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SCENE I.-A great hall.
the cellar last night, that I'm afraid he'll sour
all the beer in my barrels. Enter the BUTLER, Coachman, and GARDENER.
Coach. Why, then, John, we ought to take it off But. There came another coach to town last as fast as we can.--Here's to you. He rattled so night, that brought a gentleman to inquire about loud under the tiles last night, that I verily this strange noise we hear in the house. This thought the house would have fallen over our spirit will bring a power of custom to the George. heads. I durst not go up into the cock-loft this
-If so be he continues his pranks, I design to morning, if I had not got one of the maids to go sell a pot of ale, and set up the sign of the drum. along with me.
Coach. I'll give madam warning, that's flat- Gard. I thought I hcard him in one of my I've always lived in sober families-- I'll not dis- bed-posts. I marvel, John, how he gets into the parage myself to be a servant in a house that is house, when all the gates are shut ! haunted.
But. Why, look ye, Peter, your spirit will Gard. I'll e'en marry Nell, and rent a bit of creep you into an augre-holche'll whisk ground of my own, if both of you leave madam; ye through a key-hole, without so much as justnot but that madam is a very good woman, ifling against one of the wards. Mrs Abigail did not spoil her:- Come, here's Coach. Poor madam is mainly frighted, that's her health,
certain; and verily believes it is my master, that But. Tis a very hard thing to be a butler in a was killed in the last campaign. housc that is disturbed. He made such a racket But. Out of all manner of question, Robin, 'tis sir George. Mrs Abigail is of opinion, it ghost, I'd tell him his own. But, alack ! what can be none but his honour. He always liked can one of us poor men do with a spirit, that can the wars; and, you know, was mightly pleased, neither write nor read ? from a child, with the music of a druin.
But. Thou art always cracking and boastGard. I wonder his body was never founding, Peter; thou dost not know what mischief after the battle.
it might do thee, if such a silly dog as thee But. Found ! Why, ye fool, is not his body should offer to speak to it. For aught I know, here about the house? Dost thon think he can he might flea thee alive, and make parchment of beat his drum without hands and arms?
thy skin, to cover his drum with. Coach. "Tis master, as sure as I stand here Gard. A fiddlestick! tell not me-I fear noalive; and I verily believe I saw him last night thing, not l. I never did harın in my life; I in the town-close.
never committed murder. Gard. Ay! How did he appear?
But. I verily believe thce. Keep thy temCoach. Like a white horse.
per, Peter; after supper we'll drink each of us But. Phoo, Robin! I tell ye he has never ap- a double mug, and then let come what will. peared yet, but in the shape of the sound of a Gard. Why, that's well said, John-An honest drum.
man, that is not quite sober, has nothing to fearCoach. This makes one almost afraid of one's Here's to ye- -Why, now, if he should come own shadow. As I was walking from the stable this minute, here would I stand-Ha! what t'other night, without my lanthorn, I fell across a noise is that? beain that lay in my way; and faith my heart But. Coach. Ha ! where? was in my mouth. I thought I had stumbled Gard. The devil! the devil! Oh, no, 'tis Mrs over a spirit!
Abigail. But. I'hou might'st as well have stumbled over But. Ay, faith! 'tis she; 'tis Mrs Abigail ! A a straw. Why, a spirit is such a little thing, good mistake; 'tis Mrs Abigail. that I have heard a man, who was a great scholar, say, that he'll dance you a Lancashire horn
Enter ABIGAIL. pipe upon the point of a needle. As I sat in the Abi. Here are your drunken sots for you! Is pantry last night, counting my spoons, the candle, this a time to be guzzling, when gentry are come methought, burnt blue, and the spayed bitch to the house! Why don't you lay your cloth? looked as if she saw something.
How come you out of the stables ? Why are you Coach. Ay, poor cur, she is almost frightened not at work in your garden? out of her wits!
Gard. Why, yonder's the fine Londoner and maGard. Ay, I warrant ye, she hears him, many dam fetching a walk together; and, methought, a time and often, when we don't.
they looked as if they should say, they had rather But. My lady must have him laid, that's cer- have my room than my company, tain, whatever it cost her.
But. And so, forsooth, being all three met tnGard. I fancy, when one goes to market, one gether, we are doing our endeavours to drink might hear of somebody that can make a spell
. this same drummer out of our heads. Coach. Why, may not the parson of our parish Gard. For you must know, Mrs Abigail, we lay him?
are all of opinion, that one cannot be a match But. No, no, no; our parson cannot lay him. for him, unless one be as drunk as a drum. Coach. Why not he, as well as another man? Coach. I am resolved to give madain warning
But. Why, ye fool, he is not qualified. He to hire herself another coachman; for I came to has not taken the oaths.
serve my master, d'ye see, while he was alive; Gard. Why, d'ye think, John, that the spirit but do suppose that he has no further occasion would take the law of him? Faith, I could tell for a coach, now he walks. you one way to drive him off.
But. Truly, Mrs Abigail
, I must needs say, Couch. How's that?
that this spirit is a very odd sort of a body, after Gard. I'll tell you immediately.--[Drinks.]— all, to fright madam, and his old servants, at I fancy Mrs Abigail might scold him out of the this rate. house.
Gard. And truly, Mrs Abigail, I must needs Coach. Ay, she has a tongue that would drown say, I served my master contentedly, while he his drum, if any thing could.
was living; but I will serve no man living (that But. Pugh, this is all froth; you understand is, no man that is not living) without double nothing of the matter. The next time it makes wages. a noise, I tell you what ought to be done--I Abi. Ay, 'tis such cowards as you that go would have the steward speak Latin to it. about with idle stories, to disgrace the house, and
Coach. Ay, that would do, if the steward had bring so many strangers about it: you first frighten. but courage.
yourselves, and then your neighbours. Gard. There you have it. He's a fearful man. Gard. Frightened! I scorn your words: frightIf I had as much learning as he, and I met the ened, quotha !
Abi. What, you sot ! are you grown pot-va- could withstand him-But, when you were seen biant?
by my lady in your proper person, after she had Gurd. Frightened with a drum ! that's a good taken a full survey of you, and heard all the one! It will do us no barm, I'll answer for it: pretty things you could say, she very civilly disit will bring no blood-shed along with it, take my missed you for the sake of this empty, noisy creaword. It sounds as like a train-band drum as ture, Tinsel. She fancies you have been gone ever I heard in my life.
from hence this fortnight. But. Pr’ythee, Peter, don't be so presumptu- Fan. Why, really, I love thy lady so well, that,
though I had no hopes of gaining her for myself, Abi. Well, these drunken rogues take it as I | I could not bear to see her given to another, escould wish.
(Aside.pecially such a wretch as Tinsel. Gard, I scorn to be frightened, now I am in Abi. Well, tell me truly, Mr Fantome, have fort ; if old dub-a-dub come into the room, I not you a great opinion of my fidelity to my dear would take him
lady, that I would not suffer her to be deluded But. Prithce, hold thy tongue.
in this manner for less than a thousand pounds? Gard. I wonld take him
Fan. Thou art always reminding me of my pro[The drum beats: the Gardener endeavours mise-thou shalt have it, if thou canst bring our to get off, and falls.
project to bear: dost not know, that stories of Bul. Coach. Speak to it, Mrs Abigail ! ghosts and apparitions generally end in a pot of Gard. Spare my life, and take all I have! money?
Coach. Make vif, make off, good butler, and Abi, Why, truly, now, Mr Fantome, I should let us go hide ourselves in the cellar.
think myself a very bad woman, if I had done
(They all run off: what I do for a farthing less. Abi. So, now the coast is clear, I may venture Fon. Dear Abigail, how I admire thy virtue ! to call out iny drummer- But first, let me shut Abi. No, no, Mr Fantome; I defy the worst of the door, lest we be surprised. Mr Fantome ! my enemies to say I love mischief for mischief's Mr Fantome !-(He beuls ]-Nay, nay, pray
sake. come out: the enemy's fled -I must speak Fan. But is thy lady persuaded that I'm the with you immediately-Don't stay to beat a ghost of her deceased husband ? parlev.
Abi. I endeavour to make her believe so: and [The back scene opens, and discovers Fan- tell her, every time your drum rattles, that her TOME with a drum.
husband is chiding her for entertaining this new Fan. Dear Mrs Nabby, I have overheard all lover. that has been said, and find thou hast managed Fan. Prithee, make use of all thy art: for I'ın this thing so well, that I could take thee in my tired to death with strolling round this wide old arms and kiss thee-If my drum did not stand house, like a rat behind the wainscoat. in my way
Abi. Did not I tell you, 'twas the purest place Abi. Well, o' my conscience, you are the mer in the world for you to play your tricks in ? riest ghost! and the very picture of sir George There's none of the family that knows every hole Truman.
and corner in it, besides myself. Fan. There you flatter me, Mrs Abigail : sir Fun. Ah, Mrs Abigail ! You have had your George had that freshness in his looks, that we intriguesmen of the town cannot come up to.
Abi. For, you must know, when I was a rompAbi. Oh, death may have altered you, you ing young girl, I was a mighty lover of hide and know-Besides, you must consider, you lost a seck. great deal of blood in the battle.
Fan. I believe, by this time, I an well Fan. Aye, that's right; let me look never so quainted with the house as yourself. pale, this cut cross my forehead will keep me in Abi. You are very much mistaken, Mr Fancountenance.
tome: but no matter for that; bere is to be your Abi. 'Tis just such a one as my master received station to-night. This place is unknown to any from a cursed French trooper, as my lady's letter one living, besides myself, since the death of the informed her.
joiner, who, you must understand, being a lover - Fun. It happens luckily, that this soit of of mine, contrived the wainscoat to move to and clothes of sir George's fits me so well-I think fro, in the manner that you find it. I designed I cannot fail hitting the air of a man with whom it for a wardrobe for my lady's clothes. Oh, the I was so long acquainted.
stomachers, stays, petticoats, commodes, laced Abi. You are the very inan—I vow I almost shocs, and good things, that I have had in it! start, when I look upon you.
Pray, take care you don't break the cherry branFan. But what good will this do me, if I must dy bottle, that stands up in the corner. remain invisible?
Fun. Well, Mrs Abigail, I hire your closet of Abi. Pray, what good did your being visible do you but for this one night-A thousand pounds you? The fair Mr Fantome thought no woman you know, is a very good rent.
Abi. Well, get you gone: you have such a way for once, if it be but to see what this wench with you, there's no denying you any thing.
(Aside. Fan. I am thinking how Tinsel will stare, when Abi. Why, suppose your husband, after this he sees me come out of the wall; for I am re- fair warning he has given you, should sound you solved to make my appearance to-night.
an alarm at midnight; then open your curtains Abi. Get you in, get you in; my lady's at the with a face as pale as my apron, and cry out door.
with a hollow voice-What dost thou do in bed Fan. Pray, take care she does not keep me up with this spindle-shanked fellow? so late as she did last night, or, depend upon it, Lady True. Why wilt thou needs have it to be I'll beat the tattoo.
my husband ? He never had any reason to be ofAbi. I'm undone, I'm undone !As he is go- tended at me. I always loved him while he was ing in.)-Mr Fantome! Mr Fantome! Have living; and should prefer him to any man, were you put the thousand pound bond into my bro- he so still
. Mr Tinsel is, indeed, very idle in his ther's hand?
talk: but I fancy, Abigail, a discreet woman Fan. Thou shalt have it; I tell thee, thou might reform him. shalt bave it.
. That's a likely matter, indeed ! Did you
[FANTOME goes in. ever hear of a woman who had power over a Abi. No more words—Vanish, vanish! man when she was his wife, that had none while
she was his mistress? Oh, there's nothing in the Enter LADY TRUEMAN.
world improves a man in his complaisance like Abi. [Opening the door.]--Oh, dear madam, marriage ! was it you that made such a knocking? My heart Lady True. Ile is, indeed, at present, too fadoes so beat-I vow you have frighted me to miliar in his conversation. death--I thought, verily, it had been the drum- Abi. Familiar, madam! in troth, he's downmer.
right rude. Lady True. I have been shewing the garden to Lady True. But that, you know, Abigail, Mr Tinsel : he's most insufferably witty upon us, shews he has no dissimulation in him--Then about this story of the drum.
he is apt to jest a little too much upon grave Abi. Indeed, madam, he's a very loose man : subjects. I'm afraid 'tis he that hinders my poor master Abi. Grave subjects ! He jests upon the from resting in his grave.
All the while Mr Fantome Abi. My dear widow ! Marry come up! made his addresses to you, there was not a mouse
Aside. stirring in the family, more than used to be- Lady True. Let him alone, Abigail ; so long
Lady True. This baggage has some design up- as he does not call me my dear wife, there's no on me, more than I can yet discover.—[Aside.] — harm done. Mr Fantome was always thy favourite.
Tin. I have been most ridiculously diverted Abi. Aye, and should have been yours, too, by since I left you--Your servants have made a my consent. Mr Fantome was not such a slight convert of my booby: his head is so filled with fantastic thing as this is—Mr Fantome was the this foolish story of a drummer, that I expect the best built man one should see in a summer's day! rogue will be afraid hereafter to go a message by Mr Fantome was a man of honour, and loved | moon-light. you. Poor soul! how has he sighed, when he has Lady True. Aye, Mr Tinsel, what a loss of talked to me of my hard-hearted lady. Well, I billet-doux would that be to many a fine lady! had as lief as a thousand pounds, you would mar- Abi. Then you still believe this to be a foolish ry Mr Fantome.
story? I thought my lady had told you, that she Lady True. To tell thee truly, I loved him had heard it herself. well enough, till he loved me so much. But Mr Tin. Ha, ha, ha! Tinsel makes his court to me with so much ne- Abi. Why, you would not persuade us out of glect and indifference, and with such an agree- our senses? able sauciness-Not that I say I'll marry him. Tin. Ha, ha, ha!
Abi. Marry him, quotba! No-if you should, Abi. There's manners for you, madam! you'll be awakened sooner than married couples
[Aside. generally are-You'll quickly have a drum at Lady True. Admirably rallied! That' laugh your window.
was unanswerable! Now, I'll be hanged if you Lady True. I'll hide my contempt of Tinsel could forbear being witty upon me, if I should
tell you I heard it no longer ago than last night. cure you at once. Oh, we'd pass all our time in Tin. Fancy!
London. 'Tis the scene of pleasure and diverLady True. But what if I should tell you my sions, where there's something to amuse you maid was with me?
every hour of the day. Life's not life in the Tin. Vapours, vapours ! Pray, my dear widow, country. will you answer me one question? Had you ever Lady True. Well, then, you have an opportuthis noise of a drum in your head, all the while nity of shewing the sincerity of that love to me your husband was living? Believe me, madam, 1 which you profess. You may give a proof that could prescribe you a cure for these imagina- you have an affection to my person, not my jointions.
Abi. Don't tell my lady of imaginations, sir; I Tin. Your jointure! How can you think me have heard it myself.
such a dog? But, child, won't your jointure be Tin. Hark thee, child- -Art thou an old the same thing in London, as in the country? maid?
Lady True. No; you're deceived. You must Abi. Sir, if I am, it is my own fault.
know it is settled on me by inarriage articles, on Tin. Whims! Freaks! Megrims! indeed, Mrs condition that I live in this old mansion-house, Abigail.
and keep it up in repair. Abi. Marry, sir, by your talk, one would be- Tin. How! lieve you thought every thing that was good is a Abi. That's well put, madam. megrim.
Tin. Why, faith, I have been looking upon Lady True. Though you give no credit to sto- this house, and think it is the prettiest habitation ries of apparitions, I hope you believe there are I ever saw in my life. such things as spirits ?
Lady True. Aye, but then this cruel drum! Tin. Simplicity!
Tin. Something so venerable in it! Abi. I fancy you don't believe women have Lady True. Aye, but the drum! souls, d'ye, sir?
Tin. For my part, I like this Gothic way Tin. Foolish enough! But where's this ghost ? building better than any of your new orders this son of a whore of a drummer? I'd fain hear it would be a thousand pities it should fall to him, methinks.
ruin. Abi. Pray, madam, don't suffer him to give the Lady True. Aye, but the drum! ghost such ill language, especially when you have Tin. How pleasantly we two could pass our reason to believe it is my master.
time in this delicious situation ! Our lives would Tin. That's well enough, faith, Nab; dost be a continued dream of happiness Comé, thou think thy master so unreasonable, as to faith, widow, let's go upon the leads, and take a continue his claiin to his relict after his bones view of the country. are laid? Pray, widow, remember the words of Lady True. Aye, but the drum! the drum! your contract—you have fulfilled them to a tittle Tin. My dear, take my word for it, 'tis all --Did not you 'marry sir George to the tune of fancy: besides, should he drum in thy very bedTill death us do part?
chamber, I should only hug thee the closer. Lady True. I must not hear sir George's memory treated in so slight a manner.
Clasped in the folds of love, I'd meet my doom, Tin. Give me but possession of your person,
And act my joys, though thunder shook the and I'll whirl you up to town for a winter, and
in a black cloak, enquires after you, give him SCENE I.–Opens and discovers Vellum in his
6 admittance. He passes for a conjurer, but is office, and a letter in his hand.
really Vel. This letter astonisheth; may I believe
"Your faithful friend, my own eyes-or rather my spectacles-To
"G. TRUEMAN. Humphrey Vellum, esq. steward to the lady * P.S. Let this be a secret, and you shall find Trueman.
your account in it.'
This amazeth me! and yet the reasons why I • VELLUM,
should believe he is still living are manifoldI doubt not but you will be glad to hear your First, because this has often been the case of • master is alive, and designs to be with you in other military adventurers. Secondly, because
half an hour. The report of my being slain in this news of his death was first published in • the Netherlands, has, I find, produced some Dyer's Letter. Thirdly, because this letter can • disorders in my family. I am now at the be written by none but himself I know his George Inn. It an old man with a grey beard, band, and manner of spelling. Fourthly