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PROLOGU E.

N this grave Age, when Comedies are few,

1

Tho' 'twere poor Stuf, yet bid the Author fair,
And let the Scarceness recommend the Ware.
Long have your Ears been filld with tragic Parts,
Blood and Blank-Verse have harden'd all your Hearts ;
If e'er you smile, 'tis at some Party Strokes,
Round-heads and Wooden-shoes are standing Jokes ;
The fame Conceit gives Claps and Hiffes Birth
You're

grown such Politicians in your Mirth!
For once we try (tho' 'tis 1 own unsafe,)
To please you All, and make both parties laugh.

Our Author, anxious for bis Fame to-night,
And bashful in his first Attempt to write,
Lies cautiously obscure and unreveald,
Like ancient Actors in a Mask 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 shou'd burt a Friend:
Each Wit may praise it, for his own dear Sake,
And bint he writ it, if the Thing fou'd take.

But

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

He'll remain Incog.
If you how'd biss, he fwears he'll biss as bigb,
And, like a Culprit, join the Hue-and-Cry.

If cruel Men are still averse to spare
Thefe Scenes, they fly for Refuge to the Fair.
Tho' with a Ghost our Comedy he heightend,
Ladies, upon my word, you shant't be frighten'd';
O, 'tis e Ghost that fcorns to be uncivil,
A well-spread, lusty, Jointure-hunting Devil;
An amorous Ghost, that's faithful, fond and true,
Made up of Fleslo and Blood

as much as your
Then every Evening come in Flocks, undaunted,
We never think this House is too much Haunted

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Vellum, Sir George Truman': Stoward, Mr. Fohnson.

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T H E

DRUMMER:

OR, THE

HAUN TED-HOUSE.

ACT 1. SCENE I.

A Great Hall.

Enter the Butler, Coachman, and Gardiner.

BUT LE R.

HERE came another Coach to Town

last Night, that brought a Gentleman to T

enquire about this strange Noise, we heat in the House. This Spirit will bring a power of Custom to the George If so bę

he continues his Pranks, I design to fell a Pôt of Ale, and set up the Sign of the Drum.

COACH

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COACH M A N. I'll give Madam warning, that's flat-- I've always liv'd in sober Families. I'll not disparage myself to be a Servant in a House that is haunted.

GARDIN E R. 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 spoil her-come, here's her Health.

BUT LE R. It's a very hard thing to be a Butler in a Houfe, that is disturb'd. He made such a Racket in the Cellar last Night, that I'm afraid he'll four allthe Beer in my Barrels.

COA C HM A N. Why then, John, we ought to take it off as fast as we can. Here's to you-He rattled so loud under the Tiles laft 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.

G A R DIN E R. 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 shut.

BUT LE R. Why look ye, Peter, your Spirit will creep you into an Augre-hole:- he'll whik you through a Key-hole, without so much as jusling against one of the Wards.

COACH M A N: Poor Madam is mainly frighted, that's certain, and verily believes 'tis my Mafter that was kill'd in the laft Campaign.

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

was

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