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LANTE.

names—I wunna tell you who my master is, se ye, my thoughts were not over-strong for a nunnery, me now?

father. Ped. And who are you, rascal, that know my Lop. Your daughter has played you a slippery daughter so well? ba! [Holds up his cane. trick, too, signior.

Lis. What shall I say, to make him give this Ped. But your son shall never be the better Scotch dog a good beating? [Aside. — I know for it, my lord; her twenty thousand pounds was your daughter, signior! Not I; I never saw your left on certain conditions, and I'll not part with daughter in all my life.

a shilling. Gib. (Knocks him down with his fist.] Deel ha Lop. But we have a certain thing, called law, my saul, sar, gin ye get no your carich for that shall make you do justice, sir. lie now.

Ped. Well, we'll try that—my lord, much good Ped. What, hoa! where are all my servants ? it do you with your daughter-in-law. [Exit, Enter Colonel, Felix, ISABELLA, and V10

Lop. I wish you much joy of your rib. (Exit.

Enter FREDERICK. Raise the house in pursuit of my daughter ! Fel. Frederick, welcome !-I sent for thee to Ser. Here she comes, signior.

be partaker of my happiness; and pray give me Col. Hey-day! what's here to do?

leave to introduce you to the cause of it. Gib. This is the loon-like tike, an lik your ho- Fred. Your messenger has told me all, and I nour, that sent me heam with a lee this morn. sincerely share in all your happiness.

Col. Come, come; 'tis all well, Gibby; let him Col. To the right about, Frederick; wish thy rise.

friend joy. Ped. I am thunderstruck—and have no power Fred. I do, with all my soul-and, madam, I to speak one word.

congratulate your deliverance.—Your suspicions Fel. This is a day of jubilee, Lissardo; no are cleared now, I hope, Felix? quarrelling with him this day.

Fel. They are; and I heartily ask the colonel Lis. A pox take his fists !- Egad! these Bri- pardon, and wish him happy with my sister; for tons are but a word and a blow.

love has taught me to know, that every man's

happiness consists in choosing for himself. Enter Don LOPEZ.

Lis. After that rule, I fix here. [To Flora,

Flo. That's your mistake; I prefer my lady's Lop. So, have I found you, daughter? Then service, and turn you over to her that pleaded you have not hanged yourself yet, I see. right and title to you to-day. Col. But she is married, my lord.

Lis. Choose, proud fool! I sha'nt ask you Lop. Married ! Zounds! to whoin?

twice. Col. Even to your humble servant, iny lord. Gib. What say ye now, lass ?—will ye gee yer If you please to give us your blessing. [Kneels

. hond to poor Gibby ?—What say you will you Lop. Why, hark ye, mistress, are you really dance the reel of Bogie with me married?

Inis. That I may not leave my lady, I take you Isa. Really so, my lord.

at your word; and, though our wooing has been Lop. And who are you, sir?

short, I'll, by her example, love you dearly. Col. An honest North Briton by birth, and a

[Music plays. colonel by commission, my lord.

Fel. Hark! I hear the music; somebody has Lop. An heretic! the devil !

done us the favour to call them in. [Holding up his hands.

[A country-dance. Ped. She has played you a slippery trick, in- Gib. Wounds, this is bonny music! How deed, my lord.—Well, my girl, thou hast been to caw ye that thing that ye pinch by the craig, and see thy friend married --next week thou shalt tickle the weamb, and make it cry grum, grum? have a better husband, my dear.

Fred. Oh! that's a guitar, Gibby.

[To VIOLANTE. Fel. Now, my Violante, I shall proclaim thy Fel. Next week is a little too soon, sir; I hope virtues to the world. to live longer than that.

Ped. What do you mean, sir? You have not Let us no more thy sex's conduct blame, made a rib of my daughter, too, have you? Since thou'rt a proof, to their eternal fame,

Vio. Indeed but he has, sir; I know not how, That man has no advantage, but the name. but he took me in an unguarded minute--when

[Exeunt omnes.

Vol. II.

4C

[blocks in formation]

SCENE I.--A great hall.

in 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 beard 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 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-hole-he'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, if ling 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. house 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 drum.

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 thou 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 thee. Keep thy temCouch. 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-la! what t'other night, without my lanthorn, I fell across a noise is that? beam 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. Thou 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 scho

Enter ABIGAIL. lar, say, that he'll dance you a Lancashire hornpipe 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 cor, 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 bim, 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 to Gard. 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 madamn 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 inmediately.{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 !

ous,

Abi. What, you sot! are you grown pot-va- could withstand him-But, when you were seen liant?

by my lady in your proper person, after she had Gard. Frightened with a drum! that's a good taken a full survey of you, and heard all the one! It will do us no harm, 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.

froin 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. Prithee, hold thy tongue.

in this manner for less than a thousand pounds ? Gard. I would 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 But. 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 off, 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, 1 inay venture Fon. Dear Abigail, how I admire thy virtue ! to call out my 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 beats]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 ? parley

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, thầt 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.

dbi. 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 bad that freshness in his looks, that we intrigues men 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 koow-Besides, you must consider, you lost a seek. great deal of blood in the battle.

Fan. I believe, by this time, I am as well acFan. 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 inistaken, Mr Fan

tome: hut no matter for that; here 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 Fan. It bappens luckily, that this suit 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 man—I vow I almost shoes, 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?

Fan. 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.

in my way.

countenance.

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. drives at.

[ Aside. Fan. I am thinking how Tinsel will stare, when Abi. Why, suppose your husband, after this be 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-fended 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 hare it.

Abi. 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. He 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.

church. Lady True. Well, an infidel is such a novelty Lady True. You talk as if you

hated him. in the country, that I am resolved to divert my- Abi. You talk as if you loved him. self a day or two, at least, with the oddness of Lady True. Hold your tongue; here he comes, bis conversation. Abi. Ah, madam, the drum began to beat in

Enter TINSEL. the house, as soon as ever that creature was ad- Tin. My dear widow ! mitted to visit you. 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! rugue will be afraid hereafter to go a message by Mr Fantome was a man of honour, and loved mo

noon-light. you. Poor soul! how has he sighed, when he has Lady True. Aye, Mr Tivsel, what a loss of talked to me of my hard-hearted lady. Well, I billet-doux would that be to many a fine lady! bad 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!

sbi. 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

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