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N this grave age, when comedies are few,

We crave your patronage for one that's new ;.
Though 'were poor stuff, yet bid the author fair,
And let the scarceness recoinmend the ware.
Long have your ears been fill?d with tragic parts,
Blood and blank-verse have harden'd all your

If e'er you smile, 'tis at some party strokes,
Round-beads and Wooden-fboes are standing jokes ;
The same conceit gives claps and hiffes birth,
You're grown such politicians in your mirth!
For once we try (though'tis I own unsafe,)
To please you all and make both parties laugh.

Our author, anxious for his fame to-night,
And bashful in his first attempt to write,
Lies cautiously obscure and unreveald,
Like ancient actors in a mask conceal'd.
Censure, when no man knows who writes the play,
Were inuch good malice merely thrown away.
The mighty crities will not blast, 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 should hurt a friend:


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Each wit may praise it, for his own dear fake,
And kint he writ it, if the thing shou'd take.
But if you're tough, and use him like a dog,
Depend upon it---He'll remain incog.

shou'd hiss, he swears he'll hiss as high,
And, like a Culprit, join the hue-and-cry.

If cruel men are still averse to spare
These scenes, they fly for refuge to the fair.
Tho' with a ghost our comedy be heighten'd,
Ladies, upon my word, you shan't be frighten'd ;
O, 'tis a ghoft that scorns to be urcivil,
A well-spread, lufty, jointure-hunting devil;
An am'rous ghoft, that's faithful, fond and true,


of flesh and blood- -as much as you. Then every evening come in flocks, undaunted, We never think this house is too much haunted.


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

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HERE came another coach to town last night,

that brought a gentleman to enquire about this strange noise, we hear

in the house. This spirit will bring a power of custom to the George- If fo be he continues his pranks, I design to sell a pot of ale, and set up the sign of the Drum.


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COA CHM A N. I'll give Madam warning, that's flat I've always liv'd in sober families. I'} not disparage myself to be a servant in a house that is haunted.

GARDINER. < P'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.

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

COACHMAN, 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'durft not go up into the cock-loft this morning, if I had not got one of the maids to go along with me.

GARDIN E R. I thought I heard him in one of my bed-posts- ] marvel, John, how he gets into the house when all the

gates are shut.

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

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

Out of all manner of question, Robin, 'tis Sir George
Mrs. Abigal is of opinion it can be none but his ho-
nour; he always lov'd the wars, and


know was mightily pleas'd from a child with the music of a drum,


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