PROLOGUE.

'N this grave Age, when Comedies are few,

Tho' 'twere poor Stuff, yet bid the Author fair,
And let the Scarcenefs recommend the Ware.
Long have your Ears been fill'd with tragic Parts,
Blood and Blank-Verfe have harden'd all Hearts;
your
If e'er you fmile, 'tis at fome Party Strokes,
Round-heads and Wooden-fhoes are flanding Jokes;
The fame Conceit gives Claps and Hifles Birth,
You're grown fuch Politicians in your Mirth !
For once we try (tho' 'tis I own unsafe,)
To please you All, and make both Parties laugh.
Our Author, anxious for his Fame to-night,
And bafbful in bis firft Attempt to write,
Lies cautiously obfcure and unreveal'd,
Like ancient A&tors in a Mafk conceal d.
Cenfure, when no Man knows who writes the Play,
Were much good Malice merely thrown away.
The mighty Critics will not blaft, for shame,
A raw young Thing, who dares not tell his Name :
Good-natur'd Judges will th' Unknown defend,
And fear to blame, left they fhou'd hurt a Friend:
Each Wit may praise it, for his own dear Sake,
And hint he writ it, if the Thing fhou'd take.

But

But if you're rough, and use him like a Dog,

Depend upon it
He'll remain Incog.
If you fhou'd bifs, he fwears he'll bifs as high,
And, like a Culprit, join the Hue-and-Cry.
If cruel Men are fill averse to spare
Thefe Scenes, they fly for Refuge to the Fair.
Tho' with a Ghost our Comedy he heighten'd,
Ladies, upon my word, you shant't be frighten'd;
O, 'tis a Ghoft that fcorns to be uncivil,
A well-fpread, lufty, Jointure-hunting Devil;
An am'rous Ghoft, that's faithful, fond and true,
Made up of Flesh and Blood as much as you.
Then every Evening come in Flocks, undaunted,
We never think this Houfe is too much Haunted.

Vellum, Sir George Truman's Steward, Mr. Johnson.

BUTLER.

HERE came another Coach to Town laft Night, that brought a Gentleman to enquire about this ftrange Noife, we hear in the Houfe. This Spirit will bring a power of Custom to the George-If fo be he continues his Pranks, I defign to fell a Pot of Ale, and fet up the Sign of the Drum.. COACH

•H 5

COACHMAN.

I'll give Madam warning, that's flat-I've always liv'd in fober Families. I'll not difparage myself to be a Servant in a House that is haunted.

GARDINER.

I'll e'en marry Nell, and rent a bit of Ground of my own, if both of you leave Madam; not but that Madam's a very good Woman-if Mrs. Abigal did not fpoil her-come, here's her Health.

BUT LE R..

It's a very hard thing to be a Butler in a Houfe, that is difturb'd. He made fuch a Racket in the Cellar laft Night,that I'm afraid he'll four all the Beer in my Barrels.

COACHMA N.

Why then, John, we ought to take it off as fast as we can. Here's to you-He rattled fo loud under the Tiles last Night, that I verily thought the House wou'd have fallen over our Heads. I durft not go up into the Cock-loft this Morning, if I had not got one of the Maids to go along with me.

GARDINER. I thought I heard him in one of my Bed-posts-I marvel, John, how he gets into the House when all the Gates are fhut.

BUTLE R.

Why look ye, Peter, your Spirit will creep you into an Augre-hole:- he'll whisk you through a Key-hole, without fo much as juftling against one of the Wards. COACHMAN.

Poor Madam is mainly frighted, that's certain, and verily believes 'tis my Mafter that was kill'd in the last Campaign.

BUTLER.

Out of all Manner of queftion, Robin, 'tis Sir George. Mrs. Abigal is of Opinion it can be none but his Honour; he always lov'd the Wars, and you know

was