THE DRUMMER.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

A great hall.

Enter the BUTLEer, Coachman, and GARDENER.

BUT. There came another coach to town last night, that brought a gentleman to inquire about this strange noise we hear in the house. This spirit will bring a power of custom to the George-If so be he continues his pranks, I design to sell a pot of ale, and set up the sign of the Drum.

COACH. I'll give madam warning, that's flat-I've always lived in sober families. I'll not disparage myself to be a servant in a house that is haunted.

GARD. 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. Abigail did not spoil hercome, here's her health.

BUT. It's a very hard thing to be a butler in a house that is disturbed. He made such a racket in the cellar last night, that I'm afraid he'll sour all the beer in my barrels.

COACH. 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 last night, that I verily thought the house would have fallen over our heads. I durst not go up into the cockloft this morning, if I had not got one of the maids to go along with me.

GARD. I thought I heard him in one of my bedposts— I marvel, John, how he gets into the house when all the gates are shut.

BUT. Why look ye, Peter, your spirit will creep you into an augre-hole :-he'll whisk ye through a keyhole, without so much as justling against one of the wards.

COACH. Poor madam is mainly frighted, that's certain, and verily believes 'tis my master that was killed in the last campaign.

BUT. Out of all manner of question, Robin, 'tis sir George. Mrs. Abigail is of opinion it can be none but his honour; he always loved the wars, and you know was mightily pleased from a child with the music of a drum.

GARD. I wonder his body was never found after the battle.

BUT. Found! why, ye fool, is not his body here about the house? Dost thou think he can beat his drum without hands and arms?

COACH. Tis master as sure as I stand here alive, and I verily believe I saw him last night in the town-close. GARD. Ay! how did he appear?

COACH. Like a white horse.

BUT. Pugh, Robin, I tell ye he has never appeared yet but in the shape of the sound of a drum.

COACH. This makes one almost afraid of one's own shadow. As I was walking from the stable t'other night without my lantern, I fell across a beam that lay in my way, and faith my heart was in my mouth-I thought I had stumbled over a spirit.

BUT. Thou might'st as well have stumbled over a straw; why a spirit is such a little thing, that I have heard a man, who was a great scholar, say, that he'll dance ye a Lancashire hornpipe upon the point of a needle-As I sat in the pantry last night counting my spoons, the candle methought burnt blue, and the spayed bitch looked as if she saw something.

COACH. Ay, poor cur, she's almost frightened out of her wits.

GARD. Ay, I warrant ye, she hears him many a time and often when we don't.

BUT. My lady must have him laid, that's certain, whatever it cost her.

GARD, I fancy, when one goes to market, one might hear of somebody that can make a spell.

COACH. Why may not our parson of the parish lay him?

BUT. No, no, no, our parson cannot lay him.

COACH. Why not he as well as another man?

BUT. Why, ye fool, he is not qualified-He has not taken the oaths.

GARD, Why, d'ye think John, that the spirit would take the law of him?-faith, I could tell you one way to drive him off.

COACH. How's that?

GARD. I'll tell you immediately [drinks]-I fancy Mrs. Abigail might scold him out of the house.

COACH. Ay, she has a tongue that would drown his drum, if anything could.

BUT. Pugh, this is all froth! you understand nothing of the matter the next time it makes a noise, I tell you what ought to be done,—I would have the steward speak Latin to it.

COACH. Ay, that would do, if the steward had but courage.

GARD. There you have it-He's a fearful man. If I had as much learning as he, and I met the ghost, I'd tell him his own! but, alack, what can one of us poor men do with a spirit, that can neither write nor read.

BUт. Thou art always cracking and boasting, Peter, thou dost not know what mischief it might do thee, if such a silly dog as thee should offer to speak to it. For aught I know, he might flay thee alive, and make parchment of thy skin to cover his drum with.

GARD. A fiddlestick! tell not me-I fear nothing; not I! I never did harm in my life! I never committed murder!

BUT. I verily believe thee, keep thy temper, Peter; after supper we'll drink each of us a double mug, and then let come what will.

GARD. Why, that's well said, John; an honest man that is not quite sober, has nothing to fear—Here's to ye—why, how if he should come this minute, here would I stand. Ha! what noise is that?

BUT, and COACH. Ha! where?

GARD. The devil! the devil! Oh, no; 'tis Mrs. Abigail.

BUT. Ay, faith! 'tis she; 'tis Mrs. Abigail! a good mistake! 'tis Mrs. Abigail.

Enter ABIGAIL.

ABIG. Here are your drunken sots for you! Is this a time to be guzzling, when gentry are come to the house? why don't you lay your cloth? How come you out of the stables? Why are not you at work in your garden?

GARD. Why, yonder's the fine Londoner and madam fetching a walk together, and methought they looked as if they should say they had rather have my room than my company.

BUT. And so, forsooth, being all three met together, we are doing our endeavours to drink this same drummer out of our heads.

GARD. For you must know, Mrs. Abigail, we are all of opinion that one can't be a match for him, unless one be as drunk as a drum.

COACH. I am resolved to give madam warning to hire herself another coachman; for I came to serve my master, d'ye see, while he was alive, but do suppose that he has no farther occasion for a coach now he walks.

BUT. Truly, Mrs. Abigail, I must needs say, that this same spirit is a very odd sort of a body, after all, to fright madam and his old servants at this rate.

GARD. And truly, Mrs. Abigail, I must needs say, I served my master contentedly, while he was living; but I will serve no man living (that is, no man that is not living), without double wages.

ABIG. Ay, 'tis such cowards às you that go about with idle stories to disgrace the house, and bring so many