The witch of Edmonton a known true story / composed into a tragi-comedy by divers well-esteemed poets, William Rowley, Thomas Dekker, John Ford, &c.

The Witch of Edmonton.

ACT. I.

Scaen. 1. Enter Frank Thorney, Winnifride with-child. Frank. COme, Wench; why here's a business soon dispatch'd. 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 childe shall know Who to call Dad now. Win. You have discharg'd the true part of an honest man; I cannot request a fuller satisfaction Then you have freely granted: yet methinks 'Tis an hard case, being lawful man and wife, We should not live together. Frank. Had I fail'd In promise of my truth to thee, we must Have then been ever sundred; now the longest Of our forbearing eithers company, Is onely 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 beggery 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 preserv'd, when he shall understand How you are married, as it will be now, Should you confess it to him. Frank. Fathers are Wonne 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 assur'd: 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 Neer Waltham Abbey, with thy Unkle S • lman: 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 oftner: That's as occasion serves. Win. I, I, in case No other Beauty tempt your eye, whom you Like better, I may chance to be remembred, And see you now and then. Faith, I did hope You'ld not have us'd me so: 'tis but my fortune. And yet, if not for my sake, have some pity Upon the childe 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 perform'd, 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 falsifie that Bridal-Oath That bindes me thine. And, Winnifride, when ever The wanton heat of youth by subtle baits Of beauty, or what womans Art can practice, Draw me from onely loving thee; let Heaven Inflict upon my life some fearful ruine. I hope thou dost believe me. Win. Swear no more; I am confirm'd, and will resolve to do What you think most behoofeful for us. Frank. Thus then; make thy self ready: at the furthest house Upon the Green, without the Town, your Unckle Expects you. For a little time farewel. 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 wrong'd thy Master's house basely and lewdly.

Frank. Your house, Sir? Sir Art. Yes, Sir, if the nimble devil That wanton'd in your blood, rebell'd against All rules of honest duty. You might, Sir, Have found out some more fitting place then here, To have built a Stewes in. All the Country whispers How shamefully thou hast undone a Maid, Approv'd for modest life, for civil carriage, Till thy prevailing perjuries entic'd her To forfeit shame. Will you be honest yet? Make her amends and marry her? Frank. So, Sir, I might bring both my self and her to beggery; And that would be a shame worse then the other. Sir Art. You should have thought on this before, and then Your reason would have oversway'd 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 promis'd 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 then so, I have promis'd her Free entertainment in her Unkle's house, Neer Waltham Abbey, where she may securely So journe, till time and my endeavours work My fathers 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, yfaith Frank?

'Tis well, 'tis passing well: then Winnifride, 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 Unkle 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 inform'd him that I purpos'd To marry Winnifride; on which he threatned To dis-inherit 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 assur'd. 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 thy self the Letter, I'll put my hand to it. I commend thy policy Th'art witty, witty Frank; nay, nay, 'tis fit, Dispatch it. Frank. I shall write effectually. Exit. Sir Art. Go thy way Cuckow; have I caught the young man? One trouble then is freed. He that will feast At others cost, must be a bold fac'd 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 Farewel, for fashions 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 Vertue, You had not with such eagerness pursu'd The error of your goodness. Sir Art. Dear, dear Win. I hug this Art of thine, it snews how cleanly Thou canst beguile in case occasion serve, To practice. It becomes thee, now we share Free scope enough, without controle 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 y' are a noble Gentleman, forget A sin so monstrous: 'tis not gently done, To open a cur'd wound. I know you speak For trial; troth you need not. Sir Art. I for trial? Not I, by this good Sun-shine. 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 kinde husband; If you infect mine ear with any breath That is not throughly perfum'd with sighs For former deeds of lust: May I be curs'd 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 asham'd 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 vow'd 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 Unfile the sacred Oath set on Record In Heaven's Book? Sir Arthur, do not study To add to your lascivious lust, the sin Of Sacriledge: for if you but endeavour By any unchaste word to tempt my constancy, You strive as much as in you lies to ruine 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 Cloyster. This is fine. Win. Good Angels guide me. Sir, you'l give me leave To weep and pray for your co •• ersion. Sir Art. Yes, away to Waltham. Pox on your honesty. Had you no other trick to fool me? Well, You may want mony 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 cozen'd 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 finde fault with it, 'tis so fair. O. Cart.

No Gentleman, I, 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 Marriagemoney.

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, trebble, 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 busie; 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 look'd out of black Bags, Man.

O. Thor.

You speak your minde freely and honestly. I marvel my Son comes not: I am sure he will be here sometime to day.

O. Cart.

To day or to morrow, when he comes he shall be welcome to Bread, Beer and Beef, Yoeman's fare; we have no Kickshaws: full Dishes, whole belly-fulls. Should I diet three days at one of the slender City-Suppers, you might send me to Barber-Surgeons Hall the fourth day, to hang up for an Anatomy.—Here come they that—

How now Girls? every day play-day with you? Enter VVarbeck 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 finde the VVenches, Gentlemen? have they any minde to a loose Gown and a strait Shooe? VVin'em, and wear'em. They shall chuse for themselves by my consent.

Warb.

You speak like a kinde Father. Sue, thou hearest the liberty that 's granted thee. VVhat sayest thou? wilt thou be mine?

Sus. Your what, Sir? I dare swear, never your wife. Warb.

Canst thou be so unkinde? considering how dearly I affect thee; nay, dote on thy perfections.

Sus.

You are studied too Scholar-like 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 oathes 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 minde. The Flye may buz about the Candle, he shall but singe his VVings 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 Vertues, Then twice thy Father 's whole Estate; and prithee Be thou resolved so. Kat. Mr. Somerton, it is an easie labour to deceive A Maid that will believe Mens subtil 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 belov'd. Kat. I shall finde 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 my self, Mr. Thorney, to see how earnestly he beats the Bush, while the Bird is flown into anothers 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 Raskal to an hairs 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 West-ham 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 Knaves company, now and then.

Warb. Three hundred a yeer Joynture, 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 reckon'd 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 jeer'd at? Sus. Neither Am I a property for you to use As stale to your fond wanton loose discourse. Pray Sir be civil. Warb. VVilt be angry, VVasp? 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. Vertuous. Mrs Susan. Kinde 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 wi • her, best deserves her. Warb. Marry A Servingman? mew. Som. Prethee 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. VVhy Girls? what, Huswives, will you spend all your forenoon in tittle-tattles? away: It's well yfaith. VVill you go in, Gentlemen?

O. Thor. VVe'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. VVith what a labyrinth of dangers dayly The best part of my whole Estate's encumbred: Nor have I any Clew to winde it out, But what occasion proffers me. VVherein If you should faulter, I shall have the shame, And you the loss. On these two points relie Our ha • piness or ruine. If you marry VVith wealthy Carter's Daughter, there's a Portion VVill free my Land: all which I will instate Upon the marriage to you. Otherwise. I must be of necessity enforc'd To make a present sale of all: and yet, For oug • t I know, live in as poor distress, Or worse, then 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 finde no disposition in me To undergo the burthen 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 us'd 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 y 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. VVherein 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 Winnifride? a Maid Was fellow-servant with thee. Fra. Some swift spirit Has blown this news abroad. I must out-face it. O. Thor. D'you study for excuse? why all the country Is full on't. Fra. With your license, 'tis not charitable, I am sure it is not fatherly, so much To be o'resway'd with credulous conceit Of meer impossibilities. But Fathers Are priviledg'd to think and talk at pleasure. O. Thor. Why canst thou yet deny thou hast no wise? 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 Inne, VVhich Travellers day and night, After a toylsome lodging leave at pleasure? Am I become so insensible of losing The glory of Creations work? My soul! O I have liv'd 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 then the cleerness Of an unperish'd conscience; yet for that I was enform'd, how mainly you had been Possess'd 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, then vertue 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 abus'd me. My tears express my joy: and I am sorry I injur'd innocence.

Frank.

Alas! I knew your rage and grief proceeded from your love to me: so I conceiv'd 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.

VVhy 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 alter'd 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 burthen, Frank. The nursing shall not stand thee in a pennyworth of Milk. Reach her home and spare not. VVhen's the day?

O. Thor. To morrow, if you please. To use ceremony Of charge and custome, were to little purpose: Their loves are married fast enough already. O. Cart.

A good motion. VVe'll e'en have an houshold Dinner; and let the Fiddlers go scrape. Let the Bride and Bridegroom dance at night together: no matter for the Guests. To morrow, Sue, to morrow. Shall's to Dinner now?

O. Thor. VVe are on all sides pleas'd, 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 receiv'd before your VVedding-shooes can be pull'd 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, deform'd and ignorant, And like a Bow buckl'd and bent together, By some more strong in mischiefs then my self? 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 VVitch; And being ignorant of my self, 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, VVitch. Sawy. Dost call me VVitch? O. Bank.

I do, VVitch, I do: and worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. VVhat 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. Cut-throat, Miser: there they be. VVould 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 joynts cramps, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews.

O. Bank. Cursing, thou Hag! take that, and that. Exit. Sawy. Strike, do, and wither'd may that hand and arm Whose blows have lam'd me, drop from the rotten Trunk. Abuse me! beat me! call me Hag and Witch! What is the name? where and by what Art learn'd? What spells, what charms, or invocations? May the thing call'd Familiar be purchas'd? 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 Morrice is so cast, we'll have neither Mean nor Base in our company, Fellow Rowland.

3. VVhat? 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 Morrice, little or no labour will serve.

If you that be minded to follow your Leader, know me, an ancient Honor belonging to our house, for a Fore-horse, team, and for gallant in a Morrice: my Father's Stable is not unfurnish'd.

3. So much for the Fore-horse: but how for a good Hobby-horse? Y. Bank.

For a Hobby-horse? Let me see an Almanack. Midsummer-Moon, let me see ye. VVhen the Moon's in the full, then's wit in the wane. No more. Use your best skill. Your Morrice will suffer an Eclipse.

1. An Eclipse? Y. Bank. A strange one. 2. Strange? Y. Bank.

Yes, and most sudden. Remember the For • gallant, and forget the Hobby-horse. The whole body of your Morrice will be darkned. There be of us. But 'tis no matter. Forget the Ho • by-horse.

Cuddy Banks, have you forgot since he pac'd 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 repair'd. 1. The Snaffle and the Bosses new saffron'd o're. 1. Kinde: 2. Honest: 3. Loving, ingenious: 4. Affable Cuddy. Y. Bank.

To shew I am not flint; but affable, as you say, very well stuft, a kinde of warm Dowe 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 Uds me, Mother Sawyer.

1. The old Witch of Edmonton. If our mirth be not cross'd. 2.

Bless us, Cuddy, and let her curse her tother eye out. VVhat dost now?

Y. Bank.

Ungirt, unbless'd, says the Proverb. But my Girdle shall serve a riding knit: and a fig for all the VVitches in Christendom. VVhat wouldst thou?

1. The Divel cannot abide to be cross'd. 2. And scorns to come at any man's whistle. 3. Away 4. VVith the VVitch. Omn. Away with the VVitch of Edmonton. Ex. in strange postur. Sawy. Still vex'd? still tortur'd? That Curmudgeon Banks Is ground of all my scandal. I am shunn'd 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, VVeasels, and I wot not what, That have appear'd, and suck'd, 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 reveng'd Upon this Churl, I'd go out of my self, And give this Fury leave to dwell within This ruin'd 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 VVitch, as to be counted one. Vengeance, shame, ruine, 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 importun'd 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 unfeign'd; 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 uncompell'd 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 seal'd, see full revenge On all that wrong me? Dog. Ha, ha, silly woman! The Devil is no lyer to such as he loves. Didst ever know or hear the Devil a lyer To such as he affects? Sawy. VVhen 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 wrong'd thee: he lam'd thee, call'd thee VVitch. Sawy. The same: first upon him I'ld be reveng'd. Dog. Thou shalt: Do but name how. Sawy. Go, touch his life. Dog. I cannot. Sawy. Hast thou not vow'd? Go, kill the slave. Dog. I wonnot. Sawy. I'll cancel then my gift. Dog. Ha, ha! Sawy. Dost laugh? VVhy wilt not kill him? Dog. Fool, because I cannot. Though we have power, know, it is circumscrib'd, And ti'd in limits: though he be curs'd 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 VVitch of Edmonton shall see his fall. If she at least put credit in my power, And in mine onely; 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 spoyl 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. Farewel. Our first-made promises We'll put in execution against Banks. Exit. Sawy. Contaminetur nomen tuum. I'm an expert Scholar; Speak Latine, or I know not well what Language, As well as the best of 'em. But who comes he • e? 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, what e're it pleases my Father to call you, I know you are Sawy. A Witch. Y. Bank. A Witch? would you were else yfaith. 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 kinde of God bless us, as they say, I have an earnest suit to you; and if you'll be so kinde to ka me one good turn, I'll be so courteous as to kob you another.

Sawy.

VVhat's that? to spurn, beat me, and call me VVitch, as your kinde Father doth?

Y. Bank.

My Father? I am asham'd to own him. If he has hurt the head of thy credit, there's money to buy thee a Playster: and a small courtesie 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 bewitch'd 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 Pike-staff, Mother: you know Kate Carter. Sawy. The wealthy Yeomans Daughter. What of her? Y. Bank. That same Party has bewitch'd me. Sawy. Bewitch'd thee? Y. Bank.

Bewitch'd me, Hisce auribus. I saw a little Devil flie 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 'ems, 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'ldst have me make her love thee too.

Y. Bank.

I think she'll prove a VVitch in earnest. Yes, I could finde 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.

Truely, Mother Witch, I do verily believe so: and when I see it done, I shall be half perswaded so too.

Sawy.

It's enough. VVhat 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 behinde me, like a cowardly Catchpole, and clap his Talents on my Haunches. 'Tis woundy cold sure. I dudder and shake like an Aspen-leaf every joynt 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 Gobblin and you spout Latine together?

Sawy. A kinde 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 knowst the Style at the West-end of thy Father's Pease-Field, be there to morrownight after Sun-set; 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 minde to Codlings 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 neer 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 Daughters marriage.

Warb. And can you blame me, Sir? Cart.

Nor you me justly. VVedding 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 then my poor Daughter.

Warb. However, your promise. Cart. Is a kinde of debt, I confess it. Warb. VVhich 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 VVench: but patience is the onely salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the VVench, he has most reason to wear her.

Warb. Love in this kinde admits no reason to wear her. Cart. Then love's a fool, and what wise man will take exception? Som.

Come, frolick Ned, were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws; and Destiny go a wool-gathering.

Warb.

You hold yours in a string though. 'Tis well: but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage e're long.

Som.

In my love to her Sister Katherine? Indeed, they are a pair of Arrows drawn out of one Quiver, and should flie 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 winde, that has blown many a married Man ashore at Cuckolds Haven, I can tell you: I wish yours more prosperous though.

Cart. VVhate're 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 offer'd occasion shall consummate the Marriage: and that once seal'd,

Enter Young Thorney and Susan. Som.

Leave the mannage of the rest to my care. But see, the Bridegroom and Bride comes; the new pair of Sheffeild-Knives fitted both to one sheath.

Warb.

The Sheath might have been better fitted, if some body had their due. But—

Cart.

No harsh language, if thou lovest me. Frank Thorney has done—

Warb.

No more then 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 yee Gentlemen. Kinde Mr. Warbeck, I find you loving.

Warb. Thorney, that creature, (much good do thee with her) Vertue 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. Farewel, Mrs. Bride: Till now elected, thy old scorne deride. Exit. Som. Good, Mr. Thorney. Cart.

Nay, you shall not part till you see the Barrels run a-tilt, Gentlemen.

Exit. Sus. VVhy change you your face, sweet-Heart? Y. Thor. VVho? I? For nothing. Sus.

Dear, say not so: a Spirit of your constancy cannot endure his change for nothing. I have observ'd strange variations in you.

Y. Thor. In me? Sus.

In you, Sir. Awake: you seem to dream, and in your sleep • ou utter sudden and distracted accents, like one at enmity with • eace. Dear loving Husband, if I may dare to challenge any • nterest in you, give me the reason fully: you may trust my brest as • afely as your own.

Y. Thor. VVith 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 kinde 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, shew'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 bloods 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 her self Swells in thy thoughts, and moderates thy beauty. VVithin thy left eye amorous Cupid fits Feathering Love-shafts, whose golden heads he dip'd —In thy chaste brest. In the other lies Blushing Adonis scarft 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 Embleme 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 sheild it: where? Y. Tho. In mine own bosom: here the cause has root; The poysoned 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 approv'd in Palmestry, 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 Winnifride. Sus. How say you? Winnifride? you forget me. Y. Thor. No, I forget my self, Susan. Sus. In what? Y. Thor. Talking of wives, I pretend Winnifride, A Maid that at my Mothers waited on me Before thy self. Sus.

I hope, Sir, she may live to take my place. But why should all this move you?

Y. Thor.

The poor Girl, she has't 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 Ordain'd you for another, I could wish (So well I love you, and your hopeful pleasure) Me in my grave, and my poor vertues added To my successor. Y. Thorn.

Pritheee, prithe, talk not of death or graves; thou • rt so rare a goodness, as Death would rather put it self to death, • hen murther 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 cleerly 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 Lap-wing 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 combate 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 VVitch, two VVives, and Winnifride? Y'are not so kinde indeed as I imagin'd. Y. Thor. And you more fond by far then I expected. It is a vertue that attends thy kinde. 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 Morice-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 forc'd to tell you again, I have a little private business, an hours work; it may prove but an half hours, as luck may serve; and then I take horse and along with you. Have we e're a Witch in the Morice?

No, no; no womans part, but Maid-marian, and the Hobby-horse.

Clow. I'll have a Witch; I love a Witch. 1.

Faith, VVitches themselves are so common now a days, 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.

VVell, I'll have a Witch: I have lov'd a VVitch ever since I play'd at Cherry-pit. Leave me, and get my horse dress'd: give him Oats; but water him not till I come. VVhither do we foot it first?

2. To Sir Arthur Clarington's first, then whither thou wilt. Clow.

VVell, I'am content: but we must up to Carter's, the rich Yeoman. I must be seen on Hobby-horse there.

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.

VVell, '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 dayes in the week?

Clow.

Prithee peace, I reckon stila nova, as a Traveller: thou understandest as a fresh-water Farmer, that never sawest a week beyond Sea. Ask any Souldier 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. I, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet. Clow.

No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee, look but in the Lover's Almanack, when he has been but three days absent; Oh, says he, I have not seen my Love these seven yeets: 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 Caroch, and be further off then when you set forth. But I pray you, good Morrice-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.

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 remembred. But hark you: get Poldavis, the Barber's Boy for the Witch; because he can shew his Art better then another.

Exeunt.

Well, now to my walk. I am neer 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-pac'd Beast, I hope: yet Love is full of lightness in the heaviest Lovers. Ha! my Guide is come. A VVater-Dog. I am thy first man, Sculler: I go with thee: ply no other but my self: 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 then I. Fine gentle Cur it is, and well brought up, I warrant him. VVe go a ducking, Spaniel; thou shalt fetch me the Ducks, pretty kinde 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 doats on. VVe can meet his folly, But from his Vertues must be Run-aways. 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 watch-word? She's come. Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking-Church, in memory of thee. Now come behinde, kinde 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, sing'd 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 high-way. Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you. Oh help, help, I am drown'd, I am drown'd.

Ex. Spir. and Banks. Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Enter wet. Clow.

This was an ill night to go a wooing in; I finde it now in Pond' • Almanack: 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 Dog-trick? a mangie 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 braks.] Peace, peace; thou didst but thy kinde 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 play'd one of your parts then; the Dog that catch'd at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechize you a little: VVhat 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. VVell, 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. Dogs love where they are beloved. Cherish me, and I'll do any thing for thee.

Clow.

VVell, you shall have Jowls and Livers: I have Butchets to my Friends that shall bestow 'em: and I will keep Crusts and Bones for you, if you'll be a kinde 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 stollen 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! Banquetting stuff, those. Clow.

One thing I would request you, Ningle, as you have play'd the Knavish Cur with me a little, that you would mingle amongst our Morrice-Dancers in the morning. You can dance?

Dog.

Yes, yes, any thing: I'll be there, but unseen to any but thy self. Get thee gone before: feare not my presence. I have work to night. I serve more Masters, more Dames then one.

Clow. He can serve Mammon and the Devil too. Dog. It shall concern thee, and thy Loves purchase: There's a gallant Rival loves the Maid; And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief Before the Morrice ends, shall light on him. Clow.

On sweet Ningle, thy neuse once again. Friends must part for a time: farewel, 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. Farewel 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, VVinnifride as a Boy. Frank. Prithee no more: those tears give nourishment To weeds and briers in me, which shortly will O'regrow and top my head: my shame will sit And cover all that can be seen of me. Win. I have not shewn this check in company, Pardon me now: thus singled with your self, It calls a thousand sorrows round about. Some going before, and some on either side; But infinite behinde: all chain'd together. Your second adulterous Marriage leads; That's the sad Eclipse, the effects must follow. As, plagues of shame, spight, 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? VVhile we together are, we are at home In any place. Win. 'Tis fowl ill gotten coyn, Far worse then Usury or Extortion. Y. Thor. Let my Father then make the restitution, VVho forc'd 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. VVhen I was sold, I sold my self 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 VVife is coming. Win. VVho coming? your VVife? 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. Co lead the horses to the hills 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. I, 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. VVhat charge so'ere 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 Arth • r Clarington. Sus. VVhose Servant once my Thorney was himself. That title methinks should make you almost Fellows, Or at the least much more then 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 Then fair entreats. 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, VVhen thou returnst, with praises of thy service, VVhich I am confident thou wilt deserve. VVhy, thou art many now, besides thy self: Thou maist be Servant, Friend, and VVife to him. A good VVife is then all. A Friend can play The VVife and Servants part, and shift enough. No less the Servant can the Friend and Wife. 'Tis all but sweet society, good counsel, Enterchang'd loves; yes, and counsel-keeping. Y. Thor. Not done yet? Sus. Even now, Sir. Win. Mistress, believe my vow, your severe eye VVere it present to command; your bounteous hand, VVere it then by to buy or bribe my service, Shall not make me more dear or neer unto him, Then I shall voluntary. I'll be all your charge, Servant, Friend, VVife to him. Sus. VVilt 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 womans bosom now. VVe 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 finde Any loose lubrick scapes in him, I'll watch him, And at my return, protest I'll shew 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. Farewel: 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 hills 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're I took in hand. Y. Thor. Fie, fie, why look, I'll make it plain and easie to you: Farewel. 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 Thorne this Rose grows on? parting were sweet. But what a trouble 'twill be to obtain it? Come, again and again, farewel. Yet wilt return? Kisses. All questions of my journey, my stay, imployment, And revisitation, fully I have answered all. There's nothing now behinde, but nothing. Sus. And that nothing is more hard then any thing, Then 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. VVhy, 'tis granted: come, walk then. Sus. Nay, not too fast. They say slow things have best perfection: The gentle showre 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 minde'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. VVhat? so churlishly? you'll make me stay for ever, Rather then part with such a sound from you. Y. Thor. VVhy 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. VVhy? shall I go along with thee? sweet musick! 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'ld fright me from you. Y. Thor.

You see I had no purpose: I'm unarm'd. 'Tis this minutes decree, and it must be. Look, this will serve your turn.

Sus.

I'll not turn from it, if you be earst, 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 espous'd your dowry, and I have it: I did not purpose to have added murther; The Devil did not prompt me: till this minute You might have safe returned; now you cannot: You have dogg'd 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 yeers might I have slept in sin? Sin of my most hatred too, Adultery? Y. Thor. Nay, sure 'twas likely that the most was past; For I meant never to return to you After this parting. Sus. Why then I thank you more, You have done lovingly, leaving your self, 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 Chrystal 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 staid forty yeers for preparation: For I'm in charity with all the VVorld. 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 deepst Abyss. This follows now, To heal her VVounds by dressing of the VVeapon: Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail, [Wounds himself. Light scratches giving such deep ones. The best I can To binde my self to this Tree. Now's the storm, Which if blown o're, many fair days may follow. [Dog ties him. So, so, I'm fast; I did not think I could Have done so well behinde me. How prosperous And effectual mischief sometimes is? Help, help; Murther, murther, murther. Enter Carter, and Old Thorney. Cart. Ha! VVhom 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'retake this hapless woman. O. Thor.

Let's o'retake the murtherers. 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 pass'd, As pulls damnation up if it be broke; I dare not name 'em: think what forc'd men do. O. Thor.

Keep oath with murtherers? that were a conscience to hold the Devil in.

Y. Thor. Nay, Sir, I can describe 'em; Shall shew them as familiar as their names. The Taller of the two at this time wears His Satten-doublet white, but Crimson lin'd; Hose of black Satten, 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' others Cloak branch'd Velvet black, Velvet lin'd his Suit.

O. Thor. I have 'em already: Somerton, Somerton. Binal revenge, all this. Come, Sir, the first work Is to pursue the Murtherers, when we have remov'd 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 shew? No, I'll have life. This is my Son too, and while there's life in him, 'Tis half mine; take you halfe that silence for 't. VVhen 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. I, do, and I'll h • re 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 musick but in sound, sound it must be. I have not wept these twenty yeers before, And that I guess was e're 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 kinde To call us up to day with an high Morrice. Warb. I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now. Absurditie's in my opinion ever the best Dancer in a Morrice. Som. I could rather sleep then 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 dispos'd to mirth.

Sir Art. Well, you may have yet a Morrice to help both; To strike you in a dump, and make him merry. Enter Fidler and Morrice; all but Banks. Fidl.

Come, will you set your selves in Morrice-ray? the fore-Bell, second Bell, Tenor and great Bell; Maid-marion for the same Bell. But where's the Weather-cock now? the Hobby-horse?

1. Is not Banks come yet? What a spight 'tis? Sir Art. When set you forward, Gentlemen? 1.

VVe stay but for the Hobby-horse, Sir: all our Footmen are ready.

Som. 'Tis marvel your Horse should be behinde your Foot. 2. Yes, Sir: he goes further about: we can come in at the VVicket, but the broad Gate must be opened for him. Enter Banks, Hobby-horse and Dog. Sir Art. Oh, we staid for you, Sir. Clow.

Onely my Horse wanted a Shooe, Sir: but we shall make you amends e're we part.

Sir Art. I? well said, make 'em drink e're 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 VVater; he may chuse 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 bewitch'd. I play'd 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 Musick then 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 Morrice; 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 Kings Name, I charge, for apprehension Of these two Murderers, Warbeck and Somerton. Sir Art. Ha! flat Murtherers? Som. Ha, ha, ha, this has awakened my melancholy. Warb. And struck my mirth down flat. Murtherers? 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 Hang-man's meat. Tom told me he was about a piece of Villany. Mates and Morricemen, you see here's no longer piping, no longer dancing. This news of Murder has slain the Morrice. 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 to day. 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 obey'd. 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 binde him o're, 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 Country-men. O. Bank.

MY Horse this morning runs most pitiously of the Glaunders, 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.

I took my Wife and a Servingman in our Town of Edmonton, thrashing in my Barn together, such Corn as Country-VVenches carry to Market; and examining my Polecat why she did so, she swore in her conscience she was bewitch'd: and what Witch have we about us, but Mother Sawyer?

Rid the Town of her, else all our Wives will do nothing else but dance al out other Country May-poles.

Our Cattel fall, our Wives fall, our Daughters fall, and Maid-servants fall; and we our selves 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 pluck'd off a Hovel of hers: and they say, when 'tis burning, if she be a VVitch, 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 VVoman follow and fall upon you.

Omn. Are you come, you old Trot? O. Bank. You hot VVhore, 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 murthered 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 Hang-men set to torment me I know not why.

Just. Alas, neighbour Banks, are you a Ring-leader in mischief: Fie, to abuse an aged woman! O. Bank.

VVoman? 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 Divel had sent her in a Barrel of Gun-powder; which trick as surely proves her a VVitch, as the Pox in a snuffling nose, is a sign a Man is a Whore-master.

Just.

Come, come; firing her Thatch? ridiculous: take heed Sirs what you do: unless your proofs come better arm'd, instead of turning her into a VVitch, you'll prove your selves starke Fools.

Omn. Fools? 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. VVilt 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 Back-side, let me go thither, or but cast mine eye at her, and if I should be hang'd, I cannot chuse, 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 behinde; That the whole Town of Edmonton has been ready to be-piss themselves with laughing me to scorn.

Just. And this is long of her? O. Bank.

VVho the Devil else? for is any man such an Ass, to be such a Baby, if he were not bewitch'd?

Sir Art.

Nay, if she be a VVitch, 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 finde cudgel enough to strike her. O. Bank. I, no lips to kiss but my Cows—? Exeunt. Sawy. Rots and foul maladies eat up thee and thine. Just.

Here's none now, Mother Sawyer, but this Gentleman, my self and you; let us to some milde Questions, have you milde Answers? Tell us honestly, and with a free confession, (we'll do our best to wean you from it) are you a VVitch, 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 VVoman be trod on thus by staves, revil'd, kick'd, beaten, as I am daily, she to be reveng'd had need turn VVitch.

Sir Art. And you to be reveng'd have sold your Soul to th'Devil. Sawy. Keep thine own from him. Just. You are too sawcie, and too bitter. Sawy.

Sawcie? by what commission can he send my Soul on the Divel's Errand, more then 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 then I am; and if I be a VVitch, more VVitch-like.

Sir Art.

Y' are a base Hell-hound. And now, Sir, let me tell you, Far and neer she's bruited for a woman that maintains a Spirit that sucks her.

Sawy. I defie thee. Sir Arth.

Go, go, I can, if need be, bring an hundred voyces e'en here in Edmonton, that shall lowd 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 scorne then. What are your painted things in Princes Courts? Upon whose Eye-lids Lust sits blowing fires To burn Mens Souls in sensual hot desires: Upon whose naked Paps, a Leachers 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 Inchantments, 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 Butter-Flie. Have you not City-witches who can turn Their husbands wares, whole standing shops of wares, To sumptuous Tables, Gardens of stoln sin? In one yeer wasting, what scarce twenty win. Are not these Witches? Just. Yes, yes, but the Law Casts not an eye on these. Sawy. VVhy then on me, Or any lean old Beldame? Reverence once Had wont to wait on age. Now an old woman Ill favour'd grown with yeers, if she be poor, Must be call'd Bawd or VVitch. Such so abus'd Are the course VVitches: t'other 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 VVhose honeyed hopes the credulous Client draws, (As Bees by tinkling Basons) to swarm to him, From his own Hive, to work the VVax in his; He is no VVitch, not he. Sir Art. But these Men-VVitches Are not in trading with Hells Merchandize, Like such as you are, that for a word, a look, Denial of a Coal of fire, kill Men, Children and Cattel. Sawy. Tell them, Sir, that do so: Am I accus'd for such an one? Sir Art. Yes, 'twill be sworn. Sawy. Dare any swear I ever tempted Maiden VVith 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 VVitch, 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 Tom-boy welcome.

I am torn in pieces by a pack of Curs Clap'd all upon me, and for want of thee: Comfort me: thou shalt have the Teat anon. Dog. Bough wough: I'll have it now. Sawy. I am dri'd up VVith cursing and with madness; and have yet No blood to moysten 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. VVhat hast thou done? Let's tickle. Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee? Dog. Yes, and nip'd the sucking-childe. 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 churming Butter nine hours; but it shall not come.

Sawy. Let 'em eat Cheese and choak. Dog. I had rare sport Among the Clowns i'th' Morrice. Sawy. I could dance Out of my skin to hear thee. But my Curl-pare, That Jade, that foul-tongu'd whore, Nan Ratcliff, VVho for a little Soap lick'd by my Sow, Struck, and almost had lam'd it; Did not I charge thee, To pinch that Quean to th' heart? Dog. Bough, wough, wough: Look here else. Enter Anne Ratcliff mad. Ratc.

See, see, see; the Man i'th' Moon has built a new Wind-mill, 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 Mungrel. Ratc.

Hoyda! a-pox of the Devil's false Hopper! all the golden Meal runs into the rich Knaves purses, and the poor have nothing but Bran. Hey 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 flea'd off a great many mens 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 Horn-pipe in my throat: hark how it tickles it, with Doodle, Doodle, Doodle, Doodle. VVelcome Serjeants: welcome Devil. Hands, hands; hold hands, and dance a-round, a-round, a-round.

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 VVives are, stark mad.

Clow. The witch, Mother Sawyer, the witch, the devil. [Car. her off. O. Ratc. O my dear VVife! 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 yeers 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: spight of our strengths, away she brake; and nothing in her mouth being heard, but the Devil, the VVitch, the VVitch, 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 wool-gathering.

O. Banks.

Masters, be rul'd by me; let's all to a Justice. Hag, thou hast done this, and thou shalt answer it.

Sawy. Banks, I defie thee. O. Bank.

Get a VVarrant first to examine her, then ship her to Newgate: here's enough, if all her other villanies were pardon'd, to burn her for a VVitch. 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 hang'd 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. VVhy, foolish Boy, dost thou know him? Clow.

No matter, if I do or not. He's baylable I am sure by Law. But if the Dog's word will not be taken, mine shall.

O. Bank. Thou Bayl for a Dog? Clow.

Yes, or a Bitch either, being my Friend. I'll lie by the heels my self, before Puppison shall: his Dog-days are not come yet, I hope.

O. Bank. VVhat 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 foysting Hound, that fills his belly full by base wagging his tayl; neither is it a Citizens VVater-Spaniel, enticing his Master to go a-ducking twice or thrice a week, whilst his VVife makes Ducks and Drakes at home: this is no Paris-Garden Bandog neither, that keeps a Bough, wough, 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 New-gate.

O. Bank. No, Good-man Son-fool, but the Dog of Hell-gate. Clow. I say, Good-man Father-fool, it's a lye. Omn. He's bewitch'd. Clow.

A gross lye as big as my self. 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. Bough, wough, wough, wough. 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, wough, wough: it was I that bark'd so, Father, to make Cocks-combs of these Clowns.

O. Bank.

However, we'll be Cocks-comb'd no longer: away therefore to th' Justice for a Warrant; and then, Gammer Gurton, have at your Needle of VVitch-craft.

Sawy. And prick thine own eyes out. Go, peevish Fools. Exe. Clow.

Ningle, you had like to have spoyl'd all with your Boughings. I was glad to put 'em off with one of my Dog-tricks, on a sudden, I am bewitch'd, little Cost-me-nought, to love thee—a Pox, that Morrice makes me spit in thy mouth. I dare not stay. Farewel, Ningle; you whoreson Dogs-nose. Farewel Witch.

Exit. Dog. Bough, wough, wough, wough. Sawy.

Minde him not, he's not worth thy worrying: run at a fairer Game: that fowl-mouth'd Knight, scurvy Sir Arthur, flie at him, my Tommy; and pluck out's throat.

Dog. No, there a Dog already biting's conscience. Sawy. That's a sure Blood-hound. 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 a sleep? 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 maim'd 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 Physick to your self, 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 rob'd as I am, VVhy should my Soul, which married was to hers, Live in divorce, and not flie after her? VVhy should not I walk hand in hand with death To finde 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 y'are gone, but onely this. Frank. Troth, Sister, thou sayst true: For when a man has been an hundred yeers, Hard travelling o're the tottering bridge of age, He's not the thousand part upon his way. All life is but a wandring to finde home: When we are gone, we are there. Hapyy were man, Could here his Voyage end; he should not then Answer how well or ill he steer'd his Soul, By Heaven's or by Hell's Compass; how he put in (Loosing bless'd 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 Raign, To do ill, and not hear of it again. Yet then were Man more wretched then 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 Traytor, 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 reveng'd 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. VVould 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 Beds-side. 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.

VVould 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. VVhen? Frank.

But just now: out-face me, stare upon me with strange postures: turn my Soul wilde by a face in which were drawn a thousand Ghosts leap'd newly from their Graves, to pluck me into a winding-Sheet.

Win.

Believe it, I came no neerer to you then you place, at your beds-feet; and of the house had leave, calling my self your Horseboy, in to come, and visit my sick Master.

Frank.

Then 'twas my Fancy. Some Wind-mill in my brains for want of sleep.

Win. VVould I might never sleep, so you could rest. But you have pluck'd a Thunder on your head. VVhose noise cannot cease suddainly: why should you Dance at the wedding of a second wife? VVhen scarce the Musick which you heard at mine Had tane a farewel of you. O this was ill! And they who thus can give both hands away, In th' end shall want their best Limbs. Frank. Winnifride, the Chamber door fast? Win. Yes. Frank. Sit thee then down; And when th'ast 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, dip'd my sad Pen in blood. VVhen of thee I took leave, I went abroad Onely for Pillage, as a Freebooter, VVhat Gold soere I got, to make it thine. To please a Father, I have Heaven displeas'd. 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, Jurie 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. VVhy? is the Boy dead? Kat.

Dead, Sir! O Father, we are cozen'd: you are told the Murtherer sings in Prison, and he laughs here.

This Villaine kil'd my Sister: see else, see, A bloody Knife in's Pocket. Cart. Bless me, patience! Frank. The Knife, the Knife, the Knife! Kat. VVhat 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 stomack 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 mens 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 mans Conscience when hee'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 Villaine! 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.

Ile go to fetch him: Ile make an holiday to see thee as I wish.

Exit to fetch Officers. Frank. A wondrous kinde 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 stomack! Ile 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 crys, Help, help, stay that man; him I must have, or none.

Frank.

For pities sake, remove her: see, she stares with one broad open eye still in my face.

Cart.

Thou puttest both hers out, like a Villaine as thou art; yet see, she is willing to lend thee one againe to finde out the Murtherer, and that's thy self.

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 againe. Mine eyes too much drown'd, now must feel more raine.

Cart. Fetch Officers. Exit Katharaine. Frank. For whom? Cart.

For thee, sirrah, sirrah: some knives have foolish Posies upon them, but thine has a villanous one; look, Oh! it is enammeld with the Heart-Blood of thy hated Wife, my beloved Daughter. What saist 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 y'are a man, throw not upon that Woman your loads of tyrannie, 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 onely wife, his lawful wife.

Cart. How? how? more fire i'th' Bed-straw? Win.

The wrongs which singly fell on your Daughter, on me are multiplyed: she lost a life, but I, an Husband and my self must lose, if you call him to a Bar for what he has done.

Cart. He has done it then? Win. Yes, 'tis confess'd 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 arraigne this Father for two sins, Adultery and Murther.

Kat. Sir, they are come. Enter Katherine. Cart.

Arraigne me for what thou wilt, all Middlesex knows me better for an honest man, then the middle of a Market place knows thee for an honest woman: rise, Sirrah, and don your Tacklings, rig your self 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 New-gate birds as she, that can draw him in. Pox on's wounds.

Frank.

I have serv'd thee, and my wages now are paid, Yet my worst punishment shall, I hope, be staid.

Exeunt.

ACT. V.

Scaen. 1. Enter Mother Sawyer alone. Sawy. STill wrong'd by every Slave? and not a Dog Bark in his Dames defence? I am call'd Witch, Yet am my self bewitched from doing harm. Have I given up my self to thy black lust Thus to be scorn'd? not see me in three days? I'm lost without my Tomalin: prithee come, Revenge to me is sweeter far then life; Thou art my Raven, on whose cole - 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 curl'd head leaning on them. Come then, my Darling, If in the Aire thou hover'st, 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 Shew 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 finde out thee, Though I lay ruin'd in it. Not yet come! I must then fall to my old Prayer: Sanctibiceter nomem 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.

VVhy 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 minde of thy winding Sweet.

Sawy. Am I near death? Dog.

Yes, if the Dog of Hell be near thee. VVhen 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. VVhy am I in white? didst thou not pray to me?

Sawy.

Yes, thou dissembling Hell-hound: why now in white more then at other times?

Dog.

Be blasted with the News; whiteness is days Foot-boy, a forerunner to light, which shews thy old rivel'd face: Villaines are strip't naked, the Witch must be beaten out of her Cock-pit.

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 then 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 my self to twenty thousand Fiends, to have thee orn 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. Chuse, and be hang'd or burn'd. Sawy.

Spight of the Devil and thee, I'll muzzle up my Tongue from telling Tales.

Dog. Spight of thee and the Devil, thou'lt be condemn'd. 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 tryal 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 Jaylors shall receive you. Away with her.

Sawy.

My Tommie! my sweet Tom-boy! 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, VVitches 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 'um: my Rival that lov'd my VVench, is like to be hang'd like an innocent; a kinde Cur, where he takes; but where he takes not, a dogged Rascal. I know the Villaine loves me: no. [Barks.] Art thou there? that's Toms 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.

VVhilst I serv'd my old Dame Sawyer, 'twas: I'm gone from her now.

Dog.

Gone? away with the VVitch then too: shee'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, then she does to kill a Goose.

Dog.

No, she has done killing now, but must be kill'd for what she has done: she's shortly to be hang'd.

Clown.

Is she? in my conscience if she be, 'tis thou hast brought her to the Gallows, Tom.

Dog.

Right: I serv'd her to that purpose, 'twas part of my VVages.

Clown.

This was no honest Servants part, by your leave Tom: this remember, I pray you, between you and I; I entertain'd you ever as a Dog, not as a Devil.

Dog. True; and so I us'd thee doggedly, not divellishly. I have deluded thee for sport to laugh at. The VVench thou seek'st after, thou never spakest 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 VVomen 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 Vermine. Clown.

It seems you Devils have poor thin souls, that you can bestow your selves 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. VVhy wouldst thou know that? fool, it availes thee not. Clown.

Onely for my mindes 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 telst 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 slaundering, 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 gaine by thee. Clown. I? then he comes in the shape of a Rook. Dog. The old Cadaver of some selfe-strangled wretch VVe sometimes borrow, and appear humane. The Carcase of some disease-slain strumpet, VVe varnish fresh, and wear as her first Beauty. Didst never hear? if not, it has been done. An hot luxurious Leacher 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, againe I thank thee, Tom, for all this counsel, without a Fee too; there's few Lawyers of thy minde 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 VVitches, to kill innocent Children, to kill harmless Cattle, to stroy Corn and Fruit, &c. 'twere better yet to be a Butcher, and kill for your self.

Dog. VVhy? these are all my delights, my pleasures, fool. Clow.

Or Tom, if you could give your minde to ducking, I know you can swim, fetch and carry, some Shop-keeper 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 stav'd off else: or if your stomach did better like to serve in some Noble Mans, Knights or Gentlemans Kitchin, if you could brook the wheel, and turn the spit, your labour could not be much; when they have Rost-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 your self into a Ladies Arming-puppy, there you might lick sweet lips, and do many pretty Offices; but to creep under an old VVitches 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 self-same rate? Clow.

No, I'll see thee hang'd, thou shalt be damn'd first; I know thy qualities too well, Ile give no suck to such VVhelps; therefore henceforth I defie 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 Fingers nayl of Charity. Such, like the Dragons Tayl, shall pull down hundreds To drop and sink with him: I'll stretch my self, And draw this Bulk small as a Silver-wire, Enter at the least pore Tobacco fume Can make a breach for: hence silly fool, I scorn to prey on such an Atome soul. Clow.

Come out, come out, you Cur; I will beat thee out of the bounds of Edmonton, and to morrow we go in Procession, and after thou shalt never come in againe: if thou goest to London, I'll make thee go about by Tiburn, stealing in by Theeving Lane: if thou canst rub thy Shoulder against a Lawyers Gown, as thou passest by Westminster-Hall, do; if not, to the Stayers 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 censur'd your Errours, yet you have indeed been the Instrument that wrought all their mis-fortunes: I would wish you pay'd 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 hang'd 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 fear'd it not. Kat. But I am glad that I have you safe. Noise within. Just. How now! what noyse 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 neerer 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 joyn'd 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, fore-knowledge and intent Of any Murther, but of mine own Honour. Restor'd 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 griefes are strong upon me: my weakness scarce can bear • hem.

Within. Away with her! hang her, Witch! Enter Sawyes to Execution, Officers with Holberts, country-people. Cart.

The Witch, that instrument of mischief! did not she witch the Devil into my Son-in-law, when he kill'd 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 don't without the Devil.

Sawy. Who doubts it? but is every Devil mine? VVould I had one now whom I might command To tear you all in pieces: Tom would have don't before he left me. Cart. Thou did'st bewitch Anne Ratcliff to kill her self. Sawy.

Churl, thou ly'st; I never did her hurt: would you were all as neer your ends as I am, that gave evidence against me for it.

Countr.

I'll be sworn, Mr. Carter, she bewitched Gammer Wa •• bowls Sow, to cast her Pigs a day before she would have farried; et they were sent up to London, and sold for as good Westminster Dog-Pigs, at Bartholomew Fair, as ever great belly'd Ale-wife longed for.

Sawy. These Dogs will mad me: I was well resolv'd 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 setled as it shall be, all take heed How they believe the Devil, at last hee'l cheat you. Cart. Th'adst 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! Fnter Frank to Execution, Officers, Iustice, Sir Arthur. Warbeck, Somerton. O. Thor. Here's the sad Object which I yet must meet VVith hope of comfort, if a repentant end Make him more happy then mis-fortune would Suffer him here to be. Frank. Good Sire, turn from me; You will revive affliction almost kil'd With my continual sorrow. O Thor. O Frank, Frank! VVould 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 wrong'd woman, I must sigh for thee, As he that's onely 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 then I can hope; nor to say truth, Have I deserv'd it: but there is a payment Belongs to goodness from the great Exchequer Above, it will not fail thee, Winnifride; Be that thy comfort. O. Thor. Let it be thine too, Untimely lost young man. Frank. He is not lost, VVho bears his peace within him: had I spun My VVeb of life out at full length, and dream'd Away my many years in lusts, in surfeits, Murthers of Reputations, gallant fins Commended or approv'd; then though I had Died easily, as great and rich men do, Upon my own Bed, not compell'd by Justice, You might have mourn'd for me indeed; my miseries Had been as everlasting, as remediless: But now the Law hath not arraign'd, condemn'd VVith greater rigour my unhappy Fact, Then I my self have every little sin My memory can reckon from my Child-hood: A Court hath been kept here, where I am found Guilty; the difference is, my impartial Judge Is much more gracious then my Faults Are monstrous to be nam'd; yet they are monstrous. O. Thor. Here's comfort in this penitence. Win. It speaks How truly you are reconcil'd, and quickens My dying comfort, that was neer 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 cancell'd: 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 lov'd memory, I will preserve it VVith a Religious care, and pay thy ashes A VVidows duty, calling that end best, VVhich though it stain the name, makes the soul blest Frank. Give me thy hand, poor woman: do not weep: Farewel. Thou dost forgive me? Win. 'Tis my part To use that Language Frank. Oh that my Example Might teach the VVorld hereafter what a curse Hangs on their heads, who rather chuse to marry A goodly Portion, then a Dowr of Vertues! Are you there, Gentlemen? there is not one Amongst you whom I have not wrong'd: you most; rob'd you of a Daughter; but she is In Heaven; and I must suffer for it willingly. Cart. I, I, 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 Had'st not had ill counsel, thou would'st 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 asham'd 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 deserv'd not to be call'd 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 yee; Love this distressed VVidow; 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, Then 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 spight of my heart. M. Thorney, chear 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 kinde then 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 pass'd, I should fear to bemarried Husbands are so cruelly unkind: excuse me that I am thus troubled.

Som. Thou shalt have no cause. Cart. Take comfort Mistris Winnifride. Sir Arthur, For his abuse to you, and to your Husband, Is by the Bench enjoyn'd to pay you down A thousand Marks. Sir Art. Which I will soon discharge. Win. Sir, 'tis too great a sum to be imploy'd upon my Funeral. Cart.

Come, come, if luck had serv'd, Sir Arthur, and every ma • had his due, somebody might have totter'd ere this, without paying Fines: like it as you list. Come to me Winnifride, shalt be wel come: make much of her, Kate, I charge you: I do not think bu • 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. Joyn Friends in sorrow; make of all the best: Harms past may be lamented, not redrest. Exeum