ABIGAIL. Madam, how can you hear such a profligate? he talks like the London prodigal. LADY. Why, really, I'm a 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. TINSEL. 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? LADY. 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! TINSEL. No, child! I'd teach thee my principles, thou should'st be as wise as I amin a week's time. LADY. Do you think your principles would make a woman the better wife? TINSEL. Prithee, widow, don't be queer. LADY. I love a gay temper, but I would not have you rally things that are serious. TINSEL. Well enough, faith! where's the jest of rallying any thing else? ABIGAIL. Ah! Madam, did you ever hear Mr. Fantome talk at this rate? TINSEL. [Aside. But where's this ghost! this son of a whore of a Drummer? I'd fain hear him methinks. ABIGAIL. Pray, Madam, don't suffer him to give the ghost such ill language, especially when you have reason to believe it is my master. TINSEL. That's well enough, faith, Nab; dost thou think thy master is 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 fulfill'd them to a tittleDid not you marry Sir George to the tune of, till death us do part?' ¿ LADY. 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 finish'd coxcomb. [Aside. TINSEL. 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, play'd at an assembly, and ambled in a ball or two, has been so little afraid of bugbears, that she has ventur'd home in a chair at all hours of the night. ABIGAIL. Humsauce-box. [Aside. TINSEL. Oh 'Tis the solitude of the country that created these whimsies; there was never such a thing as a ghost heard of at London, except in the play-housewe'd pass all our time in London. all our time in London. "Tis the scene of pleasure and diversion, where there's something to amuse you every hour of the day. Life's not life in the country. LADY. Well then, you have an opportunity of showing 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. TINSEL. 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? LADY. No, you're deceiv'd! 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. How! TINSEL. ABIGAIL. That's well put, Madam. TINSEL. Why, faith, I have been looking upon this house, and think it is the prettiest habitation I ever saw in my life. 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. Ay, but the drum! LADY. TINSEL. 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. LADY. Ay, but the drum! the drum! TINSEL. My dear, take my word for't '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, ACT II. SCENE I. Scene opens, and discovers Vellum in his Office, and a Letter in his Hand. VELLUM. THIS letter astonisheth; may I believe my own eyes -To or rather my spectacles To Humphry Vellum, Esq. Steward to the Lady Truman.' 'VELLUM, 'I DOUBT not but you will be glad to hear your master is alive, and designs to be with you in half an hour. The report of my being slain in the Netherlands, has, I find, produced some disorders in my family. I am now at the George Inn. If an old man with a grey beard, in a black cloak, enquires after you, give him admittance. He passes for a conjurer, but is, really, "Your faithful friend, 'G. TRUMAN.' "P. S. Let this be a secret, and you shall find your account in it.' This amazeth me! and yet the reasons why I should -First, bebelieve he is still living, are manifoldcause this has often ben the case of other military adventurers. Secondly, because the news of his death was first publish'd in Dyer's Letter. Thirdly, because this letter can be written by none |