The Witch of Edmonton: A known true STORY.  
Composed into A tragicomedy By divers well-esteemed Poets; William Rowley, Thomas Dekker, john Ford, etc.  
Acted by the PRINCE's Servants, often at the Cockpit in Drury-Lane, once at Court, with singular Applause.  
Never printed till now.  
 
London, Printed by J. Cottrel, for Edward Blackmore, at the Angel in Paul's Churchyard. 1658.   

actor's Names.  

Sir Arthur Clarington.  
Old Thorney, a Gentleman.  
Old Carter, a rich Yeoman.  
Old Banks, a Countryman.  
W. Mago. two Countrymen. W. Hamluc.  
Three other Countrymen.  
Warbeck. Suitors to Carter's Daughters. Somerton.  
Frank, Thorney's Son.  
Young Cuddy Banks, the Clown.  
Four morris-dancers.  
Old Ratcliffe.  
Sawgut, an old Fiddler.  
Poldavis, a barber's boy.  
Justice.  
Constable.  
Officers.  
serving-men.  
Dog, a Familiar.  
A Spirit.   

Women.  
Mother Sawyer, the Witch.  
Anne, Ratcliff's Wife.  
Susan. Carters Daughters. Katharine.  
Winifrid, Sir Arthur's Maid.    

The whole Argument is this distich.  
FOrced Marriage, Murder; Murder, Blood requires:  
Reproach, Revenge; Revenge, hell's help desires.   

PROLOGUE.  

THe Town of Edmonton hath lent the Stage  
A Devil and a Witch, both in an age.  
To make comparisons it were uncivil,  
Between so even a pair, a Witch and Devil.  
But as the year doth with his plenty bring  
As well a latter as a former Spring;  
So has this Witch enjoyed the first, and reason  
Presumes she may partake the other season:  
In Acts deserving name, the Proverb says,  
Once good, and ever; Why not so in Plays?  
Why not in this? since (Gentlemen) we flatter  
No Expectation: here is Mirth and Matter.  
Mr. Bird.    

The Witch of Edmonton.  

ACT. I.  

Scaen. 1.  Enter Frank Thorney, Winnifride with-child. Frank. 
COme, Wench; why here's a business soon dispatched.  
Thy heart I know is now at ease: thou needst not  
Fear what the tattling Gossips in their cups  
Can speak against thy fame: thy child shall know  
Who to call Dad now.  Win. 
You have discharged the true part of an honest man;  
I cannot request a fuller satisfaction  
Than you have freely granted: yet methinks  
'Tis an hard case, being lawful man and wife,  
We should not live together.  Frank. 
Had I failed  
In promise of my truth to thee, we must  
Have then been ever sundered; now the longest  
Of our forbearing either's company,  
Is only but to gain a little time  
For our continuing thrift, that so hereafter  
The Heir that shall be born may not have cause  
To curse his hour of birth, which made him feel  
The misery of beggary and want;  
Two Devils that are occasions to enforce  
A shameful end. My plots aim but to keep  
My father's love.  Win. 
And that will be as difficult  
To be preserved, when he shall understand  
How you are married, as it will be now,  
Should you confess it to him.  Frank. 
Fathers are  
Won by degrees, not bluntly as our masters,  
Or wronged friends are: and besides, I'll use  
Such dutiful and ready means, that ere  
He can have notice of what's past, th' inheritance  
To which I am born Heir, shall be assured:  
That done, why let him know it; if he like it not,  
Yet he shall have no power in him left  
To cross the thriving of it.  Win. 
You who had  
The conquest of my Maiden-love, may easily  
Conquer the fears of my distrust. And whither  
Must I be hurried?  Frank. 
Prithee do not use  
A word so much unsuitable to the constant  
Affections of thy Husband: thou shalt live  
Near Waltham Abbey, with thy Uncle Selman:  
I have acquainted him with all at large:  
He'll use thee kindly: thou shalt want no pleasures,  
Nor any other fit supplies whatever  
Thou canst in heart desire.  Win. 
All these are nothing  
Without your company.  Frank. 
Which thou shalt have  
Once every month at least.  Win. 
Once every month!  
Is this to have an Husband?  Frank. 
Perhaps oftener:  
That's as occasion serves.  Win. 
ay, ay, in case  
No other Beauty tempt your eye, whom you  
Like better, I may chance to be remembered,  
And see you now and then. Faith, I did hope  
You'd not have used me so: 'tis but my fortune.  
And yet, if not for my sake, have some pity  
Upon the child I go with, that's your own.  
And, less you'll be a cruel hearted Father,  
You cannot but remember that.  
Heaven knows how.  Frank. 
To quit which fear at once,  
As by the ceremony late performed,  
I plighted thee a faith, as free from challenge,  
As any double thought; Once more in hearing  
Of Heaven and thee, I vow, that never henceforth  
Disgrace, reproof, lawless affections, threats,  
Or what can be suggested 'gainst our Marriage,  
Shall cause me falsify that Bridal-Oath  
That binds me thine. And, Winifrid, whenever  
The wanton heat of youth by subtle baits  
Of beauty, or what woman's Art can practise,  
Draw me from only loving thee; let Heaven  
Inflict upon my life some fearful ruin.  
I hope thou dost believe me.  Win. 
Swear no more;  
I am confirmed, and will resolve to do  
What you think most behooveful for us.  Frank. 
Thus then; make thyself ready: at the furthest house  
Upon the Green, without the Town, your Uncle  
Expects you. For a little time farewell.  Win. 
Sweet,  
We shall meet again as soon as thou canst possibly?  Frank. 
We shall. One kiss. Away.  Ent. Sir Art. Clarington. Sir Art. 
Frank Thorney.  Frank. 
Here Sir.  Sir Art. 
Alone? then must I tell thee in plain terms, thou hast wronged thy Master's house basely and lewdly.  Frank. 
Your house, Sir?  Sir Art. 
Yes, Sir, if the nimble devil  
That wantoned in your blood, rebelled against  
All rules of honest duty. You might, Sir,  
Have found out some more fitting place then here,  
To have built a Stews in. All the Country whispers  
How shamefully thou hast undone a Maid,  
Approved for modest life, for civil carriage,  
Till thy prevailing perjuries enticed her  
To forfeit shame. Will you be honest yet?  
Make her amends and marry her?  Frank. 
So, Sir,  
I might bring both myself and her to beggary;  
And that would be a shame worse than the other.  Sir Art. 
You should have thought on this before, and then  
Your reason would have overswayed the passion  
Of your unruly lust. But that you may  
Be left without excuse, to salve the infamy  
Of my disgraced house, and 'cause you are  
A Gentleman, and both of you my servants,  
I'll make the Maid a portion.  Frank. 
So you promised me  
Before, in case I married her. I know  
Sir Arthur Clarington deserves the credit  
Report hath lent him; and presume you are  
A Debtor to your promise: but upon  
What certainty shall I resolve? Excuse me  
For being somewhat rude.  Sir Art. 
'Tis but reason.  
Well Frank, what thinkst thou of 200 l.  
And a continual friend?  Fra. 
Though my poor fortunes  
Might happily prefer me to a choice  
Of a far greater portion; yet to right  
A wronged Maid, and to preserve your favour,  
I am content to accept your proffer.  Sir Art. 
Art thou?  Frank. 
Sir, we shall every day have need to employ  
The use of what you please to give.  Sir Art. 
Thou shalt have't.  Fran. 
Then I claim your promise.  
We are man and wife.  Sir Art. 
Already?  Frank. 
And more than so, I have promised her  
Free entertainment in her Uncle's house,  
Near Waltham Abbey, where she may securely  
So journey, till time and my endeavours work  
My father's love and liking.  Sir Art. 
Honest Frank.  Frank. 
I hope, Sir, you will think I cannot keep her  
Without a daily charge.  Sir Art. 
As for the money,  
'Tis all thine own; and though I cannot make thee  
A present payment, yet thou shalt be sure  
I will not fail thee.  Frank. 
But our occasions.  Sir Art. 
Nay, nay, talk not of your occasions, trust my bounty: it shall not sleep. Hast married her, i'faith Frank?  
'Tis well, 'tis passing well: then Winifrid,  
Once more thou art an honest woman. Frank,  
Thou hast a Jewel. Love her; she'll deserve it.  
And when to Waltham?  Frank. 
She is making ready.  
Her Uncle stays for her.  Sir Art. 
Most provident speed.  
Frank, I will be friend, and such a friend.  
Thou'lt bring her thither?  Fran. 
Sir, I cannot: newly  
My father sent me word I should come to him.  Sir Art. 
Marry, and do: I know thou hast a wit  
To handle him.  Frank. 
I have a suit t'ye.  Sir Art. 
What is't?  
Any thing, Frank, command it.  Frank. 
That you'll please,  
By Letters to assure my Father, that  
I am not married.  Sir Art. 
How?  Frank. 
Some one or other  
Hath certainly informed him that I purposed  
To marry Winifrid; on which he threatened  
To disinherit me, to prevent it,  
Lowly I crave your Letters, which he seeing  
Will credit; and I hope ere I return,  
On such conditions as I'll frame, his Lands  
Shall be assured.  Sir Art. 
But what is that to quit  
My knowledge of the marriage?  Frank. 
Why you were not  
A witness to it.  Sir Art. 
I conceive: and then,  
His Land confirmed, thou wilt acquaint him throughly  
With all that's past.  Frank. 
I mean no less.  Sir Art. 
Provided,  
I never was made privy to it.  Frank. 
Alas, Sir,  
Am I a talker?  Sir Art. 
Draw thyself the Letter,  
I'll put my hand to it. I commend thy policy  
thouart witty, witty Frank; nay, nay, 'tis fit,  
Dispatch it.  Frank. 
I shall write effectually.  Exit. Sir Art. 
Go thy way Cuckoo; have I caught the young man?  
One trouble then is freed. He that will feast  
At other's cost, must be a bold faced guest.  Enter Win. in a riding-suit. Win. 
I have heard the news, all now is safe.  
The worst is past.  Sir Art. 
Thy lip, wench: I must bid  
Farewell, for fashion's sake; but I will visit thee  
Suddenly, Girl. This was cleanly carried:  
Ha! was't not Win?  Win. 
Then were my happiness,  
That I in heart repent I did not bring him  
The Dower of a Virginity. Sir, forgive me;  
I have been much to blame. Had not my Laundress  
Given way to your immoderate waste of Virtue,  
You had not with such eagerness pursued  
The error of your goodness.  Sir Art. 
Dear, dear Win.  
I hug this Art of thine, it shows how cleanly  
Thou canst beguile in case occasion serve,  
To practise. It becomes thee, now we share  
Free scope enough, without control or fear,  
To interchange our pleasures; we will surfeit  
In our embraces, Wench. Come, tell me, when  
Wilt thou appoint a meeting?  Win. 
What to do?  Sir Art. 
Good, good, to con the lesson of our loves,  
Our secret game.  Win. 
O blush to speak it further!  
As you're a noble Gentleman, forget  
A sin so monstrous: 'tis not gently done,  
To open a cured wound. I know you speak  
For trial; troth you need not.  Sir Art. 
I for trial?  
Not I, by this good Sunshine.  Win. 
Can you name  
That syllable of good, and yet not tremble,  
To think to what a foul and black intent,  
You use it for an Oath? Let me resolve you,  
If you appear in any Visitation  
That brings not with it pity for the wrongs  
Done to abused Thorney, my kind husband;  
If you infect mine ear with any breath  
That is not throughly perfumed with sighs  
For former deeds of lust: May I be cursed  
Even in my prayers, when I vouchsafe  
To see or hear you. I will change my life,  
From a loose whore, to a repentant wife.  Sir Art. 
Wilt thou turn monster now? art not ashamed  
After so many months to be honest at last?  
Away, away, fie on't.  Win. 
My resolution  
Is built upon a Rock. This very day  
Young Thorney vowed with Oaths not to be doubted,  
That never any change of love should cancel  
The bonds in which we are to either bound,  
Of lasting truth. And shall I then for my part  
Unseel the sacred Oath set on Record  
In Heaven's Book? Sir Arthur, do not study  
To add to your lascivious lust, the sin  
Of Sacrilege: for if you but endeavour  
By any unchaste word to tempt my constancy,  
You strive as much as in you lies to ruin  
A Temple hallowed to the purity  
Of holy Marriage. I have said enough:  
You may believe me.  Sir Art. 
Get you to your Nunnery,  
There freeze in your old Cloister. This is fine.  Win. 
Good Angels guide me. Sir, you'll give me leave  
To weep and pray for your conversion.  Sir Art. 
Yes, away to Waltham. Pox on your honesty.  
Had you no other trick to fool me? Well,  
You may want money yet.  Win. 
None that I'll send for  
To you, for hire of a damnation.  
When I am gone, think on my just complaint:  
I was your Devil, O be you my Saint!  Exit Win. Sir Art. 
Go, go thy ways, as changeable a baggage  
As ever cozened Knight. I'm glad I'm rid of her.  
Honest? marry hang her. Thorney is my Debtor,  
I thought to have paid him too: but fools have fortune.  Exit S. A.  

SCAEN. 2.  Enter Old Thorney, and Old Carter. O. Thor. 
You offer Mr. Carter, like a Gentleman,  
I cannot find fault with it, 'tis so fair.  O. Cart. 
No Gentleman, ay, Mr. Thorney; spare the Mastership, call me by my name, John Carter; Master is a title my Father, nor his before him, were acquainted with. Honest Hertforshire Yeomen, such an one am I; my word and my deed shall be proved one at all times. I mean to give you no security for the Marriage-money.  O. Thor. 
How? no security? although it need not, so long as you live; yet who is he has surety of his life one hour? Men, the Proverb says, are mortal: else, for my part, I distrust you not, were the sum double.  O. Cart. 
Double, treble, more or less; I tell you, Mr. Thorney, I'll give no security. Bonds and Bills are but Tarriers to catch Fools, and keep lazy Knaves busy; my security shall be present payment. And we here, about Edmonton, hold present payment as sure as an Alderman's Bond in London, Mr. Thorney.  O. Thor. 
I cry you mercy, Sir, I understood you not.  O. Cart. 
I like young Frank well, so does my Susan too. The Girl has a fancy to him, which makes me ready in my Purse. There be other Suitors within, that make much noise to little purpose. If Frank love Sue, Sue shall have none but Frank. 'Tis a mannerly Girl, Mr. Thorney, though but an homely man's Daughter. There have worse Faces looked out of black Bags, Man.  O. Thor. 
You speak your mind freely and honestly. I marvel my Son comes not: I am sure he will be here sometime today.  O. Cart. 
Today or tomorrow, when he comes he shall be welcome to Bread, Beer and Beef, yeoman's fare; we have no Kickshaws: full Dishes, whole bellyfuls. Should I diet three days at one of the slender City-Suppers, you might send me to barber-surgeon's Hall the fourth day, to hang up for an Anatomy.— Here come they that—  
How now Girls? every day playday with you? Enter Warbeck with Susan, Somerton with Katherine .Valentine's day too, all by couples? Thus will young folks do when we are laid in our Graves, Mr. Thorney. Here's all the care they take. And how do you find the Wenches, Gentlemen? have they any mind to a loose Gown and a straight Shoe? win'em, and wear'em. They shall choose for themselves by my consent.  Warb. 
You speak like a kind Father. Sue, thou hearest the liberty that 's granted thee. What sayest thou? wilt thou be mine?  Sus. 
Your what, Sir? I dare swear, never your wife.  Warb. 
Canst thou be so unkind? considering how dearly I affect thee; nay, dote on thy perfections.  Sus. 
You are studied too Scholarlike in words: I understand not. I am too course for such a Gallants love as you are.  Warb. 
By the honour of Gentility.  Sus. 
Good Sir, no swearing: yea and nay with us  
Prevails above all oaths you can invent.  Warb. 
By this white hand of thine.  Sus. 
Take a false oath? Fie, fie, flatter the wise: fools not regard it; and one of these am I.  Warb. 
Dost thou despise me?  O. Cart. 
Let 'em talk on, Mr. Thorney. I know Sue's mind. The Fly may buzz about the Candle, he shall but singe his Wings when all 's done. Frank, Frank is he has her heart.  Som. 
But shall I live in hope, Kate?  Kat. 
Better so, then be a desperate man.  Som. 
Perhaps thou thinkst it is thy Portion  
I level at: wert thou as poor in Fortunes,  
As thou art rich in Goodness; I would rather  
Be Suitor for the Dower of thy Virtues,  
Then twice thy Father 's whole Estate; and prithee  
Be thou resolved so.  Kat. 
Mr. Somerton, it is an easy labour to deceive  
A Maid that will believe Men's subtle promises:  
Yet I conceive of you as worthily  
As I presume you do deserve.  Som. 
Which is  
As worthily in loving thee sincerely,  
As thou art worthy to be so beloved.  Kat. 
I shall find time to try you.  Som. 
Do, Kate, do:  
And when I fail, may all my joys forsake me.  O. Cart. 
Warbeck and Sue are at it still. I laugh to myself, Mr. Thorney, to see how earnestly he beats the Bush, while the Bird is flown into another's bosom. A very unthrift, Mr. Thorney; one of the Country roaring Lads: we have such as well as the City, and as arrant Rake-hells as they are, though not so nimble at their prizes of wit. Sue knows the rascal to an hair's breadth, and will fit him accordingly.  O. Thor. 
What is the other Gentleman?  O. Cart. 
One Somerton, the honester man of the two, by 5 l. in every stone-weight. A civil Fellow. He has a fine convenient Estate of land in Westham by Essex. M. Ranges that dwells by Enfield, sent him hither. He likes Kate well. I may tell you, I think she likes him as well. If they agree, I'll not hinder the match for my part. But that Warbeck is such another—. I use him kindly for Mr. Somerton's sake: for he came hither first as a Companion of his. Honest men, Mr. Thorney, may fall into knave's company, now and then.  Warb. 
Three hundred a year Jointure, Sue.  Sus. 
Where lies it, by Sea or by Land? I think by Sea.  Warb. 
Do I look like a Captain?  Sus. 
Not a whit, Sir.  
Should all that use the Seas be reckoned Captains,  
There 's not a Ship should have a Scullion in her  
To keep her clean.  Warb. 
Do you scorn me, Mrs. Susan?  
Am I a subject to be jeered at?  Sus. 
Neither  
Am I a property for you to use  
As stale to your fond wanton loose discourse.  
Pray Sir be civil.  Warb. 
Wilt be angry, Wasp?  O. Cart. 
God-a-mercy, Sue. She'll firk him on my life, if he fumble with her.  Enter Frank. 
Mr. Francis Thorney, you are welcome indeed.  
Your Father expected your coming. How does the right worshipful Knight, Sir Arthur Clarington, your Master?  Frank. 
In health this morning. Sir, my duty.  O. Thor. 
Now  
You come as I could wish.  Warb. 
Frank Thorney, ha!  Sus. 
You must excuse me.  Frank. 
Virtuous. Mrs Susan.  
Kind Mrs. Katherine. Gentlemen, to both  Salutes them. 
Good time o'th' day.  Som. 
The like to you.  Warb. 
'Tis he.  
A word, Friend. On my life, this is the Man  
Stands fair in crossing Susan's love to me.  Som. 
I think no less. Be wise, and take no notice on't.  
He that can win her, best deserves her.  Warb. 
Marry  
A Servingman? mew.  Som. 
Prithee Friend no more.  O. Cart. 
Gentlemen all, there's within a slight Dinner ready, if you please to taste of it: Mr. Thorney, Mr. Francis, Mr. Somerton. Why Girls? what, Huswives, will you spend all your forenoon in tittle-tattles? away: It's well i'faith. will you go in, Gentlemen?  O. Thor. 
we'll follow presently: my Son and I  
Have a few words of business.  O. Cart. 
At your pleasure.  Ex. the rest. O. Thor. 
I think you guess the reason, Frank, for which  
I sent for you.  Frank. 
Yes, Sir.  O. Thor. 
I need not tell you.  
With what a labyrinth of dangers daily  
The best part of my whole Estate's encumbered:  
Nor have I any Clew to wind it out,  
But what occasion proffers me. Wherein  
If you should falter, I shall have the shame,  
And you the loss. On these two points rely  
Our happiness or ruin. If you marry  
With wealthy Carter's Daughter, there's a Portion  
Will free my Land: all which I will instate  
Upon the marriage to you. Otherwise.  
I must be of necessity enforced  
To make a present sale of all: and yet,  
For aught I know, live in as poor distress,  
Or worse, than now I do. You hear the sum:  
I told you thus before. Have you considered on't?  Frank. 
I have, Sir. And however I could wish  
To enjoy the benefit of single Freedom,  
For that I find no disposition in me  
To undergo the burden of that care  
That Marriage brings with it; Yet to secure  
And settle the continuance of your Credit,  
I humbly yield to be directed by you  
In all commands.  O. Thor. 
You have already used  
Such thriving protestations to the Maid.  
That she is wholly yours. And speak the truth,  
You love her, do you not?  Frank. 
'Twere pity, Sir,  
I should deceive her.  O. Thor. 
Better I had been unborn.  
But is your love so steady that you mean,  
Nay, more, desire to make her your Wife?  Frank. 
Else, Sir,  
It were a wrong not to be righted.  O. Thor. 
True,  
It were: and you will marry her?  Frank. 
Heaven prosper it:  
I do intend it.  O. Thor. 
O thou art a Villain!  
A Devil like a Man. Wherein have I  
Offended all the Powers so much, to be  
Father to such a graceless godless Son?  Frank. 
To me, Sir, this? O my cleft heart!  O. Thor. 
To thee,  
Son of my curse. Speak truth, and blush, thou monster,  
Hast thou not married Winifrid? a Maid  
Was fellow-servant with thee.  Fra. 
Some swift spirit  
Has blown this news abroad. I must outface it.  O. Thor. 
D'you study for excuse? why all the country  
Is full on't.  Fra. 
With your licence, 'tis not charitable,  
I am sure it is not fatherly, so much  
To be o'erswayed with credulous conceit  
Of mere impossibilities. But Fathers  
Are privileged to think and talk at pleasure.  O. Thor. 
Why canst thou yet deny thou hast no wife?  Frank. 
What do you take me for? an Atheist?  
One that nor hopes the blessedness of life  
Hereafter, neither fears the vengeance due  
To such as make the Marriage-bed an Inn,  
Which traveller's day and night,  
After a toilsome lodging leave at pleasure?  
Am I become so insensible of losing  
The glory of creation's work? My soul!  
O I have lived too long.  O. Thor. 
Thou hast, dissembler;  
Darest thou persevere yet? and pull down wrath  
As hot as flames of hell, to strike thee quick  
Into the Grave of horror? I believe thee not.  
Get from my sight.  Fran. 
Sir, though mine innocence  
Needs not a stronger witness than the cleverness  
Of an unperished conscience; yet for that  
I was informed, how mainly you had been  
Possessed of this untruth, To quit all scruple  
Please you peruse this Letter: 'tis to you.  O. Thor. 
From whom?  Fran. 
Sir Arthur Clarington my Master.  O. Thor. 
Well, Sir.  Fran. 
On every side I am distracted: Am waded deeper into mischief, than virtue can avoid. But on I must: Fate leads me: I will follow. There you read what may confirm you.  O. Thor. 
Yes, and wonder at it. Forgive me, Frank. Credulity abused me. My tears express my joy: and I am sorry I injured innocence.  Frank. 
Alas! I knew your rage and grief proceeded from your love to me: so I conceived it.  O. Thor. 
My good Son, I'll bear with many faults in thee hereafter. Bear thou with mine.  Frank. 
The peace is soon concluded.  Enter Old Carter. O. Cart. 
Why Mr. Thorney, d'ye mean to talk out your dinner? the Company attends your coming. What must it be, Mr. Frank or Son Frank? I am plain Dunstable.  O. Thor. 
Son, Brother, if your Daughter like to have it so.  Frank. 
I dare be confident, she's not altered  
From what I left her at our parting last:  
Are you, fair Maid?  Sus. 
You took too sure possession  
Of an engaged heart.  Frank. 
Which now I challenge.  O. Cart. 
Marry and much good may it do thee, Son. Take her to thee. Get me a brace of Boys at a burden, Frank. The nursing shall not stand thee in a pennyworth of Milk. Reach her home and spare not. when's the day?  O. Thor. 
Tomorrow, if you please. To use ceremony  
Of charge and custom, were to little purpose:  
Their loves are married fast enough already.  O. Cart. 
A good motion. we'll e'en have an household Dinner; and let the Fiddlers go scrape. Let the Bride and Bridegroom dance at night together: no matter for the Guests. Tomorrow, Sue, tomorrow. Shall's to Dinner now?  O. Thor. 
We are on all sides pleased, I hope.  Sus. 
Pray Heaven I may deserve the blessing sent me.  
Now my heart is settled.  Frank. 
So is mine.  O. Cart. 
Your Marriage-money shall be received before your  
Wedding-shoes can be pulled on. Blessing on you both.  Frank. 
No Man can hide his shame from Heaven that views him.  
In vain he flees, whose destiny pursues him.  Exeunt Omnes.   

ACT. II.  

Scaen. 1.  Enter Elizabeth Sawyer, gathering sticks. Sawy. 
ANd why on me? why should the envious world  
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?  
'Cause I am poor, deformed and ignorant,  
And like a Bow buckled and bent together,  
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself?  
Must I for that be made a common sink,  
For all the filth and rubbish of Men's tongues  
To fall and run into? Some call me Witch;  
And being ignorant of myself, they go  
About to teach me how to be one: urging,  
That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so)  
Forespeaks their Cattle, doth bewitch their Corn,  
Themselves, their Servants, and their Babes at nurse.  
This they enforce upon me: and in part  Enter O. Banks. 
Make me to credit it. And here comes one  
Of my chief Adversaries.  O. Bank. 
Out, out upon thee, Witch.  Sawy. 
Dost call me Witch?  O. Bank. 
I do, Witch, I do: and worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. What makest thou upon my ground?  Sawy. 
Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.  O. Bank. 
Down with them when I bid thee, quickly;  
I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else.  Sawy. 
You-won't, Churl. Cutthroat, Miser: there they be. Would they stuck cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff.  O. Bank. 
Sayst thou me so? Hag, out of my ground.  Sawy. 
Dost strike me, slave? curmudgeon now thy bones aches, thy joints cramps, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews.  O. Bank. 
Cursing, thou Hag! take that, and that.  Exit. Sawy. 
Strike, do, and withered may that hand and arm  
Whose blows have lamed me, drop from the rotten Trunk.  
Abuse me! beat me! call me Hag and Witch!  
What is the name? where and by what Art learned?  
What spells, what charms, or invocations?  
May the thing called Familiar be purchased?  Enter Young Banks, and three or four more. Y. Bank. 
A new head for the Tabor, and silver tipping for the Pipe. Remember that, and forget not five lesh of new Bells.  1. 
Double Bells: Crooked Lane ye shall have 'em straight in.  
Crooked Lane: double Bells all, if it be possible.  Y. Bank. 
Double Bells? double Coxcombs; Trebles: buy me Trebles, all Trebles: for our purpose is to be in the Altitudes.  2. 
All Trebles? not a Mean?  Y. Bank. 
Not one: The morris is so cast, we'll have neither Mean nor Base in our company, Fellow Rowland.  3. 
What? nor a Counter?  Y. Bank. 
By no means, no hunting Counter; leave that to Envile Chase-Men: all Trebles, all in the Altitudes. Now for the disposing of Parts in the morris, little or no labour will serve.  2. 
If you that be minded to follow your Leader, know me, an ancient Honour belonging to our house, for a Fore-horse, team, and for gallant in a morris: my Father's Stable is not unfurnished.  3. 
So much for the Fore-horse: but how for a good Hobby-horse?  Y. Bank. 
For a Hobby-horse? Let me see an Almanac. Midsummer-Moon, let me see ye. When the Moon's in the full, then's wit in the wane. No more. Use your best skill. Your morris will suffer an Eclipse.  1. 
An Eclipse?  Y. Bank. 
A strange one.  2. 
Strange?  Y. Bank. 
Yes, and most sudden. Remember the Fore gallant, and forget the Hobby-horse. The whole body of your morris will be darkened. There be of us. But 'tis no matter. Forget the Hobby-horse.  1. 
Cuddy Banks, have you forgot since he paced it from Envile Chase to Edmonton? Cuddy, honest Cuddy, cast thy stuff.  Y. Bank. 
Suffer may ye all. It shall be known, I can take mine ease as well as another Man. Seek your Hobby-horse where you can get him.  1. 
Cuddy, honest Cuddy, we confess, and are sorry for our neglect.  2. 
The old Horse shall have a new Bridle.  3. 
The Caparisons new painted.  4. 
The Tail repaired.  1. 
The Snaffle and the Bosses new saffroned o'er.  1. 
Kind:  2. 
Honest:  3. 
Loving, ingenious:  4. 
Affable Cuddy.  Y. Bank. 
To show I am not flint; but affable, as you say, very well stuffed, a kind of warm dough or Puff-paste, I relent, I connive, most affable Jack: let the Hobby-horse provide a strong back, he shall not want a belly when I am in 'em. But ud's me, Mother Sawyer.  1. 
The old Witch of Edmonton. If our mirth be not crossed.  2. 
Bless us, Cuddy, and let her curse her t'other eye out. What dost now?  Y. Bank. 
Ungirt, unblessed, says the Proverb. But my Girdle shall serve a riding knit: and a fig for all the Witches in Christendom. What wouldst thou?  1. 
The Devil cannot abide to be crossed.  2. 
And scorns to come at any man's whistle.  3. 
Away  4. 
With the Witch.  Omn. 
Away with the Witch of Edmonton.  Ex. in strange posture. Sawy. 
Still vexed? still tortured? That Curmudgeon Banks  
Is ground of all my scandal. I am shunned  
And hated like a sickness: made a scorn  
To all degrees and sexes. I have heard old Beldames  
Talk of Familiars in the shape of Mice,  
Rats, Ferrets, Weasels, and I wot not what,  
That have appeared, and sucked, some say, their blood.  
But by what means they came acquainted with them,  
I'm now ignorant: would some power good or bad  
Instruct me which way I might be revenged  
Upon this Churl, I'd go out of myself,  
And give this Fury leave to dwell within  
This ruined Cottage, ready to fall with age:  
Abjure all goodness: be at hate with prayer;  
And study Curses, Imprecations,  
Blasphemous speeches, Oaths, detested Oaths,  
Or any thing that's ill; so I might work  
Revenge upon this Miser, this black Cur,  
That barks, and bites, and sucks the very blood  
Of me, and of my credit. 'Tis all one,  
To be a Witch, as to be counted one.  
Vengeance, shame, ruin, light upon that Canker.  Enter Dog. Dog. 
Ho! have I found thee cursing? now thou art mine own.  Sawy. 
Thine? what art thou?  Dog. 
He thou hast so often importuned to appear to thee, the Devil.  Sawy. 
Bless me! the Devil?  Dog. 
Come, do not fear, I love thee much too well  
To hurt or fright thee. If I seem terrible,  
It is to such as hate me. I have found  
Thy love unfeigned; have seen and pitied  
Thy open wrongs, and come out of my love  
To give thee just revenge against thy foes.  Sawy. 
May I believe thee?  Dog. 
To confirm't, command me  
Do any mischief unto Man or Beast,  
And I'll effect it, on condition,  
That uncompelled thou make a deed of Gift  
Of Soul and Body to me.  Sawy. 
Out, alas!  
My Soul and Body?  Dog. 
And that instantly,  
And seal it with thy blood: if thou deniest,  
I'll tear thy body in a thousand pieces.  Sawy. 
I know not where to seek relief: But shall I  
After such Covenants sealed, see full revenge  
On all that wrong me?  Dog. 
Ha, ha, silly woman!  
The Devil is no liar to such as he loves.  
Didst ever know or hear the Devil a liar  
To such as he affects?  Sawy. 
When I am thine, at least so much of me,  
As I can call mine own.  Dog. 
Equivocations?  
Art mine or no? speak, or I'll tear.  Sawy. 
All thine.  Dog. 
Seal't with thy blood.  [Sucks her arm, thunder and lightning. 
See, now I dare call thee mine;  
For proof, command me, instantly I'll run,  
To any mischief, goodness can I none.  Sawy. 
And I desire as little. There's an old Churl, one Banks—  Dog. 
That wronged thee: he lamed thee, called thee Witch.  Sawy. 
The same: first upon him I'd be revenged.  Dog. 
Thou shalt: Do but name how.  Sawy. 
Go, touch his life.  Dog. 
I cannot.  Sawy. 
Hast thou not vowed? Go, kill the slave.  Dog. 
I wonot.  Sawy. 
I'll cancel then my gift.  Dog. 
Ha, ha!  Sawy. 
Dost laugh?  
Why wilt not kill him?  Dog. 
Fool, because I cannot.  
Though we have power, know, it is circumscribed,  
And tied in limits: though he be cursed to thee,  
Yet of himself he is loving to the world,  
And charitable to the poor. Now Men  
That, as he, love goodness, though in smallest measure,  
Live without compass of our reach. His Cattle  
And Corn, I'll kill and mildew: but his life  
(Until I take him, as I late found thee,  
Cursing and swearing) I have no power to touch.  Saw. 
Work on his corn and cattle then.  Dog. 
I shall.  
The Witch of Edmonton shall see his fall.  
If she at least put credit in my power,  
And in mine only; make Orisons to me,  
And none but me.  Saw. 
Say how, and in what manner?  Dog. 
I'll tell thee, when thou wishest ill;  
Corn, Man or Beast, would spoil or kill,  
Turn thy back against the Sun,  
And mumble this short Orison:  
If thou to death or shame pursue 'em,  
Sanctibicetur nomen tuum.  Sawy. 
If thou to death or shame pursue 'em,  
Sanctibecetur nomen tuum.  Dog. 
Perfect. Farewell. Our first-made promises  
We'll put in execution against Banks.  Exit. Sawy. 
Contaminetur nomen tuum. I'm an expert Scholar;  
Speak Latin, or I know not well what Language,  
As well as the best of 'em. But who comes here?  Enter Y. Ba. 
The Son of my worst Foe. To death pursue 'em,  
Et sanctabecetur nomen tuum.  Y. Bank. 
What 's that she mumbles? the Devils Pater noster?  
Would it were else. Mother Sawyer, Good morrow.  Sawy. 
Ill morrow to thee, and all the world, that flout a poor old woman. To death pursue 'em, and sanctabacetur nomen tuum.  Y. Bank. 
Nay, good Gammer Sawyer, whate'er it pleases my  
Father to call you, I know you are  Sawy. 
A Witch.  Y. Bank. 
A Witch? would you were else i'faith.  Sawy. 
Your Father knows I am by this.  Y. Bank. 
I would he did.  Sawy. 
And so in time may you.  Y. Bank. 
I would I might else. But Witch or no Witch, you are a motherly woman: and though my Father be a kind of God bless us, as they say, I have an earnest suit to you; and if you'll be so kind to ka me one good turn, I'll be so courteous as to kob you another.  Sawy. 
what's that? to spurn, beat me, and call me Witch, as your kind Father doth?  Y. Bank. 
My Father? I am ashamed to own him. If he has hurt the head of thy credit, there's money to buy thee a Plaster: and a small courtesy I would require at thy hands.  Sawy. 
You seem a good young Man, and I must dissemble, the better to accomplish my revenge. But for this silver, what wouldst have me do? bewitch thee?  Y. Bank. 
No, by no means; I am bewitched already. I would have thee so good as to unwitch me, or witch another with me for company.  Sawy. 
I understand thee not. Be plain, my Son.  Y. Bank. 
As a Pikestaff, Mother: you know Kate Carter.  Sawy. 
The wealthy yeoman's Daughter. What of her?  Y. Bank. 
That same Party has bewitched me.  Sawy. 
Bewitched thee?  Y. Bank. 
Bewitched me, Hisce auribus. I saw a little Devil fly out of her eye like a Burbolt, which sticks at this hour up to the Feathers in my heart. Now my request is, to send one of thy what d'ye call', either to pluck that out, or stick another as fast in hers. Do, and here's my hand, I am thine for three lives.  Sawy. 
We shall have sport. Thou art in love with her.  Y. Bank. 
Up to the very hilts, Mother.  Sawy. 
And thou'dst have me make her love thee too.  Y. Bank. 
I think she'll prove a Witch in earnest. Yes, I could find in my heart to strike her three quarters deep in love with me too.  Sawy. 
But dost thou think that I can do't, and I alone?  Y. Bank. 
Truly, Mother Witch, I do verily believe so: and when I see it done, I shall be half persuaded so too.  Sawy. 
It's enough. What Art can do, be sure of: turn to the West, and whatsoe'er thou hearest or seest, stand silent, and be not afraid.  She stamps. Enter the Dog; he fawns and leaps upon her. Y. Bank. 
Afraid, Mother Witch? turn my face to the West? I said I should always have a back-friend of her; and now it's out. And her little Devil should be hungry, come sneaking behind me, like a cowardly Catchpole, and clap his Talents on my Haunches. 'Tis woundy cold sure. I shudder and shake like an Aspenleaf every joint of me.  Sawy. 
To scandal and disgrace pursue 'em,  
Et sanctabicetur nomen tuum.  
How now, my Son, how is't?  Exit Dog. Y. Bank. 
Scarce in a clean life, Mother Witch. But did your goblin and you spout Latin together?  Sawy. 
A kind of Charm I work by. Didst thou hear me?  Y. Bank. 
I heard I know not the Devil what mumble in a scurvy base tone, like a Drum that had taken cold in the head the last Muster. Very comfortable words: what were they? and who taught them you?  Sawy. 
A great learned Man.  Y. Bank. 
Learned Man? learned Devil it was as soon? But what? what comfortable news about the Party?  Sawy. 
Who? Kate Carter? I'll tell thee, thou know'st the Style at the West-end of thy Father's Pease-Field, be there to morrow-night after Sunset; and the first live thing thou seest, be sure to follow, and that shall bring thee to thy Love.  Y. Bank. 
In the Pease-field? Has she a mind to coddlings already? The first living thing I meet, you say, shall bring me to her.  Sawy. 
To a sight of her, I mean. She will seem wantonly coy, and flee thee: but follow her close, and boldly: do but embrace her in thy arms once, and she is thine own.  Y. Bank. 
At the Style, at the West-end of my Father's Peaseland, the first live thing I see, follow and embrace her, and she shall be thine. Nay, and I come to embracing once, she shall be mine; I'll go near to make at Eaglet else.  Exit. Sawy. 
A ball well bandied: now the set 's half won:  
The Father's wrong I'll wreak upon the Son.  Exit.  

SCAEN. 2.  Enter Carter, Warbeck, Somerton. Cart. 
How now Gentlemen, cloudy? I know Mr. Warbeck, you are in a fog about my daughter's marriage.  Warb. 
And can you blame me, Sir?  Cart. 
Nor you me justly. Wedding and hanging are tied up both in a Proverb; and Destiny is the Juggler that unties the knot. My hope is, you are reserved to a richer fortune than my poor Daughter.  Warb. 
However, your promise.  Cart. 
Is a kind of debt, I confess it.  Warb. 
Which honest men should pay.  Cart. 
Yet some Gentlemen break in that point, now and then, by your leave, Sir.  Som. 
I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the Wench: but patience is the only salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the Wench, he has most reason to wear her.  Warb. 
Love in this kind admits no reason to wear her.  Cart. 
Then loves a fool, and what wise man will take exception?  Som. 
Come, frolic Ned, were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws; and Destiny go a woolgathering.  Warb. 
You hold yours in a string though. 'Tis well: but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage ere long.  Som. 
In my love to her Sister Katherine? Indeed, they are a pair of Arrows drawn out of one Quiver, and should fly at an even length, if she do run after her Sister.  Warb. 
Look for the same mercy at my hands, as I have received at thine.  Som. 
She'll keep a surer compass. I have too strong a confidence to mistrust her.  Warb. 
And that confidence is a wind, that has blown many a married Man ashore at Cuckold's Haven, I can tell you: I wish yours more prosperous though.  Cart. 
Whatever you wish, I'll master my promise to him.  Warb. 
Yes, as you did to me.  Cart. 
No more of that, if you love me. But for the more assurance, the next offered occasion shall consummate the Marriage: and that once sealed,  Enter Young Thorney and Susan. Som. 
Leave the manage of the rest to my care. But see, the Bridegroom and Bride comes; the new pair of Sheffield-knives fitted both to one sheath.  Warb. 
The Sheath might have been better fitted, if somebody had their due. But—  Cart. 
No harsh language, if thou lovest me. Frank Thorney has done—  Warb. 
No more than I, or thou, or any man, things so standing, would have attempted.  Som. 
Good morrow Mr. Bridegroom.  Warb. 
Come, give thee joy. Mayst thou live long and happy in thy fair choice.  Y. Thor. 
I thank ye Gentlemen. Kind Mr. Warbeck, I find you loving.  Warb. 
Thorney, that creature, (much good do thee with her)  
Virtue and beauty hold fair mixture in her.  
She's rich no doubt in both. Yet were she fairer,  
Thou art right worthy of her. Love her, Thorney,  
'Tis nobleness in thee, in her but duty.  
The match is fair and equal: the success  
I leave to censure. Farewell, Mrs. Bride:  
Till now elected, thy old scorn deride.  Exit. Som. 
Good, Mr. Thorney.  Cart. 
Nay, you shall not part till you see the Barrels run a-tilt, Gentlemen.  Exit. Sus. 
Why change you your face, sweetheart?  Y. Thor. 
Who? I? For nothing.  Sus. 
Dear, say not so: a Spirit of your constancy cannot endure his change for nothing. I have observed strange variations in you.  Y. Thor. 
In me?  Sus. 
In you, Sir. Awake: you seem to dream, and in your sleep you utter sudden and distracted accents, like one at enmity with peace. Dear loving Husband, if I may dare to challenge any interest in you, give me the reason fully: you may trust my breast as safely as your own.  Y. Thor. 
With what? you half amaze me, prithee.  Sus. 
Come, you shall not; indeed, you shall not shut me from partaking the least dislike that grieves you. I am all yours.  Y. Thor. 
And I all thine.  Sus. 
You are not, if you keep the least grief from me: but I find the cause; it grew from me.  Y. Thor. 
From you?  Sus. 
From some distaste in me or my behaviour: you are not kind in the concealment. 'Las, Sir, I am young, silly, and plain; more strange to those contents a wife should offer. Say but in what I fail, I'll study satisfaction.  Y. Thor. 
Come, in nothing.  Sus. 
I know I do. Knew I as well in what, you should not long be sullen. Prithee Love, if I have been immodest or too bold, speak't in a frown: if peevishly too nice, show't in a smile. Thy liking is the glass by which I'll habit my behaviour.  Y. Thor. 
Wherefore dost weep now?  Sus. 
You, Sweet, have the power to make me passionate as an April-day: now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red. You are the powerful Moon of my blood's Sea, to make it ebb or flow into my face, as your looks change.  Y. Thor. 
Change thy conceit, I prithee:  
Thou art all perfection: Diana herself  
Swells in thy thoughts, and moderates thy beauty.  
Within thy left eye amorous Cupid fits  
Feathering Love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipped  
— In thy chaste breast. In the other lies  
Blushing Adonis scarfed in modesties.  
And still as wanton Cupid blows Love-fires,  
Adonis quenches our unchaste desires.  
And from these two I briefly do imply  
A perfect Emblem of thy modesty.  
Then, prithee Dear, maintain no more dispute,  
For where thou speakst, it's fit all tongues be mute.  Sus. 
Come, come, those golden strings of flattery  
Shall not tie up my speech, Sir; I must know  
The ground of your disturbance.  Y. Thor. 
Then look here;  
For here, here is the fen in which this Hydra  
Of discontent grows rank.  Sus. 
Heaven shield it: where?  Y. Tho. 
In mine own bosom: here the cause has root;  
The poisoned Leeches twist about my heart,  
And will, I hope, confound me.  Sus. 
You speak Riddles.  Y. Tho. 
Take't plainly then: 'twas told me by a woman  
Known and approved in Palmistry,  
I should have two wives.  Sus. 
Two wives? Sir, I take it exceeding likely. But let not conceit hurt you: you are afraid to bury me?  Y. Thor. 
No, no, my Winifrid.  Sus. 
How say you? Winifrid? you forget me.  Y. Thor. 
No, I forget myself, Susan.  Sus. 
In what?  Y. Thor. 
Talking of wives, I pretend Winifrid,  
A Maid that at my Mother's waited on me  
Before thyself.  Sus. 
I hope, Sir, she may live to take my place. But why should all this move you?  Y. Thor. 
The poor Girl, she hast before thee, and that's the Fiend torments me.  Sus. 
Yet why should this raise mutiny within you? such presages prove often false: or say it should be true?  Y. Thor. 
That I should have another wife?  Sus. 
Yes, many; if they be good, the better.  Y. Thor. 
Never any equal to thee in goodness.  Sus. 
Sir, I could wish I were much better for you;  
Yet if I knew your fate  
Ordained you for another, I could wish  
(So well I love you, and your hopeful pleasure)  
Me in my grave, and my poor virtues added  
To my successor.  Y. Thorn. 
prithee, prithee, talk not of death or graves; thou art so rare a goodness, as Death would rather put itself to death, then murder thee. But we, as all things else, are mutable and hanging.  Sus. 
Yet you still move in your first sphere of discontent. Sweet, chase those clouds of sorrow, and shine clearly on me.  Y. Thor. 
At my return I will.  Sus. 
Return? ah me! will you then leave me?  Y. Thor. 
For a time I must: but how? as Birds their young, or loving Bees their Hives, to fetch home richer dainties.  Sus. 
Leave me? Now has my fear met its effect. You shall not, cost it my life, you shall not.  Y. Thor. 
Why? your reason?  Sus. 
Like to the Lapwing have you all this while with your false love deluded me? pretending counterfeit senses for your discontent, and now at last it is by chance stole from you.  Y. Thor. 
What? what by chance?  Sus. 
Your pre-appointed meeting of single combat with young Warbeck.  Y. Thor. 
Hah!  Sus. 
Even so: dissemble not; 'tis too apparent. Then in his look I read it: deny it not; I see't apparent: cost it my undoing, and unto that my life, I will not leave you.  Y. Thor. 
Not until when?  Sus. 
Till he and you be Friends.  
Was this your cunning? and then flam me off  
With an old Witch, two Wives, and Winifrid?  
You're not so kind indeed as I imagined.  Y. Thor. 
And you more fond by far then I expected.  
It is a virtue that attends thy kind.  
But of our business within: and by this kiss,  
I'll anger thee no more; troth Chuck I will not.  Sus. 
You shall have no just cause,  Y. Thor. 
Dear Sue, I shall not.  Exeunt.   

ACT. III.  

Scaen. 1.  Enter Cuddy Banks, and Morris-dancers. 1. 
NAy, Cuddy, prithee do not leave us now: if we part all this night, we shall not meet before day.  1. 
I prithee, Banks, let's keep together now.  Clow. 
If you were wise, a word would serve: but as you are, I must be forced to tell you again, I have a little private business, an hour's work; it may prove but an half hours, as luck may serve; and than I take horse and along with you. Have we e'er a Witch in the Morris?  1. 
No, no; no woman's part, but Maid-marian, and the Hobby-horse.  Clow. 
I'll have a Witch; I love a Witch.  1. 
Faith, Witches themselves are so common nowadays, that the counterfeit will not be regarded. They say we have three or four in Edmonton, besides Mother Sawyer.  2. 
I would she would dance her part with us.  3. 
So would not I; for if she comes, the Devil and all comes along with her.  Clow. 
Well, I'll have a Witch: I have loved a Witch ever since I played at Cherry-pit. Leave me, and get my horse dressed: give him Oats; but water him not till I come. Whither do we foot it first?  2. 
To Sir Arthur Clarington's first, then whither thou wilt.  Clow. 
Well, I'm content: but we must up to Carter's, the rich Yeoman. I must be seen on Hobby-horse there.  1. 
O, I smell him now: I'll lay my ears Banks is in love, and that's the reason he would walk melancholy by himself.  Clow. 
Hah! who was that said I was in love?  1. 
Not I.  2. 
Not I.  Clow. 
Go to: no more of that. When I understand what you speak, I know what you say: believe that.  1. 
Well, 'twas I, I'll not deny it: I meant no hurt in't. I have seen you walk up to Carter's of Chessum. Banks, were not you there last Shrovetide?  Clow. 
Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrovetide.  2. 
How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week?  Clow. 
Prithee peace, I reckon stila nova, as a Traveller: thou understandest as a freshwater Farmer, that never sawest a week beyond Sea. Ask any Soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he'll tell thee there are eight days in the week there, hard by. How dost thou think they rise in high Germany, Italy, and those remoter places?  3. 
ay, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet.  Clow. 
No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee, look but in the Lover's Almanac, when he has been but three days absent; Oh, says he, I have not seen my Love these seven years: there's a long cut. When he comes to her again, and embraces her, O, says he, now methinks I am in Heaven; and that's a pretty step: he that can get up to Heaven in ten days, need not repent his journey. You may ride a hundred days in a caroche, and be further off than when you set forth. But I pray you, good Morrice-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.  1. 
Well, since he will be alone, we'll back again, and trouble him no more.  Omn. 
But remember, Banks.  Clow. 
The Hobby-horse shall be remembered. But hark you: get Poldavis, the Barber's Boy for the Witch; because he can show his Art better than another.  Exeunt. 
Well, now to my walk. I am near the place where I should meet I know not what: say I meet a Thief, I must follow him, if to the Gallows: say I meet a Horse, or Hare, or Hound, still I must follow; some slow-paced Beast, I hope: yet Love is full of lightness in the heaviest Lovers. Ha! my Guide is come. A Water-Dog. I am thy first man, Sculler: I go with thee: ply no other but myself: away with the Boat: land me but at Katherine's Dock, my sweet Katherine's Dock, and I'll be a Fare to thee. That way? nay, which way thou wilt, thou know'st the way better than I. Fine gentle Cur it is, and well brought up, I warrant him. We go a ducking, Spaniel; thou shalt fetch me the Ducks, pretty kind Rascal.  Enter Spirit in shape of Katherine, vizarded, and takes it off. Spir. 
Thus throw I off mine own essential horror,  
And take the shape of a sweet lovely Maid  
Whom this Fool dotes on. We can meet his folly,  
But from his Virtues must be Runaways.  
We'll sport with him: but when we reckoning call,  
We know where to receive: th' Witch pays for all.  (Dog barks. Clow. 
I? is that the watchword? She's come. Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking-Church, in memory of thee. Now come behind, kind Cur.  
And have I met thee, sweet Kate?  
I will teach thee to walk so late.  
O see, we meet in Metre. What? dost thou trip from me? Oh that I were upon my Hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble. Stay, Nymph, stay, Nymph, singed Apollo: tarry and kiss me; sweet Nymph stay: tarry and kiss me, Sweet. We will to Chessum-street, and then to the house stands in the highway. Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you. Oh help, help, I am drowned, I am drowned.  Ex. Spir. and Banks. Dog. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Enter wet. Clow. 
This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I find it now in Pond's Almanac: thinking to land at Katherine's Dock, I was almost at Gravesend. I'll never go to a Wench in the Dog-days again; yet 'tis cool enough. Had you never a paw in this Dogtrick? a mangy take that black hide of yours: I'll throw you in at Limehouse in some Tanner's Pit or other.  Dog. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Clow. 
How now? who's that laughs at me? Hist to him. [Dog barks. ]Peace, peace; thou didst but thy kind neither. 'Twas my own fault.  Dog. 
Take heed how thou trustest the Devil another time.  Clow. 
How now? who's that speaks? I hope you have not your reading Tongue about you.  Dog. 
Yes, I can speak.  Clow. 
The Devil you can. You have read Esop's Fables then: I have played one of your parts then; the Dog that catched at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechise you a little: What might one call your name, Dog?  Dog. 
My Dame calls me Tom.  Clow. 
'Tis well; and she may call me Ass: so there's an whole one betwixt us, Tom-Ass. She said, I should follow you, indeed. Well, Tom, give me thy fist; we are Friends: you shall be mine Ingle: I love you; but I pray you let's have no more of these ducking devices.  Dog. 
Not, if you love me. dog's love where they are beloved. Cherish me, and I'll do any thing for thee.  Clow. 
Well, you shall have Jowls and Livers: I have Butchers to my Friends that shall bestow 'em: and I will keep Crusts and Bones for you, if you'll be a kind Dog, Tom.  Dog. 
Any thing: I'll help thee to thy Love.  Clow. 
Wilt thou? That promise shall cost me a brown Loaf, though I steal it out of my Father's Cupboard. You'll eat stolen Goods, Tom, will you not?  Dog. 
Oh best of all. The sweetest bits, those.  Clow. 
You shall not starve, Ningle Tom; believe that, if you love Fish, I'll help you to Maids and Soles. I'm acquainted with a Fishmonger.  Dog. 
Maids and Soles? Oh, sweet bits! Banqueting stuff, those.  Clow. 
One thing I would request you, Ningle, as you have played the Knavish Cur with me a little, that you would mingle amongst our morris-dancers in the morning. You can dance?  Dog. 
Yes, yes, any thing: I'll be there, but unseen to any but thyself. Get thee gone before: fear not my presence. I have work tonight. I serve more Masters, more Dames than one.  Clow. 
He can serve Mammon and the Devil too.  Dog. 
It shall concern thee, and thy love's purchase:  
There's a gallant Rival loves the Maid;  
And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief  
Before the morris ends, shall light on him.  Clow. 
On sweet Ningle, thy news once again. friend's must part for a time: farewell, with this remembrance; shalt have bread too when we meet again. If ever there were an honest Devil, 'twill be the Devil of Edmonton, I see. Farewell Tom. I prithee dog me as soon as thou canst.  Ex. Banks. Dog. 
I'll not miss thee, and be merry with thee.  
Those that are joys denied, must take delight  
In sins and mischiefs, 'tis the Devil's right.  Ex. Dog. Enter Young Thorney, Winnifride as a Boy. Frank. 
Prithee no more: those tears give nourishment  
To weeds and briers in me, which shortly will  
o'ergrow and top my head: my shame will sit  
And cover all that can be seen of me.  Win. 
I have not shown this check in company,  
Pardon me now: thus singled with yourself,  
It calls a thousand sorrows round about.  
Some going before, and some on either side;  
But infinite behind: all chained together.  
Your second adulterous Marriage leads;  
That's the sad Eclipse, the effects must follow.  
As, plagues of shame, spite, scorn, and obloquy.  Y. Tho. 
Why? hast thou not left one hours' patience  
To add to all the rest? One hour bears us  
Beyond the reach of all these Enemies.  
Are we not now set forward in the flight,  
Provided with the Dowry of my sin,  
To keep us in some other Nation?  
While we together are, we are at home  
In any place.  Win. 
'Tis fowl ill gotten coin,  
Far worse than Usury or Extortion.  Y. Thor. 
Let my Father then make the restitution,  
Who forced me take the bribe: it is his gift  
And patrimony to me; so I receive it.  
He would not bless, not look a Father on me,  
Until I satisfied his angry will.  
When I was sold, I sold myself again  
(Some Knaves have done't in Lands, and I in Body)  
For money, and I have the hire. But, sweet, no more,  
'Tis hazard of discovery, our discourse;  
And then prevention takes off all our hopes.  
For only but to take her leave of me,  
My Wife is coming.  Win. 
Who coming? your Wife?  Y. Tho. 
No, no, thou art here: the woman; I knew  
Not how to call her now: but after this day  
She shall be quite forgot, and have no name  
In my remembrance. See, see, she's come.  Enter Susan. 
To lead the horses to the hill's top, there I'll meet thee.  Sus. 
Nay, with your favour, let him stay a little.  
I would part with him too, because he is  
Your sole Companion; and I'll begin with him,  
Reserving you the last.  Y. Thor. 
ay, with all my heart.  Sus. 
You may hear, if it please you, Sir.  Y. Thor. 
No, 'tis not fit.  
Some rudiments, I conceive, they must be,  
To overlook my slippery footings. And so.  Sus. 
No, indeed, Sir.  Y. Thor. 
Tush, I know it must be so, and 'tis necessary.  
On, but be brief.  Win. 
What charge soe'er you lay upon me, Mistress,  
I shall support it faithfully (being honest)  
To my best strength.  Sus. 
Believe 't shall be no other. I know you were  
Commended to my husband by a noble Knight.  Win. 
Oh Gods! Oh, mine eyes!  Sus. 
How now? what ailst thou, Lad?  Win. 
Something hit mine eye, it makes it water still,  
Even as you said, Commended to my Husband.  
Some door I think it was. I was, forsooth,  
Commended to him by Sir Arthur Clarington.  Sus. 
Whose Servant once my Thorney was himself.  
That title methinks should make you almost Fellows,  
Or at the least much more than a Servant;  
And I am sure he will respect you so.  
Your love to him then needs no spur for me,  
And what for my sake you will ever do;  
'Tis fit it should be bought with something more  
Than fair entreaties. Look here's a Jewel for thee,  
A pretty wanton Label for thine ear;  
And I would have it hang there, still to whisper  
These words to thee, Thou hast my Jewel with thee.  
It is but earnest of a larger bounty,  
When thou returnest, with praises of thy service,  
Which I am confident thou wilt deserve.  
Why, thou art many now, besides thyself:  
Thou mayst be Servant, Friend, and Wife to him.  
A good Wife is then all. A Friend can play  
The Wife and Servants part, and shift enough.  
No less the Servant can the Friend and Wife.  
'Tis all but sweet society, good counsel,  
Interchanged loves; yes, and counsel-keeping.  Y. Thor. 
Not done yet?  Sus. 
Even now, Sir.  Win. 
Mistress, believe my vow, your severe eye  
Were it present to command; your bounteous hand,  
Were it then by to buy or bribe my service,  
Shall not make me more dear or near unto him,  
Than I shall voluntary. I'll be all your charge,  
Servant, Friend, Wife to him.  Sus. 
Wilt thou?  
Now blessings go with thee for't: courtesies  
Shall meet thee coming home.  Win. 
Pray you say plainly, Mistress,  
Are you jealous of him? if you be,  
I'll look to him that way too.  Sus. 
Sayst thou so?  
I would thou hadst a woman's bosom now.  
We have weak thoughts within us. Alas,  
There's nothing so strong in us as suspicion:  
But I dare not, nay, I will not think  
So hardly of my Thorney.  Win. 
Believe it, Mistress,  
I'll be no Pander to him; and if I find  
Any loose lubric scapes in him, I'll watch him,  
And at my return, protest I'll show you all.  
He shall hardly offend without my knowledge.  Sus. 
Thine own diligence is that I press,  
And not the curious eye over his faults.  
Farewell: if I should never see thee more,  
Take it for ever.  Y. Thor. 
Prithee take that along with thee,  Gives his sword. 
And haste thee to the hill's top; I'll be there instantly.  Ex. Win. Sus. 
No haste I prithee, slowly as thou canst.  
Pray let him obey me now: 'tis happily his last  
Service to me. My power is e'en a going out of sight.  Y. Thor. 
Why would you delay? we have no other  
Business now but to part.  Sus. 
And will not that, sweet heart, ask a long time?  
Methinks it is the hardest piece of work  
That e'er I took in hand.  Y. Thor. 
Fie, fie, why look,  
I'll make it plain and easy to you: Farewell.  Kisses. Sus. 
Ah, 'las! I am not half perfect in it yet.  
I must have it read over an hundred times.  
Pray you take some pains, I confess my dulness.  Y. Thor. 
What a Thorn this Rose grows on? parting were sweet.  
But what a trouble 'twill be to obtain it?  
Come, again and again, farewell. Yet wilt return?  Kisses. 
All questions of my journey, my stay, employment,  
And revisitation, fully I have answered all.  
There's nothing now behind, but nothing.  Sus. 
And that nothing is more hard than any thing,  
Than all the every things. This Request.  Y. Thor. 
What is it?  Sus. 
That I may bring you through one pasture more  
Up to you knot of trees: amongst those shadows  
I'll vanish from you, they shall teach me how.  Y. Thor. 
Why, 'tis granted: come, walk then.  Sus. 
Nay, not too fast.  
They say slow things have best perfection:  
The gentle shower wets to fertility.  
The churlish storm may mischief with his bounty.  
The baser beasts take strength, even from the womb:  
But the Lord Lion's whelp is feeble long.  exeunt. Enter Dog. Dog. 
Now for an early mischief and a sudden:  
The mind's about it now. One touch from me  
Soon sets the body forward.  Enter Young Thorney, Susan. Y. Thor. 
Your request is out: yet will you leave me?  Sus. 
What? so churlishly? you'll make me stay for ever,  
Rather than part with such a sound from you.  Y. Thor. 
Why you almost anger me. Pray you be gone.  
You have no company, and 'tis very early;  
Some hurt may betide you homewards.  Sus. 
Tush, I fear none.  
To leave you, is the greatest hurt I can suffer:  
Besides, I expect your Father and mine own,  
To meet me back, or overtake me with you.  
They began to stir when I came after you:  
I know they'll not be long.  Y. Thor. 
So, I shall have more trouble.  [Dog rubs him. 
Thank you for that. Then I'll ease all at once.  
'Tis done now: what I ne'er thought on. You shall not go back.  Sus. 
Why? shall I go along with thee? sweet music!  Y. Thor. 
No, to a better place.  Sus. 
Any place, I:  
I'm there at home, where thou pleasest to have me.  Y. Thor. 
At home? I'll leave you in your last lodging.  
I must kill you.  Sus. 
Oh fine! you'd fright me from you.  Y. Thor. 
You see I had no purpose: I'm unarmed. 'Tis this minute's decree, and it must be. Look, this will serve your turn.  Sus. 
I'll not turn from it, if you be erst, Sir. Yet you may tell me wherefore you'll kill me.  Y. Thor. 
Because you are a whore.  Sus. 
There's one deep wound already: a whore?  
'Twas ever further from me then the thought  
Of this black hour: a whore?  Y. Thor. 
Yes, I'll prove it,  
And you shall confess it. You are my whore,  
No wife of mine. The word admits no second.  
I was before wedded to another, have her still.  
I do not lay the sin unto your charge,  
'Tis all mine own. Your marriage was my theft.  
For I espoused your dowry, and I have it:  
I did not purpose to have added murder;  
The Devil did not prompt me: till this minute  
You might have safe returned; now you cannot:  
You have dogged your own death.  [Stabs her. Sus. 
And I deserve it.  
I'm glad my fate was so intelligent.  
'Twas some good Spirits motion. Die? oh, 'twas time!  
How many years might I have slept in sin?  
Sin of my most hatred too, Adultery?  Y. Thor. 
Nay, sure 'twas likely that the most was passed;  
For I meant never to return to you  
After this parting.  Sus. 
Why then I thank you more,  
You have done lovingly, leaving yourself,  
That you would thus bestow me on another.  
Thou art my Husband, Death, and I embrace thee  
With all the love I have. Forget the stain  
Of my unwitting sin: and then I come  
A Crystal Virgin to thee. My Soul's purity  
Shall with bold Wings ascend the Doors of Mercy;  
For Innocence is ever her Companion.  Y. Thor. 
Not yet mortal? I would not linger you,  
Or leave you a tongue to blab.  Sus. 
Now heaven reward you ne'er the worse for me.  
I did not think that death had been so sweet;  
Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne'er die better,  
Had I stayed forty years for preparation:  
For I'm in charity with all the World.  
Let me for once be thine example, Heaven;  
Do to this man as I him free forgive.  
And may he better die, and better live.  Moritur. Y. Tho. 
'Tis done; and I am in: once past our height,  
We scorn the deep'st Abyss. This follows now,  
To heal her Wounds by dressing of the Weapon:  
Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail,  [Wounds himself. 
Light scratches giving such deep ones. The best I can  
To bind myself to this Tree. Now's the storm,  
Which if blown o'er, many fair days may follow.  [Dog ties him. 
So, so, I'm fast; I did not think I could  
Have done so well behind me. How prosperous  
And effectual mischief sometimes is? Help, help;  
Murder, murder, murder.  Enter Carter, and Old Thorney. Cart. 
Ha! Whom tolls the Bell for?  Y. Thor. 
Oh, oh!  O. Thor. 
Ah me! the cause appears too soon: my Child, my Son.  Cart. 
Susan, Girl, Child. Not speak to thy Father? Hah!  Y. Tho. 
O lend me some assistance to o'ertake this hapless woman.  O. Thor. 
Let's o'ertake the murderers. Speak whilst thou canst; anon may be too late. I fear thou hast deaths mark upon thee too.  Y. Thor. 
I know them both; yet such an Oath is passed,  
As pulls damnation up if it be broke;  
I dare not name 'em: think what forced men do.  O. Thor. 
Keep oath with murderers? that were a conscience to hold the Devil in.  Y. Thor. 
Nay, Sir, I can describe 'em;  
Shall show them as familiar as their names.  
The Taller of the two at this time wears  
His satin-doublet white, but Crimson lined;  
Hose of black Satin, Cloak of Scarlet.  O. Thor. 
Warbeck, Warbeck, Warbeck: Do you list to this, Sir?  Cart. 
Yes, yes, I listen you: here's nothing to be heard.  Y. Thor. 
Th' other's Cloak branched Velvet black, Velvet lined his Suit.  O. Thor. 
I have 'em already: Somerton, Somerton.  
Binal revenge, all this. Come, Sir, the first work  
Is to pursue the Murderers, when we have removed  
These mangled bodies hence.  Cart. 
Sir, take that Carcase there, and give me this.  
I'll not own her now; she's none of mine.  
Bob me off with a dumb show? No, I'll have life.  
This is my Son too, and while there's life in him,  
'Tis half mine; take you half that silence for 't.  
When I speak, I look to be spoken to: forgetful Slut?  O. Thor. 
Alas! what grief may do now?  
Look, Sir, I'll take this load of sorrow with me.  Cart. 
ay, do, and I'll hear this. How do you, Sir?  Y. Thor. 
O, very ill, Sir.  Cart. 
Yes, I think so; but 'tis well you can speak yet.  
There's no music but in sound, sound it must be.  
I have not wept these twenty years before,  
And that I guess was ere that Girl was born:  
Yet now methinks, if I but knew the way,  
My heart's so full, I could weep night and day.  Exeunt. Enter Sir Arthur Clarington, Warbeck, Somerton. Sir Art. 
Come, Gentlemen, we must all help to grace  
The nimble-footed youth of Edmonton, that are so kind  
To call us up today with an high morris.  Warb. 
I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now.  
absurdity's in my opinion ever the best Dancer in a morris.  Som. 
I could rather sleep than see 'em.  Sir Art. 
Not well, Sir?  Som. 
Faith not ever thus leaden; yet I know no cause for 't.  Warb. 
Now am I beyond mine own condition highly disposed to mirth.  Sir Art. 
Well, you may have yet a morris to help both;  
To strike you in a dump, and make him merry.  Enter Fiddler and Morrice; all but Banks. Fidl. 
Come, will you set yourselves in Morris-array? the fore-Bell, second Bell, Tenor and great Bell; maid-marian for the same Bell. But where's the Weathercock now? the Hobby-horse?  1. 
Is not Banks come yet? What a spite 'tis?  Sir Art. 
When set you forward, Gentlemen?  1. 
We stay but for the Hobby-horse, Sir: all our Footmen are ready.  Som. 
'Tis marvel your Horse should be behind your Foot.  2. 
Yes, Sir: he goes further about: we can come in at the  
Wicket, but the broad Gate must be opened for him.  Enter Banks, Hobby-horse and Dog. Sir Art. 
Oh, we stayed for you, Sir.  Clow. 
Only my Horse wanted a Shoe, Sir: but we shall make you amends ere we part.  Sir Art. 
I? well said, make 'em drink ere they begin.  [Ent. serv.. Clow. 
A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my Horse, [with beer. he'll mount the better. Nay, give me, I must drink to him, he'll not pledge else. Here Hobby. [Holds him the bowl. ]I pray you: No? not drink? You see, Gentlemen, we can but bring our horse to the Water; he may choose whether he'll drink or no.  Som. 
A good Moral made plain by History.  1. 
Strike up, Father Sawgut, strike up.  Fidl. 
E'en when you will, Children. Now in the name of the best foot forward. How now? not a word in thy Guts? I think, Children, my Instrument has caught cold on the sudden.  Clow. 
My Ningle's knavery: black Tom's doing.  Omn. 
Why what mean you, Father Sawgut?  Clow. 
Why what would you have him do? You hear his Fiddle is speechless.  Fidl. 
I'll lay mine Ear to my Instrument, that my poor Fiddle is bewitched. I played The Flowers in May, e'en now, as sweet as a Violet; now 'twill not go against the hair: you see I can make no more Music than a Beetle of a Cow-turd.  Clow. 
Let me see, Father Sawgut, say, once you had a brave Hobby-horse, that you were beholding to. I'll play and dance too. Ningle, away with it.  [Dog plays the morris; which ended, enter a Constable and Officers. Omn. 
I marry, Sir!  Const. 
Away with jollity, 'tis too sad an hour.  
Sir Arthur Clarington, your own assistance,  
In the king's Name, I charge, for apprehension  
Of these two Murderers, Warbeck and Somerton.  Sir Art. 
Ha! flat Murderers?  Som. 
Ha, ha, ha, this has awakened my melancholy.  Warb. 
And struck my mirth down flat. Murderers?  Const. 
The accusation is flat against you, Gentlemen.  
Sir, you may be satisfied with this. I hope  
You'll quietly obey my power;  
'Twill make your cause the fairer.  Ambo. 
Oh! with all our hearts, Sir.  Clow. 
There's my Rival taken up for Hangman's meat. Tom told me he was about a piece of Villainy. Mates and morrismen, you see here's no longer piping, no longer dancing. This news of Murder has slain the morris. You that go the footway, fare ye well: I am for a Gallop. Come, Ningle.  Exe. Fidl. 
[Strikes his Fiddle. ]I? Nay and my Fiddle be come to himself again, I care not. I think the Devil has been abroad amongst us today. I'll keep thee out of thy fit now if I can.  Exe. Sir Art. 
These things are full of horror, full of pity.  
But if this time be constant to the proof,  
The guilt of both these Gentlemen I dare take  
Upon mine own danger; yet howsoever, Sir,  
Your power must be obeyed.  Warb. 
Oh most willingly, Sir.  
'Tis a most sweet affliction. I could not meet  
A joy in the best shape with better will.  
Come, fear not, Sir; nor Judge, nor Evidence,  
Can bind him o'er, who's freed by conscience.  Som. 
Mine stands so upright to the middle Zone,  
It takes no shadow to't, it goes alone.  Exeunt.   

ACT. IV.  

Scaen. 1.  Enter Old Banks, and two or three Countrymen. O. Bank. 
MY Horse this morning runs most piteous of the Glanders, whose nose yesternight was as clean as any Man's here now coming from the Barbers; and this I'll take my death upon 'tis long of this Jadish Witch, Mother Sawyer.  1. 
I took my Wife and a Servingman in our Town of Edmonton, thrashing in my Barn together, such Corn as Country-Wenches carry to Market; and examining my Polecat why she did so, she swore in her conscience she was bewitched: and what Witch have we about us, but Mother Sawyer?  2. 
Rid the Town of her, else all our Wives will do nothing else but dance all out other Country maypoles.  3. 
Our Cattle fall, our Wives fall, our Daughters fall, and Maidservants fall; and we ourselves shall not be able to stand, if this Beast be suffered to graze amongst us.  Enter W. Hamlac, with Thatch and a Link. Haml. 
Burn the Witch, the Witch, the Witch, the Witch.  Omn. 
What hast got there?  Haml. 
A handful of Thatch plucked off a Hovel of hers: and they say, when 'tis burning, if she be a Witch, she'll come running in.  O. Bank. 
Fire it, fire it: I'll stand between thee and home for any danger.  As that burns, enter the Witch. Sawy. 
Diseases, Plagues; the curse of an old Woman follow and fall upon you.  Omn. 
Are you come, you old Trot?  O. Bank. 
You hot Whore, must we fetch you with fire in your tail?  1. 
This Thatch is as good as a Jury to prove she is a Witch.  Omn. 
Out Witch; beat her, kick her, set fire on her.  Sawy. 
Shall I be murdered by a bed of Serpents? help, help!  Enter Sir Arthur Clarington, and a Justice. Omn. 
Hang her, beat her, kill her.  Just. 
How now? Forbear this violence.  Sawy. 
A crew of Villains, a knot of bloody Hangmen set to torment me I know not why.  Just. 
Alas, neighbour Banks, are you a Ringleader in mischief:  
Fie, to abuse an aged woman!  O. Bank. 
Woman? a She-hell-cat, a Witch: to prove her one, we no sooner set fire on the Thatch of her House, but in she came running, as if the Devil had sent her in a Barrel of Gunpowder; which trick as surely proves her a Witch, as the Pox in a snuffling nose, is a sign a Man is a Whoremaster.  Just. 
Come, come; firing her Thatch? ridiculous: take heed Sirs what you do: unless your proofs come better armed, instead of turning her into a Witch, you'll prove yourselves stark Fools.  Omn. 
fool's?  Just. 
Arrant Fools.  O. Bank. 
Pray, Mr. Justice what do you call 'em, hear me but in one thing: This grumbling Devil owes me I know no good will ever since I fell out with her.  Sawy. 
And brakedst my back with beating me.  O. Bank. 
I'll break it worse.  Sawy. 
Wilt thou?  Just. 
You must not threaten her: 'tis against Law. Go on.  O. Bank. 
So, Sir, ever since, having a Dun-Cow tied up in my Backside, let me go thither, or but cast mine eye at her, and if I should be hanged, I cannot choose, though it be ten times in an hour, but run to the Cow, and taking up her tail, kiss (saving your Worship's Reverence) my Gow behind; That the whole Town of Edmonton has been ready to bepiss themselves with laughing me to scorn.  Just. 
And this is long of her?  O. Bank. 
Who the Devil else? for is any man such an Ass, to be such a Baby, if he were not bewitched?  Sir Art. 
Nay, if she be a Witch, and the harms she does end in such sports, she may scape burning.  Just. 
Go, go; pray vex her not: she is a Subject, and you must not be Judges of the Law to strike her as you please.  Omn. 
No, no, we'll find cudgel enough to strike her.  O. Bank. 
ay, no lips to kiss but my cow's—?  Exeunt. Sawy. 
Rots and foul maladies eat up thee and thine.  Just. 
Here's none now, Mother Sawyer, but this Gentleman, myself and you; let us to some mild Questions, have you mild Answers? Tell us honestly, and with a free confession, (we'll do our best to wean you from it) are you a Witch, or no?  Sawy. 
I am none.  Just. 
Be not so furious.  Sawy. 
I am none. None but base Curs so bark at me. I am none. Or would I were: if every poor old Woman be trod on thus by staves, reviled, kicked, beaten, as I am daily, she to be revenged had need turn Witch.  Sir Art. 
And you to be revenged have sold your Soul to th'Devil.  Sawy. 
Keep thine own from him.  Just. 
You are too saucy, and too bitter.  Sawy. 
Saucy? by what commission can he send my Soul on the Devil's Errand, more than I can his? is he a Landlord of my Soul, to thrust it when he list out of door?  Just. 
Know whom you speak to.  Sawy. 
A Man: perhaps, no Man. Men in gay clothes, whose Backs are laden with Titles and Honours, are within far more crooked than I am; and if I be a Witch, more Witchlike.  Sir Art. 
You're a base Hellhound. And now, Sir, let me tell you, Far and near she's bruited for a woman that maintains a Spirit that sucks her.  Sawy. 
I defy thee.  Sir Arth. 
Go, go, I can, if need be, bring an hundred voices e'en here in Edmonton, that shall loud proclaim thee for a secret and pernicious Witch.  Sawy. 
Ha, ha!  Just. 
Do you laugh? why laugh you?  Sawy. 
At my name: the brave name this Knight gives me, Witch.  Just. 
Is the Name of Witch so pleasing to thine Ear?  Sir Art. 
Pray, Sir, give way, and let her Tongue gallop on.  Sawy. 
A Witch? who is not?  
Hold not that universal Name in scorn then.  
What are your painted things in princes' Courts?  
Upon whose Eyelids Lust sits blowing fires  
To burn Men's Souls in sensual hot desires:  
Upon whose naked Paps, a lecher's thought  
Acts Sin in fouler shapes then can be wrought.  Just. 
But those work not as you do.  Sawy. 
No, but far worse:  
These, by Enchantments, can whole Lordships change  
To Trunks of rich Attire: turn Ploughs and Teams  
To Flanders Mares and Coaches; and huge trains  
Of servitors, to a French butterfly.  
Have you not City-witches who can turn  
Their husband's wares, whole standing shops of wares,  
To sumptuous Tables, Gardens of stolen sin?  
In one year wasting, what scarce twenty win.  
Are not these Witches?  Just. 
Yes, yes, but the Law  
Casts not an eye on these.  Sawy. 
Why then on me,  
Or any lean old Beldame? Reverence once  
Had wont to wait on age. Now an old woman  
Ill favoured grown with years, if she be poor,  
Must be called Bawd or Witch. Such so abused  
Are the course Witches: tother are the fine,  
Spun for the Devil's own wearing.  Sir Art. 
And so is thine.  Sawy. 
She on whose tongue a whirlwind sits to blow  
A man out of himself, from his soft pillow,  
To lean his head on Rocks and fighting waves,  
Is not that Scold a Witch? The Man of Law  
Whose honeyed hopes the credulous Client draws,  
(As Bees by tinkling basins) to swarm to him,  
From his own Hive, to work the wax in his;  
He is no Witch, not he.  Sir Art. 
But these men-witches  
Are not in trading with hell's Merchandise,  
Like such as you are, that for a word, a look,  
Denial of a Coal of fire, kill Men,  
Children and Cattle.  Sawy. 
Tell them, Sir, that do so:  
Am I accused for such an one?  Sir Art. 
Yes, 'twill be sworn.  Sawy. 
Dare any swear I ever tempted Maiden  
With golden hooks flung at her chastity,  
To come and lose her honour? and being lost,  
To pay not a Denier for't? Some slaves have done it.  
Men-witches can without the Fangs of Law,  
Drawing once one drop of blood, put counterfeit pieces  
Away for true Gold.  Sir Art. 
By one thing she speaks,  
I know now she's a Witch, and dare no longer  
Hold conference with the Fury.  Just. 
Let's then away:  
Old woman, mend thy life, get home and pray.  Exeunt. Sawy. 
For his confusion. [Enter Dog. ]My dear Tomboy welcome.  
I am torn in pieces by a pack of Curs  
clapped all upon me, and for want of thee:  
Comfort me: thou shalt have the Teat anon.  Dog. 
bow wow: I'll have it now.  Sawy. 
I am dried up  
With cursing and with madness; and have yet  
No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine.  
Stand on thy hind-legs up. Kiss me, my Tommy,  
And rub away some wrinkles on my brow,  
By making my old ribs to shrug for joy  
Of thy fine tricks. What hast thou done? Let's tickle.  
Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee?  Dog. 
Yes, and nipped the sucking-child.  Sawy. 
Ho, ho, my dainty,  
My little Pearl. No Lady loves her Hound,  
Monkey, or Parakeet, as I do thee.  Dog. 
The Maid has been churning Butter nine hours; but it shall not come.  Sawy. 
Let 'em eat Cheese and choke.  Dog. 
I had rare sport  
Among the Clowns i'th' morris.  Sawy. 
I could dance  
Out of my skin to hear thee. But my Curl-pate,  
That Jade, that foul-tongued whore, Nan Ratcliff,  
Who for a little Soap licked by my Sow,  
Struck, and almost had lamed it; Did not I charge thee,  
To pinch that Quean to th' heart?  Dog. 
bow, wow, wow: Look here else.  Enter Anne Ratcliff mad. Ratc. 
See, see, see; the Man i'th' Moon has built a new Windmill, and what running there's from all quarters of the City to learn the Art of Grinding!  Sawy. 
Ho, ho, ho! I thank thee, my sweet Mongrel.  Ratc. 
Hoyda! apox of the Devil's false Hopper! all the golden Meal runs into the rich knave's purses, and the poor have nothing but Bran. hay derry down! Are not you Mother Sawyer?  Sawy. 
No, I am a Lawyer.  Ratc. 
Art thou? I prithee let me scratch thy Face; for thy Pen has flayed off a great many men's skins. You'll have brave doings in the Vacation; for Knaves and Fools are at variance in every Village. I'll sue Mother Sawyer, and her own Sow shall give in evidence against her.  Sawy. 
Touch her.  Ratc. 
Oh my Ribs are made of a paynd Hose, and they break. There's a Lancashire Hornpipe in my throat: hark how it tickles it, with Doodle, Doodle, Doodle, Doodle. Welcome Sergeants: welcome Devil. Hands, hands; hold hands, and dance around, around, around.  Enter Old Banks, his Son the Clown, Old Ratcliff, Country-fellows. O. Ratc. 
She's here; alas, my poor wife is here.  O. Bank. 
Catch her fast, and have her into some close Chamber: do, for she's as many Wives are, stark mad.  Clow. 
The witch, Mother Sawyer, the witch, the devil. [Car. her off.  O. Ratc. 
O my dear Wife! help, Sirs!  O. Bank. 
You see your work, Mother Bumby.  Saw. 
My work? should she & all you here run mad, is the work mine?  Clow. 
No, on my conscience, she would not hurt a Devil of two years old.  Enter Old Ratcliff, and the rest. 
How now? what's become of her?  O. Ratc. 
Nothing: she's become nothing, but the miserable trunk of a wretched woman. We were in her hands as Reeds in a mighty Tempest: spite of our strengths, away she broke; and nothing in her mouth being heard, but the Devil, the Witch, the Witch, the Devil; she beat out her own brains, and so died.  Clow. 
It's any Man's case, be he never so wise, to die when his brains go a woolgathering.  O. Banks. 
Masters, be ruled by me; let's all to a Justice. Hag, thou hast done this, and thou shalt answer it.  Sawy. 
Banks, I defy thee.  O. Bank. 
Get a warrant first to examine her, than ship her to Newgate: here's enough, if all her other villainies were pardoned, to burn her for a Witch. You have a Spirit, they say, comes to you in the likeness of a Dog; we shall see your Cur at one time or other: if we do, unless it be the Devil himself, he shall go howling to the Goal in one chain, and thou in another.  Sawy. 
Be hanged thou in a third, and do thy worst.  Clow. 
How, Father? you send the poor dumb thing howling to th'Goal? He that makes him howl, makes me roar.  O. Bank. 
Why, foolish Boy, dost thou know him?  Clow. 
No matter, if I do or not. He's bailable I am sure by Law. But if the Dog's word will not be taken, mine shall.  O. Bank. 
Thou Bail for a Dog?  Clow. 
Yes, or a Bitch either, being my Friend. I'll lie by the heels myself, before Puppison shall: his Dog-days are not come yet, I hope.  O. Bank. 
What manner of Dog is it? didst ever see him?  Clow. 
See him? yes, and given him a bone to gnaw twenty times. The Dog is no Court foisting Hound, that fills his belly full by base wagging his tail; neither is it a citizen's Water-Spaniel, enticing his Master to go ducking twice or thrice a week, whilst his Wife makes Ducks and Drakes at home: this is no Paris-Garden Bandog neither, that keeps a Bough, wow, woughing, to have Butchers bring their Curs thither; and when all comes to all, they run away like Sheep: neither is this the black Dog of Newgate.  O. Bank. 
No, Goodman Son-fool, but the Dog of hellgate.  Clow. 
I say, Goodman Father-fool, it's a lie.  Omn. 
He's bewitched.  Clow. 
A gross lie as big as myself. The Devil in St. Dunstan's will as soon drink with this poor Cur, as with any Temple-Bar-Laundress, that washes and wrings Lawyers.  Dog. 
bow, wow, wow, wow.  Omn. 
O the Dog's here, the Dog's here.  O. Bank. 
It was the voice of a Dog.  Clow. 
The voice of a Dog? if that voice were a Dog's, what voice had my Mother? so am I a Dog: bough, wow, wow: it was I that barked so, Father, to make Coxcombs of these Clowns.  O. Bank. 
However, we'll be coxcombed no longer: away therefore to th' Justice for a Warrant; and then, Gammer Gurton, have at your Needle of Witchcraft.  Sawy. 
And prick thine own eyes out. Go, peevish Fools.  Exe. Clow. 
Ningle, you had like to have spoiled all with your Boughings. I was glad to put 'em off with one of my Dog-tricks, on a sudden, I am bewitched, little Cost-me-nought, to love thee— a Pox, that Morrice makes me spit in thy mouth. I dare not stay. Farewell, Ningle; you whoreson Dogs-nose. Farewell Witch.  Exit. Dog. 
bow, wow, wow, wow.  Sawy. 
Mind him not, he's not worth thy worrying: run at a fairer Game: that foul-mouthed Knight, scurvy Sir Arthur, fly at him, my Tommy; and pluck out's throat.  Dog. 
No, there a Dog already biting's conscience.  Sawy. 
That's a sure Bloodhound. Come, let's home and play.  
Our black work ended, we'll make holiday.  Exeunt.  

SCAEN. 2.  Enter Katherine: a Bed thrust forth, on it Frank in a slumber. Kat. 
Brother, Brother! So sound asleep? that's well.  Frank. 
No, not I, Sister: he that's wounded here,  
As I am; (all my other hurts are bitings  
Of a poor flea) but he that here once bleeds,  
Is maimed incurably.  Kat. 
My good sweet Brother,  
(For now my Sister must grow up in you)  
Though her loss strikes you through, and that I feel  
The blow as deep, I pray thee be not cruel  
To kill me too, by seeing you cast away  
In your own helpless sorrow. Good Love, sit up:  
And if you can give Physic to yourself,  
I shall be well.  Frank. 
I'll do my best.  Kat. 
I thank you. What do you look about for?  Frank. 
Nothing, nothing; but I was thinking, Sister.  Kat. 
Dear heart, what?  Fran. 
Who but a fool would thus be bound to a bed,  
Having this Room to walk in?  Kat. 
Why do you talk so? would you were fast asleep.  Frank. 
No, no, I'm not idle:  
But here's my meaning: being robbed as I am,  
Why should my Soul, which married was to hers,  
Live in divorce, and not fly after her?  
Why should not I walk hand in hand with death  
To find my Love out?  Kat. 
That were well, indeed.  
Your time being come, when death is sent to call you,  
No doubt you shall meet her.  Frank. 
Why should not I go without calling?  Kat. 
Yes, Brother, so you might, were there no place  
To go to when you're gone, but only this.  Frank. 
Troth, Sister, thou sayst true:  
For when a man has been an hundred years,  
Hard travelling o'er the tottering bridge of age,  
He's not the thousand part upon his way.  
All life is but a wandering to find home:  
When we are gone, we are there. happy were man,  
Could here his Voyage end; he should not then  
Answer how well or ill he steered his Soul,  
By Heaven's or by Hell's Compass; how he put in  
(Losing blessed Goodness shore) at such a sin;  
Nor how life's dear provision he has spent:  
Nor how far he in's Navigation went  
Beyond Commission. This were a fine Reign,  
To do ill, and not hear of it again.  
Yet then were Man more wretched than a Beast:  
For, Sister, our dead pay is sure the best.  Kat. 
'Tis so, the best or worst. And I wish Heaven  
To pay (and so I know it will) that Traitor,  
That Devil Somerton (who stood in mine eye  
Once as an Angel) home to his deservings.  
What Villain but himself, once loving me,  
With Warbeck's Soul would pawn his own to Hell,  
To be revenged on my poor Sister?  Frank. 
Slaves! a pair of merciless Slaves!  
Speak no more of them.  Kate. 
I think this talking hurts you.  Frank. 
Does me no good, I'm sure,  
I pay for't everywhere.  Kat. 
I have done then.  
Eat, if you cannot sleep: you have these two days  
Not tasted any food. Jane, is it ready?  Frank. 
What's ready? what's ready?  Kat. 
I have made ready a rosted Chicken for you.  
Sweet, wilt thou eat?  Frank. 
A pretty stomach on a sudden— yes—  
There's one in the house can play upon a Lute:  
Good Girl, let's hear him too.  Kat. 
You shall, dear Brother.  
Would I were a Musician, you should hear  Lute plays. 
How I would feast your ear.  
Stay, mend your Pillow, and raise you higher.  Frank. 
I am up too high: am I not, Sister, now?  Kat. 
No, no; 'tis well: fall to, fall to. A Knife: here's never a Knife, Brother, I'll look out yours.  Enter Dog, shrugging as it were for joy, and dances. Frank. 
Sister, O Sister, I am ill upon a sudden; and can eat nothing.  Kat. 
In very deed you shall. The want of Food makes you so faint. Ha! here's none in your pocket. I'll go fetch a Knife.  Exit. Frank. 
Will you? 'Tis well, all's well.  [She gone, he searches first one, then the other Pocket-Knife found. Dog runs off. He lies on one side: the Spirit of Susan his second Wife comes to the bedside. He stares at it; and turning to the other side, it's there too. In the mean time, Winnifride as a Page comes in, stands at his Beds-feet sadly: he frighted, sits upright. The Spirit vanishes. Frank. 
What art thou?  Win. 
A lost Creature.  Frank. 
So am I too.  Win? 
Ah, my She-Page!  Win. 
For your sake I put on a shape that's false; yet do I wear a heart true to you as your own.  Frank. 
Would mine and thine were Fellows in one house. Kneel by me here: on this side now? How dar'st thou come to mock me on both sides of my bed?  Win. 
When?  Frank. 
But just now: outface me, stare upon me with strange postures: turn my Soul wild by a face in which were drawn a thousand Ghosts leapt newly from their Graves, to pluck me into a winding-Sheet.  Win. 
Believe it, I came no nearer to you than you place, at your beds-feet; and of the house had leave, calling myself your Horseboy, in to come, and visit my sick Master.  Frank. 
Then 'twas my Fancy. Some Windmill in my brains for want of sleep.  Win. 
Would I might never sleep, so you could rest.  
But you have plucked a Thunder on your head.  
Whose noise cannot cease suddenly: why should you  
Dance at the wedding of a second wife?  
When scarce the Music which you heard at mine  
Had ta'en a farewell of you. O this was ill!  
And they who thus can give both hands away,  
In th' end shall want their best Limbs.  Frank. 
Winifrid, the Chamber door fast?  Win. 
Yes.  Frank. 
Sit thee then down;  
And when thoust heard me speak, melt into tears:  
Yet I to save those eyes of thine from weeping,  
Being to write a Story of us two,  
In stead of Ink, dipped my sad Pen in blood.  
When of thee I took leave, I went abroad  
Only for Pillage, as a Freebooter,  
What Gold soe'er I got, to make it thine.  
To please a Father, I have Heaven displeased.  
Striving to cast two wedding Rings in one,  
Through my bad workmanship I now have none.  
I have lost her and thee.  Win. 
I know she's dead: but you have me still.  Frank. 
Nay, her this hand murdered; and so I lose thee too.  Win. 
Oh me!  Frank. 
Be quiet, for thou my evidence art,  
Jury and Judge: sit quiet, and I'll tell all.  As they whisper, enter at one end o'th' Stage Old Carter and Katharine, Dog at th' other, pawing softly at Frank. Kat. 
I have run madding up and down to find you, being laden with the heaviest News that ever poor Daughter carried.  Cart. 
Why? is the Boy dead?  Kat. 
Dead, Sir! O Father, we are cozened: you are told the Murderer sings in Prison, and he laughs here.  
This Villain killed my Sister: see else, see,  
A bloody Knife in's Pocket.  Cart. 
Bless me, patience!  Frank. 
The Knife, the Knife, the Knife!  Kat. 
What Knife?  Exit Dog. Frank. 
To cut my Chicken up, my Chicken; be you my Carver, Father.  Cart. 
That I will.  Kat. 
How the Devil steels our brows after doing ill!  Frank. 
My stomach and my sight are taken from me; all is not well within me.  Cart. 
I believe thee, Boy: I that have seen so many Moons clap their Horns on other men's Foreheads to strike them sick, yet mine to scape, and be well! I that never cast away a Fee upon Urinals, but am as sound as an honest man's Conscience when he's dying, I should cry out as thou dost, All is not well within me, felt I but the Bag of thy imposthumes. Ah poor Villain! Ah my wounded Rascal! all my grief is, I have now small hope of thee.  Frank. 
Do the Surgeons say, My wounds are dangerous then?  Cart. 
Ye, yes, and there's no way with thee but one.  Frank. 
Would he were here to open them.  Cart. 
I'll go to fetch him: I'll make an holiday to see thee as I wish.  Exit to fetch Officers. Frank. 
A wondrous kind old man.  Win. 
Your sins the blacker, so to abuse his goodness. Master, how do you?  Frank. 
Pretty well now, boy: I have such odd qualms come cross my stomach! I'll fall too: boy, cut me.  Win. 
You have cut me, I'm sure, a Leg or Wing, Sir.  Frank. 
No, no, no: a Wing? would I had Wings but to soar up you Tower: but here's a Clog that hinders me. What's that?  [Father with her in a Coffin.] Cart. 
That? what? O now I see her; 'tis a young Wench, my Daughter, Sirrah, sick to the death: and hearing thee to be an excellent Rascal for letting blood, she looks out at a Casement, and cries, Help, help, stay that man; him I must have, or none.  Frank. 
For pity's sake, remove her: see, she stares with one broad open eye still in my face.  Cart. 
Thou puttest both hers out, like a Villain as thou art; yet see, she is willing to lend thee one again to find out the Murderer, and that's thyself.  Frank. 
Old man, thou liest.  Cart. 
So shalt thou i'th' Goal. Run for Officers.  Kat. 
O thou merciless Slave! she was (though yet above ground) in her Grave to me, but thou hast torn it up again. Mine eyes too much drowned, now must feel more rain.  Cart. 
Fetch Officers.  Exit Katharine. Frank. 
For whom?  Cart. 
For thee, sirrah, sirrah: some knives have foolish Posies upon them, but thine has a villainous one; look, Oh! it is enameled with the heartblood of thy hated Wife, my beloved Daughter. What sayst thou to this evidence? is't not sharp? does't not strike home? thou canst not answer honestly, and without a trembling heart, to this one point, this terrible bloody point.  Win. 
I beseech you, Sir, strike him no more; you see he's dead already.  Cart. 
O, Sir! you held his Horses, you are as arrant a Rogue as he: up, go you too.  Frank. 
As you're a man, throw not upon that Woman your loads of tyranny, for she's innocent.  Cart. 
How? how? a woman? is't grown to a fashion for women in all Countries to wear the Breeches?  Win. 
I am not as my disguise speaks me, Sir, his Page; but his first only wife, his lawful wife.  Cart. 
How? how? more fire i'th' Bedstraw?  Win. 
The wrongs which singly fell on your Daughter, on me are multiplied: she lost a life, but I, an Husband and myself must lose, if you call him to a Bar for what he has done.  Cart. 
He has done it then?  Win. 
Yes, 'tis confessed to me.  Frank. 
Dost thou betray me?  Win. 
O pardon me, dear heart! I am mad to lose thee, and know not what I speak: but if thou didst, I must arraign this Father for two sins, Adultery and Murder.  Kat. 
Sir, they are come.  Enter Katherine. Cart. 
Arraign me for what thou wilt, all Middlesex knows me better for an honest man, than the middle of a Market place knows thee for an honest woman: rise, Sirrah, and don your Tacklings, rig yourself for the Gallows, or I'll carry thee thither on my back: your Trull shall to th' Goal go with you; there be as fine Newgate birds as she, that can draw him in. Pox on's wounds.  Frank. 
I have served thee, and my wages now are paid, Yet my worst punishment shall, I hope, be stayed.  Exeunt.   

ACT. V.  

Scaen. 1.  Enter Mother Sawyer alone. Sawy. 
STill wronged by every Slave? and not a Dog  
Bark in his dame's defence? I am called Witch,  
Yet am myself bewitched from doing harm.  
Have I given up myself to thy black lust  
Thus to be scorned? not see me in three days?  
I'm lost without my Tomalin: prithee come,  
Revenge to me is sweeter far than life;  
Thou art my Raven, on whose coal-black wings  
Revenge comes flying to me: O my best love!  
I am on fire, (even in the midst of Ice)  
Raking my blood up, till my shrunk knees feel  
Thy curled head leaning on them. Come then, my Darling,  
If in the Air thou hoverest, fall upon me  
In some dark Cloud; and as I oft have seen  
Dragons and Serpents in the Elements,  
Appear thou now so to me. Art thou i'th' Sea?  
Muster up all the Monsters from the deep,  
And be the ugliest of them: so that my bulch  
Show but his swarth cheek to me, let earth cleave,  
And break from Hell, I care not: could I run  
Like a swift Powder-Mine beneath the world,  
Up would I blow it, all to find out thee,  
Though I lay ruined in it. Not yet come!  
I must then fall to my old Prayer:  
Sanctibiceter nomen tuum.  
Not yet come! worrying of Wolves, biting of mad Dogs, the Manges and the—  Enter Dog. Dog. 
How now! whom art thou cursing?  Sawy. 
Thee. Ha! No, 'tis my black Cur I am cursing, for not attending on me.  Dog. 
I am that Cur.  Sawy. 
Thou liest: hence, come not nigh me.  Dog. 
Baugh, waugh.  Sawy. 
Why dost thou thus appear to me in white, as if thou wert the Ghost of my dear love?  Dog. 
I am dogged, list not to tell thee, yet to torment thee: my whiteness puts thee in mind of thy winding Sweet.  Sawy. 
Am I near death?  Dog. 
Yes, if the Dog of Hell be near thee. When the Devil comes to thee as a Lamb, have at thy Throat.  Sawy. 
Off, Cur.  Dog. 
He has the back of a Sheep, but the belly of an Otter: devours by Sea and Land. Why am I in white? didst thou not pray to me?  Sawy. 
Yes, thou dissembling Hellhound: why now in white more than at other times?  Dog. 
Be blasted with the News; whiteness is day's Footboy, a forerunner to light, which shows thy old riveled face: Villains are stripped naked, the Witch must be beaten out of her Cockpit.  Sawy. 
Must she? she shall not; thou art a lying Spirit:  
Why to mine eyes art thou a Flag of truce?  
I am at peace with none; 'tis the black colour  
Or none, which I fight under: I do not like  
Thy puritan-paleness: glowing Furnaces  
Are far more hot than they which flame outright.  
If thou my old Dog art, go and bite such as I shall set thee on.  Dog. 
I will not.  Sawy. 
I'll sell myself to twenty thousand Fiends, to have thee torn in pieces then.  Dog. 
Thou canst not: thou art so ripe to fall into Hell, that no note of my Kennel will so much as bark at him that hangs thee.  Sawy. 
I shall run mad.  Dog. 
Do so, thy time is come, to curse, and rave and die.  
The Glass of thy sins is full, and it must run out at Gallows.  Sawy. 
It cannot, ugly Cur, I'll confess nothing;  
And not confessing, who dare come and swear  
have bewitched them? I'll not confess one mouthful.  Dog. 
Choose, and be hanged or burned.  Sawy. 
Spite of the Devil and thee, I'll muzzle up my Tongue from telling Tales.  Dog. 
Spite of thee and the Devil, thou'lt be condemned.  Sawy. 
Yes, when?  Dog. 
And ere the Executioner catch thee full in's Claws, thou'lt confess all.  Sawy. 
Out Dog!  Dog. 
Out Witch! Thy trial is at hand:  
Our prey being had, the Devil does laughing stand.  The Dog stands aloof. Enter Old Banks, Ratchiff, and Countrymen. O. Bank. 
She's here; attach her: Witch, you must go with us.  Sawy. 
Whither? to Hell?  O. Bank. 
No, no, no, old Crone; your Mittimus shall be made thither, but your own Jailors shall receive you. Away with her.  Sawy. 
My Tommie! my sweet Tomboy! O thou Dog! dost thou now fly to thy Kennel and forsake me? Plagues and Consumptions—  Exeunt. Dog. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha!  
Let not the World, Witches or Devils condemn,  
They follow us, and then we follow them.  [Young Banks to the Dog.] Clown. 
I would fain meet with mine Ingle once more; he has had a Claw amongst 'em: my Rival that loved my Wench, is like to be hanged like an innocent; a kind Cur, where he takes; but where he takes not, a dogged Rascal. I know the Villain loves me: no. [Barks.] Art thou there? that's Tom's voice, but 'tis not he: this is a Dog of another hair: this? bark and not speak to me? not Tom then: there's as much difference betwixt Tom and this, as betwixt white and black.  Dog. 
Hast thou forgot me?  Clown. 
That's Tom again: prithee Ningle speak, is thy name Tom?  Dog. 
whilst I served my old Dame Sawyer, 'twas: I'm gone from her now.  Dog. 
Gone? away with the Witch then too: she'll never thrive if thou leav'st her; she knows no more how to kill a Cow, or a Horse, or a Sow, without thee, than she does to kill a Goose.  Dog. 
No, she has done killing now, but must be killed for what she has done: she's shortly to be hanged.  Clown. 
Is she? in my conscience if she be, 'tis thou hast brought her to the Gallows, Tom.  Dog. 
Right: I served her to that purpose, 'twas part of my Wages.  Clown. 
This was no honest servant's part, by your leave Tom: this remember, I pray you, between you and I; I entertained you ever as a Dog, not as a Devil.  Dog. 
True; and so I used thee doggedly, not devilishly.  
I have deluded thee for sport to laugh at.  
The Wench thou seek'st after, thou never spak'st with,  
But a Spirit in her form, habit and likeness. Ha, ha!  Clown. 
I do not then wonder at the change of your garments, if you can enter into shapes of Women too.  Dog. 
Any shape, to blind such silly eyes as thine; but chiefly those course Creatures, Dog or Cat, Hare, Ferret, Frog, Toad.  Clown. 
Louse or Flea?  Dog. 
Any poor Vermin.  Clown. 
It seems you Devils have poor thin souls, that you can bestow yourselves in such small bodies: but pray you Tom, one question at parting, I think I shall never see you more; where do you borrow those Bodies that are none of your own? the garmentshape you may hire at Brokers.  Dog. 
Why wouldst thou know that? fool, it avails thee not.  Clown. 
Only for my mind's sake, Tom, and to tell some of my Friends.  Dog. 
I'll thus much tell thee: Thou never art so distant  
From an evil Spirit, but that thy Oaths,  
Curses and Blasphemies pull him to thine Elbow:  
Thou never tell'st a lie, but that a Devil  
Is within hearing it; thy evil purposes  
Are ever haunted; but when they come to act,  
As thy Tongue slandering, bearing false witness.  
Thy hand stabbing, stealing, cozening, cheating,  
He's then within thee: thou play'st, he bets upon thy part;  
Although thou lose, yet he will gain by thee.  Clown. 
I? than he comes in the shape of a Rook.  Dog. 
The old Cadaver of some self-strangled wretch  
We sometimes borrow, and appear humane.  
The Carcase of some disease-slain strumpet,  
We varnish fresh, and wear as her first Beauty.  
Didst never hear? if not, it has been done.  
An hot luxurious lecher in his Twines,  
When he has thought to clip his Dalliance,  
There has provided been for his embrace  
A fine hot flaming Devil in her place.  Clow. 
Yes, I am partly a witness to this, but I never could embrace her: I thank thee for that, Tom; well, again I thank thee, Tom, for all this counsel, without a Fee too; there's few Lawyers of thy mind now: certainly Tom, I begin to pity thee.  Dog. 
Pity me? for what?  Clow. 
Were it not possible for thee to become an honest Dog yet? 'tis a base life that you lead, Tom, to serve Witches, to kill innocent Children, to kill harmless Cattle, to stroy Corn and Fruit, etc. 'twere better yet to be a Butcher, and kill for yourself.  Dog. 
Why? these are all my delights, my pleasures, fool.  Clow. 
Or Tom, if you could give your mind to ducking, I know you can swim, fetch and carry, some Shopkeeper in London would take great delight in you, and be a tender master over you: or if you have a mind to the Game, either at Bull or Bear, I think I could prefer you to Mal-Cutpurse.  Dog. 
Ha, ha! I should kill all the Game, Bulls, Bears, Dogs, and all, not a Cub to be left.  Clow. 
You could do, Tom, but you must play fair, you should be staved off else: or if your stomach did better like to serve in some Noble man's, Knights or Gentleman's Kitchen, if you could brook the wheel, and turn the spit, your labour could not be much; when they have roast-meat, that's but once or twice in the week at most, here you might lick you own Toes very well: Or if you could translate yourself into a Lady's Arming-puppy, there you might lick sweet lips, and do many pretty Offices; but to creep under an old Witches Coats, and suck like a great Puppy, Fie upon't! I have heard beastly things of you, Tom.  Dog. 
Ha, ha! The worse thou heardst of me, the better 'tis.  
Shall I serve thee, Fool, at the selfsame rate?  Clow. 
No, I'll see thee hanged, thou shalt be damned first; I know thy qualities too well, I'll give no suck to such Whelps; therefore henceforth I defy thee; out and avaunt.  Dog. 
Nor will I serve for such a silly Soul.  
I am for greatness now, corrupted greatness;  
There I'll shug in, and get a noble countenance:  
Serve some Briarean Footcloth-strider,  
That has an hundred hands to catch at Bribes,  
But not a finger's nail of Charity.  
Such, like the dragon's Tail, shall pull down hundreds  
To drop and sink with him: I'll stretch myself,  
And draw this Bulk small as a Silver-wire,  
Enter at the least poor Tobacco fume  
Can make a breach for: hence silly fool,  
I scorn to prey on such an Atom soul.  Clow. 
Come out, come out, you Cur; I will beat thee out of the bounds of Edmonton, and tomorrow we go in Procession, and after thou shalt never come in again: if thou goest to London, I'll make thee go about by Tyburn, stealing in by Thieving Lane: if thou canst rub thy Shoulder against a lawyer's Gown, as thou passest by Westminster-Hall, do; if not, to the stairs amongst the Bandogs, take water, and the Devil go with thee.  Exeunt Y. Banks, Dog barking. Enter Justice, Sir Arthur, Warbeck, Carter, Kate. Just. 
Sir Arthur, though the Bench hath mildly censured your Errors, yet you have indeed been the Instrument that wrought all their misfortunes: I would wish you paid down your Fine speedily and willingly.  Sir Art. 
I'll need no urging to it.  Cart. 
If you should, 'twere a shame to you; for if I should speak my conscience, you are worthier to be hanged of the two, all things considered; and now make what you can of it: but I am glad these Gentlemen are freed.  Warb. 
We knew our innocence.  Som. 
And therefore feared it not.  Kat. 
But I am glad that I have you safe.  Noise within. Just. 
How now! what noise is that?  Cart. 
Young Frank is going the wrong way: Alas, poor youth! now I begin to pity him.  Enter Y. Thorney and Holberts. Enter as to see the Execution, O. Carter, O. Thorney, Katharine, Winnifride weeping. O. Thor. 
Here let our sorrows wait him: to press nearer  
The place of his sad death, some apprehensions  
May tempt our grief too much, at height already.  
Daughter, be comforted.  Win. 
Comfort and I  
Are too far separated to be joined  
But in eternity. I share too much of him that's going thither.  Cart. 
Poor woman, 'twas not thy fault: I grieve to see  
Thee weep for him that hath my pity too.  Win. 
My fault was lust, my punishment was shame;  
Yet I am happy that my soul is free  
Both from consent, foreknowledge and intent  
Of any Murder, but of mine own Honour.  
Restored again by a fair satisfaction, and since not to be wounded.  O. Thor. 
Daughter, grieve not for what necessity forceth; rather resolve to conquer it with patience. Alas, she faints!  Win. 
My griefs are strong upon me: my weakness scarce can bear them.  Within. 
Away with her! hang her, Witch!  Enter Sawyes to Execution, Officers with Holberts, countrypeople. Cart. 
The Witch, that instrument of mischief! did not she witch the Devil into my Son-in-law, when he killed my poor Daughter? do you hear, Mother Sawyer?  Sawy. 
What would you have? cannot a poor old woman have your leave to die without vexation?  Cart. 
Did not you bewitch Frank to kill his wife? he could never have done't without the Devil.  Sawy. 
Who doubts it? but is every Devil mine?  
Would I had one now whom I might command  
To tear you all in pieces: Tom would have done't before he left me.  Cart. 
Thou didst bewitch Anne Ratcliff to kill herself.  Sawy. 
Churl, thou liest; I never did her hurt: would you were all as near your ends as I am, that gave evidence against me for it.  Countr. 
I'll be sworn, Mr. Carter, she bewitched Gammer washbowl's Sow, to cast her Pigs a day before she would have farrowed; et they were sent up to London, and sold for as good Westminster Dog-Pigs, at Bartholomew Fair, as ever great bellied Alewife longed for.  Sawy. 
These Dogs will mad me: I was well resolved  
To die in my repentance; though 'tis true.  
I would live longer if I might: yet since  
I cannot, pray torment me not; my conscience  
Is settled as it shall be, all take heed  
How they believe the Devil, at last he'll cheat you.  Cart. 
thou'dst best confess all truly.  Sawy. 
Yet again?  
Have I scarce breath enough to say my Prayers?  
And would you force me to spend that in bawling?  
Bear witness, I repent all former evil.  
There is no damned Conjurer like the Devil.  Omn. 
Away with her, away!  Enter Frank to Execution, Officers, justice, Sir Arthur. Warbeck, Somerton. O. Thor. 
Here's the sad Object which I yet must meet  
With hope of comfort, if a repentant end  
Make him more happy than misfortune would  
Suffer him here to be.  Frank. 
Good Sire, turn from me;  
You will revive affliction almost killed  
With my continual sorrow.  O Thor. 
O Frank, Frank!  
Would I had sunk in mine own wants, or died  
But one bare minute ere thy fault was acted.  Frank. 
To look upon your sorrows, executes me before my Execution.  Win. 
Let me pray you, Sir.  Frank. 
Thou much wronged woman, I must sigh for thee,  
As he that's only loath to leave the World,  
For that he leaves thee in it unprovided,  
Unfriended; and for me to beg a pity  
From any man to thee when I am gone,  
Is more than I can hope; nor to say truth,  
Have I deserved it: but there is a payment  
Belongs to goodness from the great Exchequer  
Above, it will not fail thee, Winifrid;  
Be that thy comfort.  O. Thor. 
Let it be thine too,  
Untimely lost young man.  Frank. 
He is not lost,  
Who bears his peace within him: had I spun  
My Web of life out at full length, and dreamed  
Away my many years in lusts, in surfeits,  
Murders of Reputations, gallant fins  
Commended or approved; then though I had  
Died easily, as great and rich men do,  
Upon my own Bed, not compelled by Justice,  
You might have mourned for me indeed; my miseries  
Had been as everlasting, as remediless:  
But now the Law hath not arraigned, condemned  
With greater rigour my unhappy Fact,  
Than I myself have every little sin  
My memory can reckon from my Childhood:  
A Court hath been kept here, where I am found  
Guilty; the difference is, my impartial Judge  
Is much more gracious than my Faults  
Are monstrous to be named; yet they are monstrous.  O. Thor. 
Here's comfort in this penitence.  Win. 
It speaks  
How truly you are reconciled, and quickens  
My dying comfort, that was near expiring  
With my last breath: now this Repentance makes thee  
As white as innocence; and my first sin with thee,  
Since which I knew none like it, by my sorrow,  
Is clearly canceled: might our Souls together  
Climb to the height of their eternity,  
And there enjoy what earth denied us, Happiness:  
But since I must survive, and be the monument  
Of thy loved memory, I will preserve it  
With a Religious care, and pay thy ashes  
A widow's duty, calling that end best,  
Which though it stain the name, makes the soul blessed  Frank. 
Give me thy hand, poor woman: do not weep:  
Farewell. Thou dost forgive me?  Win. 
'Tis my part  
To use that Language  Frank. 
Oh that my Example  
Might teach the World hereafter what a curse  
Hangs on their heads, who rather choose to marry  
A goodly Portion, than a dower of Virtues!  
Are you there, Gentlemen? there is not one  
Amongst you whom I have not wronged: you most;  
robbed you of a Daughter; but she is  
In Heaven; and I must suffer for it willingly.  Cart. 
ay, ay, she's in Heaven, and I am glad to see  
Thee so well prepared to follow her:  
I forgive thee with all my heart; if thou  
Hadst not had ill counsel, thou wouldst not have  
Done as thou didst: the more shame for them.  Som. 
Spare your excuse to me, I do conceive  
What you would speak: I would you could as easily  
Make satisfaction to the Law, as to my wrongs.  
I am sorry for you.  Warb. 
And so am I, and heartily forgive you.  Kate. 
I will pray for you, for her sake, who, I am sure, did love you dearly.  Sir Art. 
Let us part friendly too: I am ashamed of my part in thy wrongs.  Frank. 
You are all merciful, and send me to my Grave in peace. Sir Arthur, Heavens send you a new heart. Lastly to you, Sir; and though I have deserved not to be called your Son, yet give me leave upon my knees, to beg a blessing.  O. Thor. 
Take it: let me wet thy Cheeks with the last  
Tears my griefs have left me. O Frank, Frank, Frank!  Frank. 
Let me beseech you, Gentlemen, to  
Comfort my old Father; keep him with ye;  
Love this distressed Widow; and as often  
As you remember what a graceless man  
I was, remember likewise that these are  
Both free, both worthy of a better Fate,  
Than such a Son or Husband as I have been.  
All help me with your prayers. On, on, 'tis just  
That Law should purge the guilt of blood and lust.  Exit. Cart. 
Go thy ways: I did not think to have shed one tear for thee, but thou hast made me water my plants spite of my heart. M. Thorney, cheer up, man; whilst I can stand by you, you shall not want help to keep you from falling. We have lost our Children both on's the wrong way, but we cannot help it: better or worse, 'tis now as 'tis.  O. Thor. 
I thank you, Sir, you are more kind than I have cause to hope or look for.  Cart. 
Mr. Somerton, is Kate yours or no?  Som. 
We are agreed,  Kat. 
And, but my Faith is passed, I should fear to be married Husbands are so cruelly unkind: excuse me that I am thus troubled.  Som. 
Thou shalt have no cause.  Cart. 
Take comfort Mistress Winifrid. Sir Arthur,  
For his abuse to you, and to your Husband,  
Is by the Bench enjoined to pay you down  
A thousand Marks.  Sir Art. 
Which I will soon discharge.  Win. 
Sir, 'tis too great a sum to be employed upon my Funeral.  Cart. 
Come, come, if luck had served, Sir Arthur, and every man had his due, somebody might have tottered ere this, without paying Fines: like it as you list. Come to me Winifrid, shalt be well come: make much of her, Kate, I charge you: I do not think but she's a good Wench, and hath has wrong as well as we. So let 'every man home to Edmonton with heavy hearts, yet as merry a we can, though not as we would.  Just. 
Join Friends in sorrow; make of all the best:  
Harms past may be lamented, not redressed.  Exeum    

EPILOGUE.  Win. 
I Am a Widow still, and must not sort  
A second choice, without a good report;  
Which though some Widows find, and few deserve,  
Yet I dare not presume, but will not swerve  
From modest hopes. All noble tongues are free;  
The gentle may speak one kind word for me.  
FINIS.