 Act 5. Enter Sir George in his conjurer's habit, the butler marching before him with two large candles, and the two servants coming after him, one bringing a little table, and another a chair. And it pleases your worship, Mr. conjurer. The steward has given all of us orders to do whatsoever you shall bid us, and to pay you the same respect as if you were our master. Thou sayest well. And please, your conjureship's worship, shall I set the table down here? Here, Peter. Gardener, aside. Peter? He knows my name by his learning. I have brought you, Reverend Sir, the largest elbow chair in the house. Tis that the steward sits in when he holds a court. Place it there. Sir, would you please do want anything else? Paper and a pen and ink. Sir, I believe we have paper that is fit for your purpose. My lady's morning paper that is blacked at the edges. Would you choose to write with a crow quill? There is none better. Coachman, go fetch the paper and stand a shot of the little parlor. Coachman to Gardener. Peter, pretty do thou go along with me. I'm afraid. You know I went with you last night into the garden, when the cook made want of a handful of parsley. Why, you don't think I'll stay with the conjurer by myself. Come, we'll all three go and fetch the pen and ink together. Exiant servants. Sir George, soulless. There's nothing I see makes such strong alliances as fear. These fellows are all entered into a confederacy against the ghost. There must be abundance of business done in the family at this rate. But here comes the triple alliance. Who could have thought that these three robes could have found each of them in an employment in fetching a pen and ink? Enter Gardener with a sheet of paper, Coachman with a stand-ish, and Butler with a pen. Sir, there is your paper. Sir, there is your stand-ish. Sir, there is your crow quill pen. Aside. I'm glad I've got rid on it. Gardener, aside. He forgets that he's to make a circle. Doctor, shall I help you to a bit of chalk? It is no better. Look ye, sir, I'll show you the spot where he's heard oftenest. If your worship can but ferret him out of that old wall in the next room. We shall try. That's right, John. His worship must let fly all his learning at that old wall. Sir, if I was worthy to advise you, I would have a bottle of good October by me. Shall I set a cup of old stingo at your elbow? I think thee, we shall do without it. John, he seems a very good-natured man for a conjurer. I'll take this opportunity of acquiring after a bit of play I've lost. Fancy. While he is in my lady's pay, one might hedge in a question or two into the bargain. Sir, sir, may I beg a word in your ear? What would is thou? Sir, I know I need not tell you that I lost one of my silver spoons last week. Marked with a swan's neck. Butler, aside. My lady's crest. He knows everything. How would your worship advise me to recover it again? Hum. What must I do to come at it? Drink nothing but small beer for a fortnight. Small beer? Rot-cut. If thou drinkest a single drop of ale before fifteen days are expired, it is as much as thy spoon is worth. Butler, aside. Ha! I shall never recover it that way. I'll even buy a new one. Do ye mind how they whisper? I'll be hanged if he's not asking him something about now. I'll take this opportunity of putting a question to him about poor Dobbing. I fancy he could give me better counsel than the farrier. Butler to Gardner. A prodigious man. He knows everything. How is the time to find out thy pickaxe? I have nothing to give him. Does not he expect to have his hand crossed with silver? Coachman to Sir George. Sir, may a man venture to ask you a question? Ask it. I have a poor horse in the stable that's bewitched. Be guilty. Coachman, aside. How could he know that? Bought at Banbury. Woo! So it was! Oh, are my conscience. Whistles. Six-year-old Vast Lamas. Coachman, aside. To a day. Now, sir, I would know whether the poor beast is bewitched by goody crouch or goody fly. Neither. Then it must be goody Gertin, for she is the next oldest woman in the parish. Ask thou done, Robin. Coachman to Gardner. He can tell thee anything. Gardner to Sir George. Sir, I would beg to take you a little further out of Earing. Speak. The butter and I, Mr. Doctor, were both of us in love at the same time with a certain person. A woman. Gardner, aside. How could he know that? Go on. This woman has lately had two children at a birth. Twins. Predigious. Where could he hear that? Proceed. Now, because I used to meet her sometimes in the garden, she has laid them both. To thee. What a power of learning he must have. He knows everything. Ask thou done. I would desire to know whether I am really the father of both. Stand before me. Let me survey thee round. Lays his wand upon his head and makes him turn about. Look yonder, John. The silly dog is turning about under the condorers' wand. If he has been saucy to him, we shall see him puffed off in a whirlwind immediately. Twins, thus thou say? Still turning him. Why, are they both minds, you think? Oh, but one of them. Ah, but Mistress Abigail will have me take care of them both. She's always for the butler. If my poor master Sir George had been alive, he would have made him go arms with me. What was Sir George a kind of master? Was he? Only my fellow servants will bear me witness. Did ye love Sir George? Everybody loved him. There was not a dry eye in the parish at the news of his death. He was the best neighbor. The kindest husband. The truest friend to the poor. My good lady took on mightily. We all thought it would have been the death of her. Sir George, aside. I protest these fellows of mouth to me. I think the time long till I am their master again, that I may be kind to them. Enter Vellum. Have you provided the doctor everything he has occasioned for? If so, you may depart. Exiant servants. Sir George, aside. I can as yet see no hurt in my wise behavior, but still have some certain pangs and doubts that are natural to the heart of a fond man. I must take the advantage of my disguise and be thoroughly satisfied. It would neither be for her happiness nor mine to make myself known to her till I am so. Dear Vellum, I am impatient to hear some news of my wife. How does she after her fright? It is a saying somewhere in my Lord Coke, that a widow I ask my wife that thou talkest to me of my Lord Coke. Prithi, tell me how she does, for I am in pain for her. She is pretty well recovered. Mistress Abigail has put her in a good heart. And I have given her great hopes from your skill. That I think cannot fail, since you has got the secret out of Abigail. But I could not have thought my friend of Fantomy would have served me this. Will still fancy you are a living man? That he should endeavor to ensnare my wife. You have no right in her. After your demise death extinguishes all property. Quaw-wide honk! It is a maxim in the law. Ah, pox on your learning! Well, but what has become of Tinso? He rushed out of the house, called for his horse, refers to his sides, and was out of sight in less time than I can tell ten. This is whimsical enough. My wife will have quick succession of lovers in one day. Fantomy has driven out Tinso, and I shall drive out Fantomy. Even as one wedge drive us out another. Ha-ha-ha! You must pardon me for being jocular. Was there ever such a provoking blockhead? But he means well. Well, I must have satisfaction of this traitor Fantomy, and cannot take a more proper one than by turning him out of my house in a manner that shall show shame upon him, and make him ridiculous as long as he lives. You must remember, Vellum, you have abundance of business upon your hands, and I have just time to tell you over all I require of you is dispatch. Therefore hear me. There is nothing more requisite in business than dispatch. Then hear me. It is indeed the life of business. Hear me then, I say. And as one has rightly observed, the benefit that attends it is fourfold. First There is no bearing this. Thou art going to describe dispatch when thou shouldst be practising it. But your honour will not give me the hearing. Sir George, angrily. Thou wilt not give me the hearing. I am still. In the first place you are to lay my wig-hat and sword ready for me in the closet, and one of my scarlet coats. You know how Abigail has described the ghost to you. It shall be done. Then you must remember, whilst I am laying this ghost, you are to prepare my wife for the reception of her real husband. Tell her the whole story, and do it with all the art you are master of, that the surprise may not be too great for her. It shall be done. But since her honour has seen this apparition, she desires to see you once more before you encounter it. I shall expect her impatiently. For now I can talk to her without being interrupted by that impertinent rogue Tinsel. I hope thou hast not told Abigail anything of the secret. Mistress Abigail is a woman. There are many reasons why she should not be acquainted with it. I shall only mention six. Hush! Here she comes. Oh! My heart! Enter Lady Truman and Abigail. Sir George, aside, while Vellum talks in dumb show to Lady Truman. Oh! that loved woman! How I long to take her in my arms! If I find I am still dear to her memory, it will be a return to life indeed. Ah! But I must take care of indulging this tenderness, and put on a behaviour more suitable to my present character. Walks at a distance in a pensive pasture, waving his wand. Lady Truman to Vellum. This is surprising indeed. So all the servants tell me they say he knows everything that has happened in the family. Abigail, aside. A parcel of credulous fools. They first tell him their secrets and then wonder how he comes to know them. Exit Vellum, exchanging farmed looks with Abigail. Learn it, sir. May I have some conversation with you before you begin your ceremonies? Speak. But hold. First let me feel your pulse. What can you learn from that? I have already learned a secret from it that will astonish you. Pray what is it? You will have a husband within this half hour. Abigail, aside. I'm glad to hear that. He must mean Mr. Funtome. I begin to think there's a good deal of truth in his art. Alas! I fear you may not shall see Sir George's apparition a second time. Have courage. You shall see the apparition no more. The husband I mention shall be as much alive as I am. Mr. Funtome, to be sure. Impossible! I loved my first too well. You could not love the first better than you will love the second. I'll be hanged if my dear Stuart has not instructed him. He means Mr. Funtome, to be sure. Ah, the thousand pound is our own. Alas! You did not know, Sir George. As well as I do myself. I saw him with you in the Red Damascourt when he first made love to you. Your mother left you together under the pretense of receiving a visit from Mrs. Hawthorne on her return from London. This is astonishing! You were a great admirer of single life for the first half hour. Your refusals then grew fainter and fainter. With what ecstasy did Sir George kiss your hand when you told him you should always follow the advice of your mama? Every circumstance to a tittle. Then, lady, the wedding night. I saw you in your white satin nightgown. You would not come out of your dressing room till Sir George took you out by force. He drew you gently by the hand. You struggled that he was too strong for you. You blushed, he— Oh, stop there! Go no further! He knows everything. Truly, Mr. Conjurer, I believe you have been a wag in your youth. Mistress Abigail, you know what your good word costs, Sir George. A purse of broad pieces, Mistress Abigail. The devil's in him. Pray, sir, since you have told so far you should tell my lady that I refused to take them. Tis true, child, he was forced to thrust them into your bosom. This rogue will mention a thousand pound if I don't take care. Pray, sir, though you are a Conjurer, me thinks you need not be a blab. Sir, since I have now no reason to doubt of your art, I must beseech you to treat this apparition gently. It has the resemblance of my deceased husband. If there be any undiscovered secret, anything that troubles his rest, learn it of him. I must do that and be sincerely informed by you whether your heart be engaged to another. Have not you received the address of many lovers since his death? I have been obliged to receive more visits than have been agreeable. Was not Tinsel welcome? Aside. I'm afraid to hear an answer to my own question. He was well recommended. Sir George, aside. Racks. Of a good family. Tortures. Heir to a considerable estate. Ah, death. And you still love him? I am distracted. No, I despise him. I found he had a design upon my fortune, was base, profligate, cowardly, and everything that could be expected from a man of the vilest principles. I'm recovered. Oh, madam, had you seen how like a scoundrel he looked when he left your ladieship in a swan? Where have you left my lady? says I. In an elbow chair, child, says he. And where are you going? says I. To town, child, says he. For to tell the truly child, says he, I don't care for living under the same roof with the devil, says he. Well, lady, I see nothing in all this that may hinder Sir George's spirit from being at rest. If he knows anything of what passes in my heart, he cannot but be satisfied of that fondness which I bear to his memory. My sorrow for him is always fresh when I think of him. He was the kindest, truest, tenderest. Tears will not let me go on. This quite whore powers me. I shall discover myself before my time. Madam, you may now retire and leave me to myself. Success attend you. I wish Mr. Fantome gets well off from this old Don. I know he'll be with him immediately. Exeunt Lady Truman and Abigail. Sir George, solace. My heart is now at ease. She is the same dear woman I left her. Now, for my revenge upon Fantome, I shall cut the ceremony short. A few words will do his business. Now, let me seek myself informed. A good, easy chair for a conjurer this. Now, for a few mathematical scratches. A good, lucky scrawl that. Faith, I think it looks very astrological. These two or three magical pot hooks about it make a complete conjurer's scheme. Ha ha ha ha! Sir, are you there? Enter drummer. Now, must I pour upon my paper? Enter Fantome, beating his drum. Pithy, don't make a noise. I'm busy. A pretty March Pithy beat that over again. He beats and advances. Sir George, rising. Ha ha ha! You are very perfect in the step of a ghost. You stuck it majestically. Fantome advances. Ah, the rogue stares. He acts it to admiration. I'll be hanged if he has not been practicing this half-hour in mistress Abigail's wardrobe. Phantom starts. Gives a rap upon his drum. Oh, Pithy, don't play the fool. Nay, nay, enough of this good, Mr. Fantome. Phantom, aside. Pith, I'm discovered. This jade Abigail has betrayed me. Mr. Fantome, upon the word of an astrologer, your thousand-pound bribe will never gain my Lady Truman. Tis plain. She has told him all. Let me advise you to make off as fast as you can, or I plainly perceive by my art Mr. Ghost will have his bones broke. Phantom to Sir George. Looky, old gentleman, I perceive you have learnt the secret from Mistress Abigail. I have learned it from my art. Thy art? Pithy, no more of that. Looky, I know you are a cheat as much as I am, and if thou keep my counsel, I'll give thee ten broad pieces. I am not mercenary. Young man, I scorn thy gold. I'll make them up twenty. Of art. And that quickly, or I'll raise such an apparition as shall— An apparition, old gentleman? You'll mistake your man. I am not to be frightened with bug-bears. Let me retire but for a few moments, and I will give thee such a proof of my art. If thou hast any hocus-pocus tricks to play, why can't'st not do them here? The raising of a spirit requires certain secret mysteries to be performed, and word to be muttered in private. Well, if I see through your trick, will you promise to be my friend? I will. Attend and tremble. Exit. Phantom solace. Very solemn, old ass. But I smoke him. He has a mind to raise his price upon me. I could not think this slut would have used me thus. I begin to grow horribly tired of my drum. I wish I was well rid of it. However, I have got this by it, that it has driven off tinsel for good and all. I shan't have the mortification to see my mistress carried off by such a rival. Well, whatever happens, I must stop this old fellow's mouth. I must not be sparing in hush money. But here he comes. Enter Sir George in his own habit. Ha! What's that? Sir George Truman? This can be no counterfeit. His dress, his shape, his face, the very wound of which he died. Nay, then, tis time to dig camp. Runs off. Ha ha ha ha! Fare you well, good Sir George. The enemy has left me master of the field. Here are the marks of my victory. This drum will hang up in my great hall as the trophy of the dead. Enter Abigail. Sir George stands with his hand before his face in amusing posture. Yonder he is. Oh, my conscience, he has driven off the conjurer. Mr. Phantom. Mr. Phantom. I give you joy. I give you joy. What do you think of your thousand pounds now? Why does not the man speak? Pulls him by the sleeve. Sir George, taking his hand from his face. Ha! Oh! Tis my master. Shrieks. Running away, he catches her. Good Mistress Abigail, not so fast. Are you alive, sir? He has given my shoulder such a cursed tweak. They must be real fingers. I feel him, I'm sure. What does think? Think, sir? Think? Truth, I don't know what you think. Pray, sir, how? No questions, good Abigail. Thy curiosity shall be satisfied in due time. Where is your lady? Oh, I'm so frightened and so glad. Where's your lady, I ask you? Mary, I don't know where I am myself. I can't forbear weeping for joy. Your lady, I say your lady, I must bring you to yourself with one pinch more. Oh, she has been talking a good while with the steward. Then he has opened the whole story to her. I'm glad he has prepared her. Oh, here she comes. Enter Lady Truman, followed by Vellum. Where is he? Let me fly into his arms. My life, my soul, my husband. Oh, let me catch thee to my heart, dearest of women. Are you then still alive? And are you here? I can scarce believe my senses. Now am I happy indeed. My heart is too full to answer thee. How could you be so cruel to defer giving me that joy which you knew I must receive from your presence? You have robbed my life of some hours of happiness that ought to have been in it. It was to make our happiness the more sincere and unmixed. There will now be no doubts to dash it. What has been the affliction of our lives has given a variety to them, and will hereafter supply us with a thousand materials to talk of. I am now satisfied that it is not in the power of absence to lessen your love towards me. And I am satisfied that it is not in the power of death to destroy that love which makes me the happiest of men. Was ever woman so blessed to find again the darling of her soul when she thought him lost forever? To enter into a kind of second marriage with the only man whom she was ever capable of loving? May it be as happy as our first. I desire no more. But believe me, my dear, I want words to express those transports of joy and tenderness, which are every moment rising in my heart whilst I speak to thee. Enter servants. Just as the steward told us, lads, look you there, if he bent with my lady already. He he he! What a joyful night will this be for madam! As I was coming in at the gate, a strange gentleman whisked by me, but he took to his heels and made away to the George. If I did not see Master before me, I should have sworn it had been his honour. Ask him orders for the bells to be set ringin'? Never trouble thy head about that, tis done. Sir George, to Lady Truman. My dear, long as much to tell you my whole story as you do to hear it. In the meanwhile I am to look upon this as my wedding day. I'll have nothing but the voice of mirth and feasting in my house. My poor neighbours and my servants shall rejoice with me. My halls shall be free to everyone and let my cellars be thrown open. Ah, bless your honour. May you never die again. The same good man that ever he was. Wura! Velum thou hast done me much service today. I know thou lovest Abigail, but she's disappointed in a fortune. I'll make it up to both of you. I'll give thee a thousand pound with her. It is not fit there should be one sad heart in my house tonight. What you do for Abigail I know is meant as a compliment to me. This is a new instance of your love. Mr. Velum, you are a well-spoken man. Pray do you thank my master and my lady. Velum, I hope you are not displeased with the gift I make you. The gift is twofold. I receive from you a virtuous partner and a portion too, for which, in humble wise, I thank the donors. And so we bid good night to both your honours. End of Act Five. Epilogue Tonight the poet's advocate I stand, and he deserves the favour at my hand, who in my equipage their cause debating has placed two lovers and a third in waiting. If both the first should from their duty swerve, there's one behind the waynsket in reserve. In his next play, if I would take this trouble, he promised me to make the number double. In truth, it was spoke like an obliging creature, for though it is simple, yet it shows good nature. My help thus asked I could not choose but grant it, and really I thought the play would want it, void as it is of all the usual arts, to warm your fancies and to steal your hearts. No court intrigue, nor city cuckled him, no song, no dance, no music but a drum, no smutty thought in doubtful phrase expressed, and, gentlemen, if so, pray wears the jest, when we would raise your mirth you hardly know, whether in strictness you should laugh or know, but turn upon the ladies in the pit, and if they redden, you are sure it is wit. Protect him then, ye fair ones, for the fair of all conditions are his equal care. He draws a widow who, of blameless carriage, true to her jointure, hates a second marriage, and, to improve a virtuous wife's delights, out of one man, contrives two wedding nights, nay, to oblige the sex in every state, and nymph of five and forty finds her mate. Too long has marriage in this tasteless age, with ill-bred railery supplied the stage. No little scribbler is of wit so bare, but has his fling at the poor wedded pair. Our author deals not in conceits so stale, for should the examples of his play prevail, no man need blush, though true to marriage vows, nor be a jest, though he should love his spouse. Thus has he done you British consorts right, whose husbands, should they pry like mine tonight, would never find you in your conduct slipping, though they turned conjurers to take you tripping.