Ghost.
Ah—well—’twas given out that—(pardon me,
A ghost must have his feelings)—rumour reached me,
That the whole ear of London
Was by a forged process of my “Tempest”
Rankly abus’d—and know, thou noble youth—
With serpents and trombones disguised, my piece
Now scares the town.
P. Com.
O, my prophetic soul! the opera!