he will be a twelvemonth hence?

L. Tru. Yes; but decency, Mr TinselTin. Or dost thou think thou'lt be more a dow then than thou art now?

L. Tru. The world would say I never loved my first husband.

Tin. Ah, my dear, they would say you loved your second; and they would own I deserved it; for I shall love thee most inordinately.

L. Tru. But what would people think? Tin. Think! Why, they would think thee the mirror of widowhood- That a woman should 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 second husband several years before the death of the first.

L. Tru. Ay, I know you wits have your common-place jests upon us poor widows.

Tin. 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 herself to two young fellows of my acquaintance. They grew such desperate rivals for her, while her husband was alive, that one of them pinked the 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 given her first promise.

L. Tru. And is this a true story, upon your own knowledge?

Tin. Every tittle, as I hope to be married, or never believe Tom Tinsel.

L. Tru. Pray, Mr Tinsel, do you call this talking like a wit, or like a rake?

Tin. Innocent enough! He, he, he! Why, where's the difference, my dear?

L. Tru. Yes, Mr Tinsel, the only man I ever loved in my life had a great deal of the one, and nothing of the other in him.

Tin. Nay, now you grow vapourish: thou'lt begin to fancy thou hearest the drum by and by. L. Tru. If you had been here last night about this time, you would not have been so merry. Tin. About this time, say'st thou ? Come, faith, for humour's sake, we'll sit down and listen.

L. Tru. I will, if you'll promise to be serious. Tin. Serious! Never fear me, child; ha, ha, ha!-Dost not hear him?

L. Tru. You break your word already.-Pray, Mr Tinsel, do you laugh to shew your wit or your teeth?

Tin. Why, both, my dear.-I'm glad, however, that she has taken notice of my teeth. [Aside.] But you look serious, child: I fancy thou hearest the drum-dost not?

L. Tru. Don't talk so rashly.

Tin. Why, my dear, you could not look more frighted if you had Lucifer's drum-major in your house.

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

Tin. Child, I thought I had told you what is my opinion of spirits, as we were drinking a dish

-There is no such thing, I

L. Tru. Õh, Mr Tinsel, your authority must be of great weight to those that know you. Tin. For my part, child, I have made myself easy in those points.

L. Tru. Sure nothing was ever like this fellow's vanity but his ignorance. [Aside.

Tin. I'll tell thee what, now, widow-I would engage, by the help of a white sheet, and a pennyworth of link, in a dark night, to frighten you a whole country village out of their senses, and the vicar into the bargain. [Drum beats.] Hark! hark! what noise is that? Heaven defend us! This is more than fancy.

L. Tru. It beats more terrible than ever.

Tin. 'Tis very dreadful !—What a dog have I been, to speak against my conscience only to shew my parts?

L. Tru. It comes nearer and nearer. I wish you have not angered it, by your foolish discourse. Tin. Indeed, madam, I did not speak from my heart. I hope it will do me no hurt for a little harmless raillery.

L. Tru. Harmless, d'ye call it ?-It beats hard by us, as if it would break through the wall.

Tin. What a devil had I to do with a white sheet?-[Scene opens, and discovers FANTOME.] Mercy on us, it appears!

L. Tru. Oh, 'tis he! 'tis he himself! 'tis Sir George! 'tis my husband! [She faints.

Tin. Now would I give ten thousand pounds that I were in town. [FANTOME advances to him drumming.] I beg ten thousand pardons: I'll never talk at this rate any more. [FANTOME still advances drumming.] By my soul, Sir George, I was not in earnest. [Falls on his knees.] Have compassion on my youth, and consider I am but a coxcomb. [FANTOME points to the door.] But see, he waves me off-Ay, with all my heartWhat a devil had I to do with a white sheet? [He steals off the stage, mending his pace as the drum beats.

Fan. The scoundrel is gone, and has left his mistress behind him. I'm mistaken if he makes love in this house any more- -I have now only the conjuror 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 cupboard. [He goes in.

Enter ABIGAIL and Servants. Ab. 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. [They carry her off] This is a little barbarous to my lady; but 'tis all for her good: and I know her so well, that she would not be angry with me, if she knew what I was to get by it. And if any of her friends should blame me for it hereafter,

I'll clap my hand upon my purse, and tell 'em, 'Twas for a thousand pounds, and Mr Vellum. [Exit.

SCENE I.

Enter Sir GEORGE, in his Conjuror's Habit; the Butler marching before him, with two large

Candles, and the two Servants coming after him, one bringing a little Table, and another a Chair.

But. An't please your worship, Mr Conjuror, 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.

Sir Geo. Thou say'st well.

ret him out of that old wall in the next roomSir Geo. We shall try.

Gard. That's right, John. His worship must let fly all his learning at that old wall.

But. Sir, if I was worthy to advise you, I would have a bottle of good October by me. Shall I set a cup of old stingo at your elbow? Sir Geo. I thank thee-we shall do without it. Gard. John, he seems a very good-natured man for a conjuror.

But. I'll take this opportunity of enquiring after a bit of plate I have lost. I fancy, whilst he is in

two into the bargain.-Sir, sir, may I beg a word in your ear.

Sir Geo. What wouldst thou?

But. Sir, I know I need not tell you that I lost one of my silver spoons last week.

Sir Geo. Marked with a swan's neck.

But. My lady's crest! He knows every thing. [Aside.]--How would your worship advise me

Sir Geo. Paper, and pen, and ink.

But. Sir, I believe we have paper that is fit for your purpose-my lady's mourning paper, that is blacked at the edges.-Would you choose to write with a crow-quill?

Sir Geo. There is none better.

But. Coachman, go fetch the paper and standish out of the little parlour.

Couch. [To Gard.] Peter, pr'ythee, 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.

But. Why, you don't think I'll stay with the conjuror by myself?

Gard. Come, we'll all three go and fetch the pen and ink together. [Exeunt Servants. Sir Geo. There's nothing, I see, makes such strong alliances as fear. These fellows are all entered into a confederacy against the ghost. There must be abundance of business done in the family at this rate. But here comes the triplealliance. Who could have thought these three rogues could have found each of them an employment in fetching a pen and ink!

Enter Gardener with a sheet of Paper, Coachman with a Standish, and Butler with a Pen. Gard. Sir, there is your paper. Coach. Sir, there is your standish. But. Sir, there is your crow-quill pen—I'm glad I have got rid on't.

[Aside.

Gard. [Aside.] He forgets that he's to make a circle Doctor, shall I help you to a bit of

chalk?

Sir Geo. It is no matter.

But. Look ye, sir, I shewed you the spot where he's heard oftenest. If your worship can but fer

Sir Geo. Hum.

But. What must I do to come at it? Sir Geo. Drink nothing but small-beer for a fortnight.

But. Small-beer! Rot-gut!

Sir Geo. If thou drink'st a single drop of ale before fifteen days are expired-it is as much -as thy spoon- -is worth.

But. I shall never recover it in that wayI'll e'en buy a new one.

[Aside

Coach. D'ye mind how they whisper? Gard. I'll be hanged if he be not asking him something about Nell.

Coach. I'll take this opportunity of putting a question to him about poor Dobbin. I fancy he could give me better counsel than the farrier.

But. [To Gard.] A prodigious man! he knows every thing. Now is the time to find out thy pick-axe.

Gard. I have nothing to give him. Does not he expect to have his hand cross'd with silver? Coach. [To Sir GEO.] Sir, may a man venture to ask you a question?

Sir Geo. Ask it.