Fust. Why, sir, she has been meditating on the present general peace of Europe, till by too intense an application, being not able thoroughly to comprehend it, she was overpowered and fell fast asleep. Come, ring up the first ghost. [Ghost arises.] You know that ghost?
Sneer. Upon my word, sir, I can't recollect any acquaintance with him.
Fust. I am surprized at that, for you must have seen him often: that's the ghost of Tragedy, sir; he has walked all the stages of London several years; but why are not you floured?—What the devil is become of the barber?
Ghost. Sir, he's gone to Drury-lane playhouse to shave the Sultan in the new entertainment.
Fust. Come, Mr Ghost, pray begin.
Ghost. From the dark regions of the realms below
The ghost of Tragedy has ridden post;
To tell thee, Common Sense, a thousand things,
Which do import thee nearly to attend: [Cock crows.
But, ha! the cursed cock has warn'd me hence;
I did set out too late, and therefore must
Leave all my business to some other time.
[Ghost descends.
Sneer. I presume this is a character necessary to divert; for I can see no great business he has fulfilled.
Fust. Where's the second ghost?
Sneer. I thought the cock had crowed.