Witch of Edmonton

Contents2020 Nov 14  21:36:53

 
ProloguePrologue
 
Act 1Scene 1The neighbourhood of Edmonton. A Room in the House of Sir Arthur Clarington
Scene 2Edmonton. A Room in Carter's house
 
Act 2Scene 1The Fields near Edmonton.
Scene 2Carter's house.
 
Act 3Scene 1The Village Green
Scene 2The neighbourhood of Edmonton
Scene 3A Field with a clump of trees
Scene 4Before Sir Arthur Clarington's house
 
Act 4Scene 1Edmonton. The Street
Scene 2A Bedroom in Carter's house. A bed thrust forth, with Frank in a slumber.
 
Act 5Scene 1The Witch's Cottage
Scene 2London. The neighbourhood of Tyburn
Scene 3London. The neighbourhood of Tyburn
 
EpilogueEpilogue
 
Finis
 
Contents

PROLOGUE

0.1.1 Prologue
The town of Edmonton hath lent the stage
A Devil and a witch, both in an age.
To make comparisons, it were uncivil,
Between so even a pair, a witch and devil.
But as the year doth with his plenty bring
As well a latter as a former spring,
So has this witch enjoy’d the first and reason,
Presumes she may partake the other season.
In acts deserving name, the proverb says,
Once good, and ever; why not so in plays?
Why not in this? Since, gentlemen, we flatter
No expectations; here is mirth and matter.
Contents

ACT I

Scene 1

The neighbourhood of Edmonton. A Room in the House of Sir Arthur Clarington

Enter Frank Thorney and Winnifred, who is with child
1.1.1 Frank
Come, wench; why, here's a business soon dispatched:
Thy heart I know is now at ease; thou need'st not
Fear what the tattling gossips in their cups
Can speak against thy fame; thy child shall know
Whom to call dad now.
1.1.6 Winnifred
You have here discharged
The true part of an honest man; I cannot
Request a fuller satisfaction
Than you have freely granted: yet methinks
'Tis an hard case, being lawful man and wife,
We should not live together.
1.1.12 Frank
Had I failed
In promise of my truth to thee, we must
Have then been ever sundered; now the longest
Of our forbearing either's company
Is only but to gain a little time
For our continuing thrift; that so hereafter
The heir that shall be born may not have cause
To curse his hour of birth, which made him feel
The misery of beggary and want, –
Two devils that are occasions to enforce
A shameful end. My plots aim but to keep
My father's love.
1.1.24 Winnifred
And that will be as difficult
To be preserved, when he shall understand
How you are married, as it will be now,
Should you confess it to him.
1.1.28 Frank
Fathers are
Won by degrees, not bluntly, as our masters
Or wrongèd friends are; and besides I'll use
Such dutiful and ready means, that ere
He can have notice of what's past, th' inheritance
To which I am born heir shall be assured;
That done, why, let him know it: if he like it not,
Yet he shall have no power in him left
To cross the thriving of it.
1.1.37 Winnifred
You who had
The conquest of my maiden-love may easily
Conquer the fears of my distrust. And whither
Must I be hurried?
1.1.41 Frank
Prithee do not use
A word so much unsuitable to the constant
Affections of thy husband: thou shalt live
Near Waltham Abbey with thy uncle Selman;
I have acquainted him with all at large:
He'll use thee kindly; thou shalt want no pleasures,
Nor any other fit supplies whatever
Thou canst in heart desire.
1.1.49 Winnifred
All these are nothing
Without your company.
1.1.51 Frank
Which thou shalt have
Once every month at least.
1.1.53 Winnifred
Once every month!
Is this to have an husband?
1.1.55 Frank
Perhaps oftener;
That's as occasion serves.
1.1.57 Winnifred
Ay, ay; in case
No other beauty tempt your eye, whom you
Like better, I may chance to be remembered,
And see you now and then. Faith, I did hope
You'd not have used me so: 'tis but my fortune.
And yet, if not for my sake, have some pity
Upon the child I go with, that's your own:
And 'less you'll be a cruel-hearted father,
You cannot but remember that.
Heaven knows how –
1.1.67 Frank
To quit which fear at once,
As by the ceremony late performed
I plighted thee a faith as free from challenge
As any double thought; once more, in hearing
Of Heaven and thee, I vow that never henceforth
Disgrace, reproof, lawless affections, threats,
Or what can be suggested 'gainst our marriage,
Shall cause me falsify that bridal oath
That binds me thine. And, Winnifred, whenever
The wanton heat of youth, by subtle
baits
Of beauty, or what woman's art can practise,
Draw me from only loving thee, let Heaven
Inflict upon my life some fearful ruin!
I hope thou dost believe me.
1.1.82 Winnifred
Swear no more;
I am confirmed, and will resolve to do
What you think most behoveful for us.
1.1.85 Frank
Thus, then;
Make thyself ready; at the furthest house
Upon the green without the town, your uncle
Expects you. For a little time, farewell!
1.1.89 Winnifred
Sweet,
We shall meet again as soon as thou canst possibly?
1.1.91 Frank
We shall. One kiss – away!
Exit Winnifred
Enter Sir Arthur Clarington
1.1.92 Sir Arthur
Frank Thorney!
1.1.93 Frank
Here, sir.
1.1.94 Sir Arthur
Alone? then must I tell thee in plain terms
Thou hast wronged
thy master's house basely and lewdly.
1.1.97 Frank
Your house, sir?
1.1.98 Sir Arthur
Yes, sir: if the nimble devil
That wantoned in your blood rebelled against
All rules of honest duty, you might, sir,
Have found out some more fitting place than here
To have built a stews in. All the country whispers
How shamefully thou hast undone a maid,
Approved for modest life, for civil carriage,
Till thy prevailing perjuries enticed her
To forfeit shame. Will you be honest yet,
Make her amends and marry her?
1.1.108 Frank
So, sir,
I might bring both myself and her to beggary;
And that would be a shame worse than the other.
1.1.111 Sir Arthur
You should have thought on this before, and then
Your reason would have overswayed the passion
Of your unruly lust. But that you may
Be left without excuse, to salve the infamy
Of my disgracèd house, and 'cause you are
A gentleman, and both of you my servants,
I'll make the maid a portion.
1.1.118 Frank
So you promised me
Before, in case I married her. I know
Sir Arthur Clarington deserves the credit
Report hath lent him, and presume you are
A debtor to your promise: but upon
What certainty shall I resolve? Excuse me
For being somewhat rude.
1.1.125 Sir Arthur
It is but reason.
Well, Frank, what think'st thou of two hundred pounds
And a continual friend?
1.1.128 Frank
Though my poor fortunes
Might happhy prefer me to a choice
Of a far greater portion, yet, to right
A wrongèd maid and to preserve your favour,
I am content to accept your proffer.
1.1.133 Sir Arthur
Art thou?
1.1.134 Frank
Sir, we shall every day have need to employ
The use of what you please to give.
1.1.136 Sir Arthur
Thou shall have 't.
1.1.137 Frank
Then I claim
Your promise. – We are man and wife.
1.1.139 Sir Arthur
Already?
1.1.140 Frank
And more than so, sir, I have promised her
Free entertainment in her uncle's house
Near Waltham Abbey, where she may securely
Sojourn, till time and my endeavours work
My father's love and liking.
1.1.145 Sir Arthur
Honest Frank!
1.1.146 Frank
I hope, sir, you will think I cannot keep her
Without a daily charge.
1.1.148 Sir Arthur
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.
1.1.152 Frank
But our occasions –
1.1.153 Sir Arthur
Nay, nay,
Talk not of your occasions; trust my bounty;
It shall not sleep. – Hast married her, i'faith, Frank?
'Tis well, 'tis passing well! – then, Winnifred,
Once more thou art an honest woman. Frank,
Thou hast a jewel; love her; she'll deserve it.
And when to Waltham?
1.1.160 Frank
She is making ready;
Her uncle stays for her.
1.1.162 Sir Arthur
Most provident speed.
Frank, I will be thy friend, and such a friend! –
Thou'lt bring her thither?
1.1.165 Frank
Sir, I cannot; newly
My father sent me word I should come to him.
1.1.167 Sir Arthur
Marry, and do; I know thou hast a wit
To handle him.
1.1.169 Frank
I have a suit t'ye.
1.1.170 Sir Arthur
What is't?
Anything, Frank; command it.
1.1.172 Frank
That you'll please
By letters to assure my father that
I am not married.
1.1.175 Sir Arthur
How!
1.1.176 Frank
Some one or other
Hath certainly informed him that I purposed
To marry Winnifred; on which he threatened
To disinherit me: – to prevent it,
Lowly I crave your letters, which he seeing
Will credit; and I hope, ere I return,
On such conditions as I'll frame, his lands
Shall be assured.
1.1.184 Sir Arthur
But what is there to quit
My knowledge of the marriage?
1.1.186 Frank
Why, you were not
A witness to it.
1.1.188 Sir Arthur
I conceive; and then –
His land confirmed, thou wilt acquaint him throughly
With all that's past.
1.1.191 Frank
I mean no less.
1.1.192 Sir Arthur
Provided
I never was made privy to't.
1.1.194 Frank
Alas, sir,
Am I a talker?
1.1.196 Sir Arthur
Draw thyself the letter,
I'll put my hand to't. I commend thy policy;
Thou'rt witty, witty, Frank; nay, nay, 'tis fit:
Dispatch it.
1.1.200 Frank
I shall write effectually. [Exit]
1.1.201 Sir Arthur
Go thy way, cuckoo; – have I caught the young man?
One trouble, then, is freed. He that will feast
At other's cost must be a bold-faced guest.
Re-enter Winnifred in a riding-suit
Win, I have heard the news; all now is safe;
The worst is past: thy lip, wench [Kisses her]: I must bid
Farewell, for fashion's sake; but I will visit thee
Suddenly, girl. This was cleanly carried;
Ha! was't not, Win?
1.1.209 Winnifred
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 lewdness
Given way to your immoderate waste of virtue,
You had not with such eagerness pursued
The error of your goodness.
1.1.216 Sir Arthur
Dear, dear Win,
I hug this art of thine; it shows how cleanly
Thou canst beguile, in case occasion serve
To practise; it becomes thee: now we share
Free scope enough, without control or fear,
To interchange our pleasures; we will surfeit
In our embraces, wench. Come, tell me, when
Wilt thou appoint a meeting?
1.1.224 Winnifred
What to do?
1.1.225 Sir Arthur
Good, good, to con the lesson of our loves,
Our secret game.
1.1.227 Winnifred
O, blush to speak it further!
As you're a noble gentleman, forget
A sin so monstrous: 'tis not gently done
To open a cured wound: I know you speak
For trial; 'troth, you need not.
1.1.232 Sir Arthur
I for trial?
Not I, by this good sunshine!
1.1.234 Winnifred
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 abusèd Thorney, my kind husband, –
If you infect mine ear with any breath
That is not thoroughly perfumed with sighs
For former deeds of lust, – may I be cursed
Even in my prayers, when I vouchsafe
To see or hear you! I will change my life
From a loose whore to a repentant wife.
1.1.247 Sir Arthur
Wilt thou turn monster now? art not ashamed
After so many months to be honest at last?
Away, away! fie on't!
1.1.250 Winnifred
My resolution
Is built upon a rock. This very day
Young Thorney vowed, with oaths not to be doubted,
That never any change of love should cancel
The bonds in which we are to either bound
Of lasting truth: and shall I, then, for my part
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 sacrilege; for if you but endeavour
By any unchaste word to tempt my constancy
You strive as much as in you lies to ruin
A temple hallowed to the purity
Of holy marriage. I have said enough;
You may believe me.
1.1.265 Sir Arthur
Get you to your nunnery;
There freeze in your cold cloister: this is fine!
1.1.267 Winnifred
Good angels guide me! Sir, you'll give me leave
To weep and pray for your conversion?
1.1.269 Sir Arthur
Yes:
Away to Waltham! Pox on your honesty!
Had you no other trick to fool me? well,
You may want money yet.
1.1.273 Winnifred
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]
1.1.277 Sir Arthur
Go, go thy ways; as changeable a baggage
As ever cozened knight: I'm glad I'm rid of her.
Honest! marry, hang her! Thorney is my debtor;
I thought to have paid him too; but fools have fortune.
Exit
Contents

ACT I

Scene 2

Edmonton. A Room in Carter's house

Enter Old Thorney and Carter
1.2.1 Old Thorney
You offer, Master Carter, like a gentleman; I cannot find fault with it, 'tis so fair.
1.2.3 Carter
No gentleman I, Master Thorney; spare the Mastership, call me by my name, John Carter. Master is a title my father, nor his before him, were acqainted with; honest Hertfordshire yeomen; such an one am I; my word and my deed shall be proved one at all times. I mean to give you no security for the marriage money.
1.2.8 Old Thorney
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.
1.2.11 Carter
Double, treble, more or less, I tell you, Master Thorney, I'll give no security. Bonds and bills are but terriers to catch fools, and keep lazy knaves busy; my security shall be present payment. And we here about Edmonton hold present payment as sure as an alderman's bond in London, Master Thorney.
1.2.15 Old Thorney
I cry you mercy, sir; I understood you not.
1.2.16 Carter
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, Master Thorney, though but a homely man's daughter; there have worse faces looked out of black bags, man.
1.2.21 Old Thorney
You speak your mind freely and honestly. I marvel my son comes not; I am sure he will be here some time to-day.
1.2.23 Carter
To-day or to-morrow, when he comes he shall be welcome to bread, beer, and beef, yeoman's fare; we have no kickshaws: full dishes, whole bellyfuls. Should I diet three days at one of the slender city-suppers, you might send me to Barber-Surgeons' hall the fourth day, to hang up for an anatomy. – Here come they that –
Enter Warbeck with Susan, Somerton with Katherine
How now, girls! every day play-day with you? Valentine's day too, all by couples? Thus will young folks do when we are laid in our graves, Master Thorney; here's all the care they take. And how do you find the wenches, gentlemen? have they any mind to a loose gown and a strait shoe? Win 'em and wear 'em; they shall choose for themselves by my consent.
1.2.33 Warbeck
You speak like a kind father. – Sue, thou hear'st
The liberty that's granted thee; what say'st thou?
Wilt thou be mine?
1.2.36 Susan
Your what, sir? I dare swear
Never your wife.
1.2.38 Warbeck
Canst thou be so unkind,
Considering how dearly I affect thee,
Nay, dote on thy perfections?
1.2.41 Susan
You are studied,
Too scholar-like, in words I understand not.
I am too coarse for such a gallant's love
As you are.
1.2.45 Warbeck
By the honour of gentility, –
1.2.46 Susan
Good sir, no swearing; yea and nay with us
Prevail above all oaths
you can invent.
1.2.49 Warbeck
By this white hand of thine, –
1.2.50 Susan
Take a false oath!
Fie, fie! flatter the wise; fools not regard it,
And one of these am I.
1.2.53 Warbeck
Dost thou despise me?
1.2.54 Carter
Let 'em talk on, Master Thorney; I know Sue's mind. The fly may buzz about the candle, he shall but singe his wings when all's done; Frank, Frank is he has her heart.
1.2.57 Somerton
But shall I live in hope, Kate?
1.2.58 Katherine
Better so
Than be a desperate man.
1.2.60 Somerton
Perhaps thou think'st it is thy portion
I level at: wert thou as poor in fortunes
As thou art rich in goodness, I would rather
Be suitor for the dower of thy virtues
Than twice thy father's whole estate; and, prithee,
Be thou resolved so.
1.2.66 Katherine
Master Somerton,
It is an easy labour to deceive
A maid that will believe men's subtle promises,
Yet I conceive of you as worthily
As I presume you to deserve.
1.2.71 Somerton
Which is,
As worthily in loving thee sincerely
As thou art worthy to be so beloved.
1.2.74 Katherine
I shall find time to try you.
1.2.75 Somerton
Do, Kate, do;
And when I fail, may all my joys forsake me!
1.2.77 Carter
Warbeck and Sue are at it still. I laugh to myself, Master Thorney, to see how earnestly he beats the bush, while the bird is flown into another's bosom. A very unthrift, Master Thorney; one of the country roaringlads: we have such as well as the city, and as arrant rake-hells as they are, though not so nimble at their prizes of wit. Sue knows the rascal to an hair's-breadth, and will fit him accordingly.
1.2.83 Old Thorney
What is the other gentleman?
1.2.84 Carter
One Somerton; the honester man of the two by five pound in every stone-weight. A civil fellow; he has a fine convenient estate of land in West Ham, by Essex: Master 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 Master Somerton's sake; for he came hither first as a companion of his: honest men, Master Thorney, may fall into knaves' company now and then.
1.2.91 Warbeck
Three hundred a-year jointure, Sue.
1.2.92 Susan
Where lies it?
By sea or by land? I think by sea.
1.2.94 Warbeck
Do I look like a captain?
1.2.95 Susan
Not a whit, sir.
Should all that use the seas be reckoned captains,
There's not a ship should have a scullion in her
To keep her clean.
1.2.99 Warbeck
Do you scorn me, Mistress Susan?
Am I a subject to be jeered at?
1.2.101 Susan
Neither
Am I a property for you to use
As stale to your fond wanton loose discourse:
Pray, sir, be civil.
1.2.105 Warbeck
Wilt be angry, wasp?
1.2.106 Carter
God-a-mercy, Sue! she'll firk him, on my life, if he fumble with her.
Enter Frank
Master Francis Thorney, you are welcome indeed; your father expected your coming. How does the right worshipful knight, Sir Arthur Clarington, your master?
1.2.110 Frank
In health this morning. – Sir, my duty.
1.2.111 Old Thorney
Now
You come as I could wish.
1.2.113 Warbeck
[Aside] Frank Thorney, ha!
1.2.114 Susan
You must excuse me.
1.2.115 Frank
Virtuous Mistress Susan,
Kind Mistress Katherine. [Kisses them] – Gentlemen, to both
Good time o' th' day.
1.2.118 Somerton
The like to you.
1.2.119 Warbeck
'Tis he.
A word, friend. [Aside to Som] On my life, this is the man Stands fair in
crossing Susan's love to me.
1.2.122 Somerton
[Aside to War] I think no less; be wise, and take no notice
on't;
He that can win her best deserves her.
1.2.125 Warbeck
[Aside to Som] Marry
A serving-man? mew!
1.2.127 Somerton
[Aside to War] Prithee, friend, no more.
1.2.128 Carter
Gentlemen all, there's within a slight dinner ready, if you please to taste of it; Master Thorney, Master Francis, Master Somerton. – Why, girls! what huswives! will you spend all your forenoon in tittle-tattles? away! it's well, i'faith. – Will you go in, gentlemen?
1.2.132 Old Thorney
We'll follow presently; my son and I
Have a few words of business.
1.2.134 Carter
At your pleasure.
Exeunt all but Old Thorney and Frank
1.2.135 Old Thorney
I think you guess the reason, Frank, for which
I sent for you.
1.2.137 Frank
Yes, sir.
1.2.138 Old Thorney
I need not tell you
With what a labyrinth of dangers daily
The best part of my whole estate's encumbered;
Nor have I any clue to wind it out
But what occasion proffers me; wherein
If you should falter, I shall have the shame,
And you the loss. On these two points rely
Our happiness or ruin. If you marry
With wealthy Carter's daughter, there's a portion
Will free my land; all which I will instate,
Upon the marriage, to you: otherwise
I must be of necessity enforced
To make a present sale of all; and yet,
For aught I know, live in as poor distress,
Or worse, than now I do. You hear the sum?
I told you thus before; have you considered on't?
1.2.154 Frank
I have, sir; and however I could wish
To enjoy the benefit of single freedom, –
For that I find no disposition in me
To undergo the 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.
1.2.162 Old Thorney
You have already used
Such thriving protestations to the maid
That she is wholly yours; and – speak the truth –
You love her, do you not?
1.2.166 Frank
'Twere pity, sir,
I should deceive her.
1.2.168 Old Thorney
Better you'd been unborn.
But is your love so steady that you mean,
Nay, more, desire, to make her your wife?
1.2.171 Frank
Else, sir,
It were a wrong not to be righted.
1.2.173 Old Thorney
True,
It were: and you will marry her?
1.2.175 Frank
Heaven prosper it,
I do intend it.
1.2.177 Old Thorney
O, thou art a villain!
A devil like a man! Wherein have I
Offended all the powers so much, to be
Father to such a graceless, godless son?
1.2.181 Frank
To me, sir, this! O, my cleft heart!
1.2.182 Old Thorney
To thee,
Son of my curse. Speak truth and blush, thou monster!
Hast thou not married Winnifred, a maid
Was fellow-servant with thee?
1.2.186 Frank
[Aside] Some swift spirit
Has blown this news abroad; I must outface it.
1.2.188 Old Thorney
D' you study for excuse? why, all the country
Is full on't.
1.2.190 Frank
With your licence, 'tis not charitable,
I'm sure it is not fatherly, so much
To be o'erswayed with credulous conceit
Of mere impossibilities; but fathers
Are privileged to think and talk at pleasure.
1.2.195 Old Thorney
Why, canst thou yet deny thou hast no wife?
1.2.196 Frank
What do you take me for? an atheist?
One that nor hopes the blessedness of life
Hereafter, neither fears the vengeance due
To such as make the marriage-bed an inn,
Which travellers, day and night,
After a toilsome lodging, leave at pleasure?
Am I become so insensible of losing
The glory of creation's work, my soul?
O, I have lived too long!
1.2.205 Old Thorney
Thou hast, dissembler.
Dar'st thou perséver 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!
1.2.210 Frank
Sir, though mine innocence
Needs not a stronger witness than the clearness
Of an unperished conscience, yet for that
I was informed how mainly you had been
Possessed of this untruth, – to quit
all scruple,
Please you peruse this letter; 'tis to you.
1.2.217 Old Thorney
From whom?
1.2.218 Frank
Sir Arthur Clarington, my master.
1.2.219 Old Thorney
Well, sir. [Reads]
1.2.220 Frank
[Aside] On every side I am distracted:
Am waded deeper into mischief
Than virtue can avoid; but on I must:
Fate leads me; I will follow. – There you read
What may confirm you.
1.2.225 Old Thorney
Yes, and wonder at it.
Forgive me, Frank; credulity abused me.
My tears express my joy; and I am sorry
I injured innocence.
1.2.229 Frank
Alas! I knew
Your rage and grief proceeded from your love
To me; so I conceived it.
1.2.232 Old Thorney
My good son,
I'll bear with many faults in thee hereafter;
Bear thou with mine.
1.2.235 Frank
The peace is soon concluded.
Re-enter Carter and Susan
1.2.236 Carter
Why, Master Thorney, d'ye mean to talk out your dinner? the
company attends your coming. What must it be, Master Frank?
or son Frank? I am plain Dunstable.
1.2.239 Old Thorney
Son, brother, if your daughter like to have it so.
1.2.240 Frank
I dare be confident she is not altered
From what I left her at our parting last: –
Are you, fair maid?
1.2.243 Susan
You took too sure possession
Of an engagèd heart.
1.2.245 Frank
Which now I challenge.
1.2.246 Carter
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: when's the day?
1.2.249 Old Thorney
To-morrow, if you please. To use ceremony Of charge and custom were to little purpose; Their loves are married fast enough already.
1.2.252 Carter
A good motion. We'll e'en have an household dinner, and let the fiddlers go scrape: let the bride and bridegroom dance at night together; no matter for the guests: – to-morrow, Sue, to-morrow. – Shall's to dinner now?
1.2.256 Old Thorney
We are on all sides pleased, I hope.
1.2.257 Susan
Pray Heaven I may deserve the blessing sent me:
Now my heart is settled.
1.2.259 Frank
So is mine.
1.2.260 Carter
Your marriage-money shall be received before your wedding-shoes can be pulled on. Blessing on you both!
1.2.262 Frank
[Aside] No man can hide his shame from Heaven that views him;
In vain he flees whose destiny pursues him. [Exeunt]
Contents

ACT II

Scene 1

The Fields near Edmonton.

Enter Mother Sawyer gathering sticks
2.1.1 Mother Sawyer
And why on me? why should the envious world
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?
'Cause I am poor, deformed, and ignorant,
And like a bow buckled and bent together
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself,
Must I for that be made a common sink
For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues
To fall and run into? Some call me witch,
And being ignorant of myself, they go
About to teach me how to be one; urging
That my bad tongue – by their bad usage made so –
Forspeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn,
Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse.
This they enforce upon me, and in part
Make me to credit it; and here comes one
Of my chief adversaries.
Enter Old Banks
2.1.17 Old Banks
Out, out upon thee, witch!
2.1.18 Mother Sawyer
Dost call me witch?
2.1.19 Old Banks
I do, witch, I do; and worse I would, knew I a name more
hateful. What makest thou upon my ground?
2.1.21 Mother Sawyer
Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.
2.1.22 Old Banks
Down with them when I bid thee quickly;
I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else.
2.1.24 Mother Sawyer
You won't, churl, cut-throat, miser! – there they be: [Throws them down] would they stuck cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff!
2.1.27 Old Banks
Sayest thou me so, hag? Out of my ground! [Beats her]
2.1.28 Mother Sawyer
Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon! Now, thy bones ache, thy joints cramp, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews!
2.1.30 Old Banks
Cursing, thou hag! take that and that.
Beats her and exit
2.1.31 Mother Sawyer
Strike, do! – and withered may that hand and arm
Whose blows have lamed me drop from the rotten trunk.
Abuse me! beat me! call me hag and witch!
What is the name, where and by what art learned,
What spells, what charms, or invocations,
May the thing called Familiar be purchased?
Enter Cuddy Banks and several other Dancers
2.1.37 Cuddy Banks
A new head for the tabor, and silver tipping for the pipe; remember that: and forget not five leash of new bells.
2.1.39 First Dancer
Double bells; – Crooked Lane – ye shall have 'em straight in Crooked Lane: – double bells all, if it be possible.
2.1.41 Cuddy Banks
Double bells? double coxcombs! trebles, buy me trebles, all
trebles; for our purpose is to be in the altitudes.
2.1.43 Second Dancer
All trebles? not a mean?
2.1.44 Cuddy Banks
Not one. The morris is so cast, we'll have neither mean nor base
in our company, fellow Rowland.
2.1.46 Third Dancer
What! nor a counter?
2.1.47 Cuddy Banks
By no means, no hunting counter; leave that to Enfield Chase men: all trebles, all in the altitudes. Now for the disposing of parts in the morris, little or no labour will serve.
2.1.50 Second Dancer
If you that be minded to follow your leader know me – an ancient honour belonging to our house – for a fore-horse i' th' team and fore-gallant in a morris, my father's stable is not unfurnished.
2.1.53 Third Dancer
So much for the fore-horse; but how for a good hobby-horse?
2.1.54 Cuddy Banks
For a hobby-horse? let me see an almanac. Midsummer-moon, let me see ye. "When the moon's in the full, then's wit in the wane." No more. Use your best skill; your morris will suffer an eclipse.
2.1.57 First Dancer
An eclipse?
2.1.58 Cuddy Banks
A strange one.
2.1.59 Second Dancer
Strange?
2.1.60 Cuddy Banks
Yes, and most sudden. Remember the fore-gallant, and forget the hobby-horse! The whole body of your morris will be darkened. – There be of us – but 'tis no matter: – forget the hobby-horse!
2.1.63 First Dancer
Cuddy Banks! – have you forgot since he paced it from Enfield Chase to Edmonton? – Cuddy, honest Cuddy, cast thy stuff.
2.1.65 Cuddy Banks
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.
2.1.67 First Dancer
Cuddy, honest Cuddy, we confess, and are sorry for our neglect,
2.1.68 Second Dancer
The old horse shall have a new bridle.
2.1.69 Third Dancer
The caparisons new painted.
2.1.70 Fourth Dancer
The tail repaired.
2.1.71 First Dancer
The snaffle and the bosses new saffroned o'er. Kind, –
2.1.72 Second Dancer
Honest, –
2.1.73 Third Dancer
Loving, ingenious, –
2.1.74 Fourth Dancer
Affable Cuddy.
2.1.75 Cuddy Banks
To show I am not flint, but affable, as you say, very well stuffed, a kind of warm dough or puff-paste, I relent, I connive, most affable Jack. Let the hobby-horse provide a strong back, he shall not want a belly when I am in him – but [Seeing Sawyer] – 'uds me, Mother Sawyer!
2.1.80 First Dancer
The old Witch of Edmonton! – if our mirth be not
crossed –
2.1.82 Second Dancer
Bless us, Cuddy, and let her curse her t'other eye
out. – What dost now?
2.1.84 Cuddy Banks
"Ungirt, unblest," says the proverb; but my girdle shall serve for a riding knot; and a fig for all the witches in Christendom! – What wouldst thou?
2.1.87 First Dancer
The devil cannot abide to be crossed.
2.1.88 Second Dancer
And scorns to come at any man's whistle.
2.1.89 Third Dancer
Away –
2.1.90 Fourth Dancer
With the witch!
2.1.91 All
Away with the Witch of Edmonton!
Exeunt in strange postures
2.1.92 Mother Sawyer
Still vexed! still tortured! that curmudgeon Banks
Is ground of all my scandal; I am shunned
And hated like a sickness; made a scorn
To all degrees and sexes. I have heard old beldams
Talk of familiars in the shape of mice,
Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what,
That have appeared, and sucked, some say, their blood;
But by what means they came acquainted with them
I am now ignorant. Would some power, good or bad,
Instruct me which way I might be revenged
Upon this churl, I'd go out of myself,
And give this fury leave to dwell within
This ruined cottage ready to fall with age,
Abjure all goodness, be at hate with prayer,
And study curses, imprecations,
Blasphemous speeches, oaths, detested oaths,
Or anything that's ill: so I might work
Revenge upon this miser, this black cur,
That barks and bites, and sucks the very blood
Of me and of my credit. 'Tis all one
To be a witch as to be counted one:
Vengeance, shame, ruin light upon that canker!
Enter a Black Dog
2.1.114 Dog
Ho! have I found thee cursing? now thou art
Mine own.
2.1.116 Mother Sawyer
Thine! what art thou?
2.1.117 Dog
He thou hast so often
Importuned to appear to thee, the devil.
2.1.119 Mother Sawyer
Bless me! the devil?
2.1.120 Dog
Come, do not fear; I love thee much too well
To hurt or fright thee; if I seem terrible,
It is to such as hate me. I have found
Thy love unfeigned; have seen and pitied
Thy open wrongs; and come, out of my love,
To give thee just revenge against thy foes.
2.1.126 Mother Sawyer
May I believe thee?
2.1.127 Dog
To confirm't, command me
Do any mischief unto man or beast,
And I'll effect it, on condition
That, uncompelled, thou make a deed of gift
Of soul and body to me.
2.1.132 Mother Sawyer
Out, alas!
My soul and body?
2.1.134 Dog
And that instantly,
And seal it with thy blood: if thou deniest,
I'll tear thy body in a thousand pieces.
2.1.137 Mother Sawyer
I know not where to seek relief: but shall I,
After such covenants sealed, see full revenge
On all that wrong me?
2.1.140 Dog
Ha, ha! silly woman!
The devil is no liar to such as he loves:
Didst ever know or hear the devil a liar
To such as he affects?
2.1.144 Mother Sawyer
Then I am thine; at least so much of me
As I can call mine own –
2.1.146 Dog
Equivocations?
Art mine or no? speak, or I'll tear –
2.1.148 Mother Sawyer
All thine.
2.1.149 Dog
Seal't with thy blood.
She pricks her arm, which he sucks. 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.
2.1.153 Mother Sawyer
And I desire as little. There's an old churl,
One Banks –
2.1.155 Dog
That wronged thee, lamed thee, called thee witch.
2.1.156 Mother Sawyer
The same; first upon him I'd be revenged.
2.1.157 Dog
Thou shalt; do but name how.
2.1.158 Mother Sawyer
Go, touch his life.
2.1.159 Dog
I cannot.
2.1.160 Mother Sawyer
Hast thou not vowed? Go, kill the slave!
2.1.161 Dog
I wonnot.
2.1.162 Mother Sawyer
I'll cancel, then, my gift.
2.1.163 Dog
Ha, ha!
2.1.164 Mother Sawyer
Dost laugh!
Why wilt not kill him?
2.1.166 Dog
Fool, because I cannot.
Though we have power, know it is circumscribed
And tied in limits: though he be curst to thee,
Yet of himself he's 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've no power to touch.
2.1.176 Mother Sawyer
Work on his corn and cattle, then.
2.1.177 Dog
I shall.
The Witch of Edmonton shall see his fall;
If she at least put credit in my power,
And in mine only; make orisons to me,
And none but me.
2.1.182 Mother Sawyer
Say how and in what manner.
2.1.183 Dog
I'll tell thee: when thou wishest ill,
Corn, man, or beast wouldst spoil or kill,
Turn thy back against the sun,
And mumble this short orison:
"If thou to death or shame pursue 'em,
Sanctibicetur nomen tuum."
2.1.189 Mother Sawyer
"If thou to death or shame pursue 'em,
Sanctibicetur nomen tuum."
2.1.191 Dog
Perfect: farewell. Our first-made promises
We'll put in execution against Banks. [Exit]
2.1.193 Mother Sawyer
Contaminetur nomen tuum I'm an expert scholar;
Speak Latin, or I know not well what language,
As well as the best of 'em – but who comes here?
Re-enter Cuddy Banks
The son of my worst foe.
To death pursue 'em,
Et sanctibicetur nomen tuum.
2.1.199 Cuddy Banks
What's that she mumbles? the devil's paternoster? would it were
else! – Mother Sawyer, good-morrow.
2.1.201 Mother Sawyer
Ill-morrow to thee, and all the world that flout
A poor old woman,
To death pursue 'em,
And sanctibicetur nomen tuum.
2.1.205 Cuddy Banks
Nay, good Gammer Sawyer, whate'er it pleases my father to call you,
I know you are –
2.1.207 Mother Sawyer
A witch.
2.1.208 Cuddy Banks
A witch? would you were else i'faith!
2.1.209 Mother Sawyer
Your father knows I am by this.
2.1.210 Cuddy Banks
I would he did.
2.1.211 Mother Sawyer
And so in time may you.
2.1.212 Cuddy Banks
I would I might else! But, witch or no witch, you are a motherly woman; and though my father be a kind of God-bless-us, as they say, I have an earnest suit to you; and if you'll be so kind to ka me one good turn, I'll be so courteous as to kob you another.
2.1.216 Mother Sawyer
What's that? to spurn, beat me, and call me witch,
As your kind father doth?
2.1.218 Cuddy Banks
My father! I am ashamed to own him. If he has hurt the head of thy credit, there's money to buy thee a plaster [Gives her money]; and a small courtesy I would require at thy hands.
2.1.221 Mother Sawyer
You seem a good young man, and – [Aside] I must dissemble,
The better to accomplish my revenge. –
But – for this silver, what wouldst have me do?
Bewitch thee?
2.1.225 Cuddy Banks
No, by no means; I am bewitched already: I would have thee so good as to unwitch me, or witch another with me for company.
2.1.227 Mother Sawyer
I understand thee not; be plain, my son.
2.1.228 Cuddy Banks
As a pike-staff, mother. You know Kate Carter?
2.1.229 Mother Sawyer
The wealthy yeoman's daughter? what of her?
2.1.230 Cuddy Banks
That same party has bewitched me.
2.1.231 Mother Sawyer
Bewitched thee?
2.1.232 Cuddy Banks
Bewitched me, hisce auribus I saw a little devil fly out of her eye like a burbolt, which sticks at this hour up to the feathers in my heart. Now, my request is, to send one of thy what-d'ye-call-'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.
2.1.237 Mother Sawyer
[Aside] We shall have sport. – Thou art in love with
her?
2.1.239 Cuddy Banks
Up to the very hilts, mother.
2.1.240 Mother Sawyer
And thou wouldst have me make her love thee too?
2.1.241 Cuddy Banks
[Aside] I think she'll prove a witch in earnest. – Yes, I could find in my heart to strike her three quarters deep in love with me too.
2.1.243 Mother Sawyer
But dost thou think that I can do't, and I alone?
2.1.244 Cuddy Banks
Truly, Mother Witch, I do verily believe so; and, when I see it
done, I shall be half persuaded so too.
2.1.246 Mother Sawyer
It is enough: what art can do be sure of.
Turn to the west, and whatsoe'er thou hear'st
Or seest, stand silent, and be not afraid.
She stamps on the ground; the Dog appears, and fawns, and leaps upon her
2.1.249 Cuddy Banks
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. An her little devil should be hungry, come sneaking behind me, like a cowardly catchpole, and clap his talons on my haunches – 'Tis woundy cold, sure – I dudder and shake like an aspen-leaf every joint of me.
2.1.254 Mother Sawyer
To scandal and disgrace pursue 'em,
Et sanctibicetur nomen tuum. [Exit Dog]
How now, my son, how is't?
2.1.257 Cuddy Banks
Scarce in a clean life, Mother Witch. – But did your goblin and
you spout Latin together?
2.1.259 Mother Sawyer
A kind of charm I work by; didst thou hear me?
2.1.260 Cuddy Banks
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?
2.1.263 Mother Sawyer
A great learned man.
2.1.264 Cuddy Banks
Learned man! learned devil it was as soon!
But what? what comfortable news about the party?
2.1.266 Mother Sawyer
Who? Kate Carter? I'll tell thee. Thou knowest the stile at the west end of thy father's peasfield: be there to-morrow night after sunset; and the first live thing thou seest be sure to follow, and that shall bring thee to thy love.
2.1.270 Cuddy Banks
In the peas-field? has she a mind to codlings already? The first living thing I meet, you say, shall bring me to her?
2.1.272 Mother Sawyer
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.
2.1.275 Cuddy Banks
"At the stile at the west end of my father's peasland, the first live thing I see, follow and embrace her, and she shall be thine." Nay, an I come to embracing once, she shall be mine; I'll go near to make at eaglet else. [Exit]
2.1.279 Mother Sawyer
A ball well bandied! now the set's half won; The father's wrong I'll wreak upon the son. [Exit]
Contents

ACT II

Scene 2

Carter's house.

Enter Carter, Warbeck, and Somerton
2.2.1 Carter
How now, gentlemen! cloudy? I know, Master Warbeck, you are in a
fog about my daughter's marriage.
2.2.3 Warbeck
And can you blame me, sir?
2.2.4 Carter
Nor you me justly. Wedding and hanging are tied up both in a
proverb; and destiny is the juggler that unties the knot. My hope is, you are
reserved to a richer fortune than my poor daughter.
2.2.7 Warbeck
However, your promise –
2.2.8 Carter
Is a kind of debt, I confess it.
2.2.9 Warbeck
Which honest men should pay.
2.2.10 Carter
Yet some gentlemen break in that point now and then, by your leave, sir.
2.2.11 Somerton
I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the wench; but patience is the only salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the wench, he has most reason to wear her.
2.2.14 Warbeck
Love in this kind admits no reason to wear her.
2.2.15 Carter
Then Love's a fool, and what wise man will take exception?
2.2.16 Somerton
Come, frolic, Ned: were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws, and Destiny go a-wool-gathering.
2.2.18 Warbeck
You hold yours in a string, though: 'tis well; but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage ere long.
2.2.20 Somerton
In my love to her sister Katherine? Indeed, they are a pair of arrows drawn out of one quiver, and should fly at an even length; if she do run after her sister, –
2.2.23 Warbeck
Look for the same mercy at my hands as I have received at thine.
2.2.24 Somerton
She'll keep a surer compass; I have too strong a confidence to
mistrust her.
2.2.26 Warbeck
And that confidence is a wind that has blown many a married man
ashore at Cuckold's Haven, I can tell you; I wish yours more prosperous though.
2.2.28 Carter
Whate'er your wish, I'll master my promise to him.
2.2.29 Warbeck
Yes, as you did to me.
2.2.30 Carter
No more of that, if you love me: but for the more assurance, the
next offered occasion shall consummate the marriage; and that once sealed –
2.2.32 Somerton
Leave the manage of the rest to my care. But see, the bridegroom
and bride come; the new pair of Sheffield knives, fitted both to one sheath.
2.2.34 Warbeck
The sheath might have been better fitted, it somebody had their due; but –
2.2.35 Carter
No harsh language, if thou lovest me. Frank Thorney has done –
2.2.36 Warbeck
No more than I, or thou, or any man, things so standing, would have attempted.
Enter Frank Thorney and Susan
2.2.37 Somerton
Good-morrow, Master Bridegroom.
2.2.38 Warbeck
Come, give thee joy: mayst thou live long and happy
In thy fair choice!
2.2.40 Frank
I thank ye, gentlemen; kind Master Warbeck,
I find you loving.
2.2.42 Warbeck
Thorney, that creature, – much good do thee with her! –
Virtue and beauty hold fair mixture in her;
She's rich, no doubt, in both: yet were she fairer,
Thou art right worthy of her. Love her, Thorney;
'Tis nobleness in thee, in her but duty.
The match is fair and equal; the success
I leave to censure. Farewell, Mistress Bride!
Till now elected, thy old scorn deride. [Exit]
2.2.50 Somerton
Good Master Thorney –
2.2.51 Carter
Nay, you shall not part till you see the barrels run a-tilt,
gentlemen. [Exit with Somerton]
2.2.53 Susan
Why change you your face, sweetheart?
2.2.54 Frank
Who, I? for nothing.
2.2.55 Susan
Dear, say not so; a spirit of your constancy
Cannot endure this change for nothing.
I have observed strange variations in you.
2.2.58 Frank
In me?
2.2.59 Susan
In you, sir.
Awake, you seem to dream, and in your sleep
You utter sudden and distracted accents,
Like one at enmity with peace. Dear loving husband,
If I
May dare to challenge any interest in you,
Give me the reason fully; you may trust
My breast as safely as your own.
2.2.67 Frank
With what?
You half amaze me; prithee –
2.2.69 Susan
Come, you shall not,
Indeed you shall not, shut me from partaking
The least dislike that grieves you; I'm all yours.
2.2.72 Frank
And I all thine.
2.2.73 Susan
You are not, if you keep
The least grief from me: but I find the cause;
It grew from me.
2.2.76 Frank
From you?
2.2.77 Susan
From some distaste.
In me or my behaviour: you're not kind
In the concealment. 'Las, sir, I am young,
Silly and plain; more, strange to those contents
A wife should offer: say but in what I fail,
I'll study satisfaction.
2.2.83 Frank
Come; in nothing.
2.2.84 Susan
I know I do; knew I as well in what,
You should not long be sullen. Prithee, love,
If I have been immodest or too bold,
Speak't in a frown; if peevishly too nice,
Show't in a smile: thy liking is the glass
By which I'll habit my behaviour.
2.2.90 Frank
Wherefore dost weep now?
2.2.91 Susan
You, sweet, have the power
To make me passionate as an April-day;
Now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red:
You are the powerful moon of my blood's sea,
To make it ebb or flow into my face,
As your looks change.
2.2.97 Frank
Change thy conceit, I prithee;
Thou art all perfection: Diana herself
Swells in thy thoughts and moderates thy beauty.
Within thy left eye amorous Cupid sits,
Feathering love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipped
In thy chaste breast; in the other lies
Blushing Adonis scarfed in modesties;
And still as wanton Cupid blows love-fires,
Adonis quenches out unchaste desires;
And from these two I briefly do imply
A perfect emblem of thy modesty.
Then, prithee, dear, maintain no more dispute,
For when thou speak'st, it's fit all tongues be mute.
2.2.110 Susan
Come, come, these golden strings of flattery
Shall not tie up my speech, sir; I must know
The ground of your disturbance.
2.2.113 Frank
Then look here;
For here, here is the fen in which this hydra
Of discontent grows rank.
2.2.116 Susan
Heaven shield it! where?
2.2.117 Frank
In mine own bosom, here the cause has root;
The poisoned leeches twist about my heart,
And will, I hope, confound me.
2.2.120 Susan
You speak riddles.
2.2.121 Frank
Take't plainly, then: 'twas told me by a woman
Known and approved in palmistry,
I should have two wives.
2.2.124 Susan
Two wives? sir, I take it
Exceeding likely; but let not conceit hurt you:
You're afraid to bury me?
2.2.127 Frank
No, no, my Winnifred.
2.2.128 Susan
How say you? Winnifred! you forget me.
2.2.129 Frank
No, I forget myself! – Susan.
2.2.130 Susan
In what?
2.2.131 Frank
Talking of wives, I pretend Winnifred,
A maid that at my mother's waited on me
Before thyself.
2.2.134 Susan
I hope, sir, she may live
To take my place: but why should all this move you?
2.2.136 Frank
The poor girl! – [Aside] she has't before thee,
And that's the fiend torments me.
2.2.138 Susan
Yet why should this
Raise mutiny within you? such presages
Prove often false: or say it should be true?
2.2.141 Frank
That I should have another wife?
2.2.142 Susan
Yes, many;
If they be good, the better.
2.2.144 Frank
Never any
Equal to thee in goodness.
2.2.146 Susan
Sir, I could wish I were much better for you;
Yet if I knew your fate
Ordained you for another, I could wish –
So well I love you and your hopeful pleasure –
Me in my grave, and my poor virtues added
To my successor.
2.2.152 Frank
Prithee, prithee, talk not
Of deaths or graves; thou art so rare a goodness
As Death would rather put itself to death
Than murder thee: but we, as all things else,
Are mutable and changing.
2.2.157 Susan
Yet you still move
In your first sphere of discontent. Sweet, chase
Those clouds of sorrow, and shine clearly on me.
2.2.160 Frank
At my return I will.
2.2.161 Susan
Return! ah me!
Will you, then, leave me?
2.2.163 Frank
For a time I must:
But how? As birds their young, or loving bees
Their hives, to fetch home richer dainties.
2.2.166 Susan
Leave me!
Now has my fear met its effect. You shall not;
Cost it my life, you shall not.
2.2.169 Frank
Why? your reason?
2.2.170 Susan
Like to the lapwing have you all this while
With your false love deluded me, pretending
Counterfeit senses for your discontent;
And now at last it is by chance stole from you.
2.2.174 Frank
What? what by chance?
2.2.175 Susan
Your pre-appointed meeting
Of single combat with young Warbeck.
2.2.177 Frank
Ha!
2.2.178 Susan
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.
2.2.182 Frank
Not until when?
2.2.183 Susan
Till he and you be friends.
Was this your cunning? – and then flam me off
With an old witch, two wives, and Winnifred!
You're not so kind, indeed, as I imagined.
2.2.187 Frank
[Aside] And you are more fond by far than I expected. –
It is a virtue that attends thy kind –
But of our business within: – and by this kiss,
I'll anger thee no more; 'troth, chuck, I will not.
2.2.191 Susan
You shall have no just cause.
2.2.192 Frank
Dear Sue, I shall not.
Exeunt
Contents

ACT III

Scene 1

The Village Green

Enter Cuddy Banks with the Morris-dancers
3.1.1 First Dancer
Nay, Cuddy, prithee do not leave us now; if we part all this night, we shall not meet before day.
3.1.3 Second Dancer
I prithee, Banks, let's keep together now.
3.1.4 Cuddy Banks
If you were wise, a word would serve; but as you are, I must be forced to tell you again, I have a little private business, an hour's work; it may prove but an half hour's, as luck may serve; and then I take horse, and along with you. Have we e'er a witch in the morris?
3.1.8 First Dancer
No, no; no woman's part but Maid Marian and the Hobby-horse.
3.1.9 Cuddy Banks
I'll have a witch; I love a witch.
3.1.10 First Dancer
'Faith, witches 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.
3.1.13 Second Dancer
I would she would dance her part with us.
3.1.14 Third Dancer
So would not I; for if she comes, the devil and all comes along
with her.
3.1.16 Cuddy Banks
Well, I'll have a witch; I have loved a witch ever since I played
at cherry-pit. Leave me, and get my horse dressed; give him oats: but water him
not till I come. Whither do we foot it first?
3.1.19 Second Dancer
To Sir Arthur Clarington's first; then whither thou wilt.
3.1.20 Cuddy Banks
Well, I am content; but we must up to Carter's, the rich yeoman; I
must be seen on hobby-horse there.
3.1.22 First Dancer
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.
3.1.24 Cuddy Banks
Ha! who was that said I was in love?
3.1.25 First Dancer
Not I.
3.1.26 Second Dancer
Nor I.
3.1.27 Cuddy Banks
Go to, no more of that: when I understand what you speak, I know what you say; believe that.
3.1.29 First Dancer
Well, 'twas I, I'll not deny it; I meant no hurt in't. I have seen you walk up to Carter's of Chessum: Banks, were not you there last Shrovetide?
3.1.31 Cuddy Banks
Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrovetide.
3.1.32 Second Dancer
How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week?
3.1.33 Cuddy Banks
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 soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he'll tell thee there are eight days in the week there hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places?
3.1.38 Third Dancer
Ay, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet.
3.1.39 Cuddy Banks
No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee look but in the lover's almanac: when he has been but three days absent, "O," says he, "I have not seen my love these seven years:" there's a long cut! When he comes to her again and embraces her, "O," says he, "now me-thinks I am in Heaven;" and that's a pretty step! He that can get up to Heaven in ten days need not repent his journey; you may ride a hundred days in a caroche, and be further off than when you set forth. But, I pray you, good morris-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.
3.1.47 First Dancer
Well, since he will be alone, we'll back again and trouble him no more.
3.1.48 All the Dancers
But remember, Banks.
3.1.49 Cuddy Banks
The hobby-horse shall be remembered. But hark you; get Poldavis, the barber's boy, for the witch, because he can show his art better than another.
Exeunt all but Cuddy
Well, now to my walk. I am near the place where I should meet – I know not what: say I meet a thief? I must follow him, if to the gallows; say I meet a horse, or hare, or hound? still I must follow: some slow-paced beast, I hope; yet love is full of lightness in the heaviest lovers. Ha! my guide is come.
Enter the Dog
A water-dog! I am thy first man, sculler; I go with thee; ply no other but myself. Away with the boat! land me but at Katherine's Dock, my sweet Katherine's Dock, and I'll be a fare to thee. That way? nay, which way thou wilt; thou knowest the way better than I: – fine gentle cur it is, and well brought up, I warrant him. We go a-ducking, spaniel; thou shalt fetch me the ducks, pretty kind rascal.
Enter a Spirit vizarded. He throws off his mask, &c., and appears in the shape of Katherine
3.1.61 Spirit
Thus throw I off mine own essential horror,
And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid
Whom this fool dotes on: we can meet his folly,
But from his virtues must be runaways.
We'll sport with him; but when we reckoning call,
We know where to receive; the witch pays for all.
The Dog barks
3.1.67 Cuddy Banks
Ay? is that the watchword? She's come. [Sees the Spirit] Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking Church, in memory of thee: now come behind, kind cur.
And have I met thee, sweet Kate?
I will teach thee to walk so late.
O, see, we meet in metre. [The Spirit retires as he advances] What! dost thou trip from me? O, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble!
"Stay, nymph, stay, nymph," singed Apollo.
"Tarry and kiss me, sweet nymph, stay;
Tarry and kiss me, sweet:
We will to Chessum Street",
And then to the house stands in the highway.
Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you.
Exit, following the Spirit
[Within] O, help, help! I am drowned, I am drowned!
Re-enter Cuddy wet
3.1.82 Dog
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
3.1.83 Cuddy Banks
This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I find it now in Pond's almanac: thinking to land at Katherine's Dock, I was almost at Gravesend. I'll never go to a wench in the dog-days again; yet 'tis cool enough. – Had you never a paw in this dog-trick? a mange take that black hide of yours! I'll throw you in at Limehouse in some tanner's pit or other.
3.1.88 Dog
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
3.1.89 Cuddy Banks
How now! who's that laughs at me? Hist to him! [The Dog barks]
– Peace, peace! thou didst but thy kind neither; 'twas my own fault.
3.1.91 Dog
Take heed how thou trustest the devil another time.
3.1.92 Cuddy Banks
How now! who's that speaks? I hope you have not your reading tongue about you?
3.1.93 Dog
Yes, I can speak.
3.1.94 Cuddy Banks
The devil you can! you have read Æsop's fables, then; I have played one of your parts then, – the dog that catched at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechise you a little; what might one call your name, dog?
3.1.97 Dog
My dame calls me Tom.
3.1.98 Cuddy Banks
'Tis well, and she may call me Ass; so there's an whole one betwixt us, Tom-Ass: she said I should follow you, indeed. Well, Tom, give me thy fist, we are friends; you shall be mine ingle: I love you; but I pray you let's have no more of these ducking devices.
3.1.102 Dog
Not, if you love me. Dogs love where they are beloved; cherish me,
and I'll do anything for thee.
3.1.104 Cuddy Banks
Well, you shall have jowls and livers; I have butchers to my
friends that shall bestow 'em: and I will keep crusts and bones for you, if
you'll be a kind dog, Tom.
3.1.107 Dog
Any thing; I'll help thee to thy love.
3.1.108 Cuddy Banks
Wilt thou? that promise shall cost me a brown loaf, though I steal
it out of my father's cupboard: you'll eat stolen goods, Tom, will you not?
3.1.110 Dog
O, best of all; the sweetest bits those.
3.1.111 Cuddy Banks
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.
3.1.113 Dog
Maids and soles? O, sweet bits! banqueting stuff those.
3.1.114 Cuddy Banks
One thing I would request you, ningle, as you have played the knavish cur with me a little, that you would mingle amongst our morris-dancers in the morning. You can dance?
3.1.117 Dog
Yes, yes, any thing; I'll be there, but unseen to any but thyself. Get thee gone before; fear not my presence. I have work to-night; I serve more masters, more dames than one.
3.1.120 Cuddy Banks
He can serve Mammon and the devil too.
3.1.121 Dog
It shall concern thee and thy love's purchase.
There is a gallant rival loves the maid,
And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief,
Before the morris ends, shall light on him!
3.1.125 Cuddy Banks
O, sweet ningle, thy neuf once again; friends must part for a time. Farewell, with this remembrance; shalt have bread too when we meet again. If ever there were an honest devil, 'twill be the Devil of Edmonton, I see. Farewell, Tom; I prithee dog me as soon as thou canst [Exit]
3.1.129 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. [Exit]
Contents

ACT III

Scene 2

The neighbourhood of Edmonton

Enter Frank Thorney and Winnifred in boy's clothes
3.2.1 Frank
Prithee no more! those tears give nourishment
To weeds and briers in me, which shortly will
O'ergrow and top my head; my shame will sit
And cover all that can be seen of me.
3.2.5 Winnifred
I have not shown this cheek in company;
Pardon me now: thus singled with yourself,
It calls a thousand sorrows round about,
Some going before, and some on either side,
But infinite behind; all chained together:
Your second adulterous marriage leads;
That is the sad eclipse, th' effects must follow,
As plagues of shame, spite, scorn, and obloquy.
3.2.13 Frank
Why, hast thou not left one hour's patience
To add to all the rest? one hour bears us
Beyond the reach of all these enemies:
Are we not now set forward in the flight,
Provided with the dowry of my sin
To keep us in some other nation?
While we together are, we are at home
In any place.
3.2.21 Winnifred
'Tis foul ill-gotten coin,
Far worse than usury or extortion.
3.2.23 Frank
Let
My father, then, make the restitution,
Who forced me to take the bribe: it is his gift
And patrimony to me; so I receive it.
He would not bless, nor look a father on me,
Until I satisfied his angry will:
When I was sold, I sold myself again –
Some knaves have done't in lands, and I in body –
For money, and I have the hire. But, sweet, no more,
'Tis hazard of discovery, our discourse;
And then prevention takes off all our hopes:
For only but to take her leave of me
My wife is coming.
3.2.36 Winnifred
Who coming? your wife!
3.2.37 Frank
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
Go lead
The horses to th' hill's top; there I'll meet thee.
3.2.43 Susan
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.
3.2.47 Frank
Ay, with all my heart.
3.2.48 Susan
You may hear, if't please you, sir.
3.2.49 Frank
No, 'tis not fit:
Some rudiments, I conceive, they must be,
To overlook my slippery footings: and so –
3.2.52 Susan
No, indeed, sir.
3.2.53 Frank
Tush, I know it must be so,
And it is necessary: on! but be brief. [Walks forward]
3.2.55 Winnifred
What charge soe'er you lay upon me, mistress, I shall support it
faithfully – being honest – To my best strength.
3.2.57 Susan
Believe't shall be no other.
I know you were commended to my husband
By a noble knight.
3.2.60 Winnifred
O, gods! O, mine eyes!
3.2.61 Susan
How now! what ail'st thou, lad?
3.2.62 Winnifred
Something hit mine eye, – it makes it water still, –
Even as you said "commended to my husband." –
Some dor I think it was. – I was, forsooth,
Commended to him by Sir Arthur Clarington.
3.2.66 Susan
Whose servant once my Thorney was himself.
That title, methinks, should make you almost fellows;
Or at the least much more than a servant;
And I am sure he will respect you so.
Your love to him, then, needs no spur from me,
And what for my sake you will ever do,
'Tis fit it should be bought with something more
Than 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,
When thou return'st with praises of thy service,
Which I am confident thou wilt deserve.
Why, thou art many now besides thyself:
Thou mayst be servant, friend, and wife to him;
A good wife is them all. A friend can play
The wife and servant's part, and shift enough;
No less the servant can the friend and wife:
'Tis all but sweet society, good counsel,
Interchanged loves, yes, and counsel-keeping.
3.2.87 Frank
Not done yet?
3.2.88 Susan
Even now, sir.
3.2.89 Winnifred
Mistress, believe my vow; your severe eye, Were't present to command, your bounteous hand, Were it then by to buy or bribe my service, Shall not make me more dear or near unto him Than I shall voluntary. I'll be all your charge, Servant, friend, wife to him.
3.2.93 Susan
Wilt thou?
Now blessings go with thee for't! courtesies
Shall meet thee coming home.
3.2.96 Winnifred
Pray you say plainly,
Mistress, are you jealous of him? if you be,
I'll look to him that way too.
3.2.99 Susan
Say'st thou so?
I would thou hadst a woman's bosom now;
We have weak thoughts within us. Alas,
There's nothing so strong in us as suspicion;
But I dare not, nay, I will not think
So hardly of my Thorney.
3.2.105 Winnifred
Believe it, mistress,
I'll be no pander to him; and if I find
Any loose lubric scapes in him, I'll watch him,
And at my return protest I'll show you all:
He shall hardly offend without my knowledge.
3.2.110 Susan
Thine own diligence is that I press,
And not the curious eye over his faults.
Farewell: if I should never see thee more,
Take it for ever.
3.2.114 Frank
Prithee take that along with thee, [Handing his sword to Winnifred] and haste thee To the hill's top; I'll be there instantly.
3.2.117 Susan
No haste, I prithee; slowly as thou canst –
Exit Winnifred
Pray let him obey me now; 'tis happily
His last service to me: my power is e'en
A-going out of sight.
3.2.121 Frank
Why would you delay?
We have no other business now but to part.
3.2.123 Susan
And will not that, sweetheart, ask a long time?
Methinks it is the hardest piece of work
That e'er I took in hand.
3.2.126 Frank
Fie, fie! why, look,
I'll make it plain and easy to you – farewell!
Kisses her
3.2.128 Susan
Ah, 'las, I'm not half perfect in it yet;
I must have it read o'er an hundred times:
Pray you take some pains; I confess my dulness.
3.2.131 Frank
[Aside] What a thorn this rose grows on! Parting were sweet;
But what a trouble 'twill be to obtain it! –
Come, again and again, farewell ! – [Kisses her] Yet wilt return?
All questions of my journey, my stay, employment,
And revisitation, fully I have answered all;
There's nothing now behind but – nothing.
3.2.137 Susan
And
That nothing is more hard than anything,
Than all the everything. This request –
3.2.140 Frank
What is't?
3.2.141 Susan
That I may bring you through one pasture more Up to yon knot of trees; amongst those shadows I'll vanish from you, they shall teach me how.
3.2.143 Frank
Why, 'tis granted; come, walk, then.
3.2.144 Susan
Nay, not too fast:
They say slow things have best perfection;
The gentle shower wets to fertility,
The churlish storm may mischief with his bounty;
The baser beasts take strength even from the womb,
But the lord lion's whelp is feeble long. [Exeunt]
Contents

ACT III

Scene 3

A Field with a clump of trees

Enter the Dog
3.3.1 Dog
Now for an early mischief and a sudden!
The mind's about it now; one touch from me
Soon sets the body forward.
Enter Frank and Susan
3.3.4 Frank
Your request
Is out; yet will you leave me?
3.3.6 Susan
What? so churlishly?
You'll make me stay for ever,
Rather than part with such a sound from you.
3.3.9 Frank
Why, you almost anger me. Pray you be gone.
You have no company, and 'tis very early;
Some hurt may betide you homewards.
3.3.12 Susan
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.
3.3.18 Frank
So! I shall have more trouble, – [The Dog rubs against him]
– thank you for that:
[Aside] Then I'll ease all at once. It is done now;
What I ne'er thought on. – You shall not go back.
3.3.22 Susan
Why, shall I go along with thee? sweet music!
3.3.23 Frank
No, to a better place.
3.3.24 Susan
Any place I;
I'm there at home where thou pleasest to have me.
3.3.26 Frank
At home? I'll leave you in your last lodging;
I must kill you.
3.3.28 Susan
O, fine! you'd fright me from you.
3.3.29 Frank
You see I had no purpose; I'm unarmed;
'Tis this minute's decree, and it must be:
Look, this will serve your turn. [Draws a knife]
3.3.32 Susan
I'll not turn from it,
If you be earnest, sir; yet you may tell me
Wherefore you'll kill me.
3.3.35 Frank
Because you are a whore.
3.3.36 Susan
There's one deep wound already; a whore!
'Twas every further from me than the thought
Of this black hour; a whore?
3.3.39 Frank
Yes, I'll prove it,
And you shall confess it. You are my whore.
No wife of mine; the word admits no second.
I was before wedded to another; have her still.
I do not lay the sin unto your charge,
'Tis all mine own: your marriage was my theft,
For I espoused your dowry, and I have it.
I did not purpose to have added murder;
The devil did not prompt me till this minute:
You might have safe returned; now you cannot.
You have dogged your own death. [Stabs her]
3.3.50 Susan
And I deserve it:
I'm glad my fate was so intelligent:
'Twas some good spirit's motion. Die? O, 'twas time!
How many years might I have slept in sin,
The sin of my most hatred, too, adultery!
3.3.55 Frank
Nay, sure, 'twas likely that the most was past;
For I meant never to return to you
After this parting.
3.3.58 Susan
Why, then, I thank you more;
You have done lovingly, leaving yourself,
That you would thus bestow me on another.
Thou art my husband, Death, and I embrace thee
With all the love I have. Forget the stain
Of my unwitting sin; and then I come
A crystal virgin to thee: my soul's purity
Shall with bold wings ascend the doors of Mercy;
For Innocence is ever her companion.
3.3.67 Frank
Not yet mortal? I would not linger you,
Or leave you a tongue to blab. [Stabs her again]
3.3.69 Susan
Now Heaven reward you ne'er the worse for me!
I did not think that Death had been so sweet,
Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne'er die better,
Had I stayed forty years for preparation;
For I'm in charity with all the world.
Let me for once be thine example, Heaven;
Do to this man as I him free forgive,
And may he better die and better live. [Dies]
3.3.77 Frank
'Tis done; and I am in! Once past our height,
We scorn the deep'st abyss. This follows now,
To heal her wounds by dressing of the weapon.
Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail
Wounds himself
Light scratches, giving such deep ones: the best I can
To bind myself to this tree. Now's the storm,
Which if blown o'er, many fair days may follow.
Binds himself to a tree; the Dog ties him behind and exits
So, so, I'm fast; I did not think I could
Have done so well behind me. How prosperous
And effectual mischief sometimes is! – [Aloud] Help! help!
Murder, murder, murder!
Enter Carter and Old Thorney
3.3.88 Carter
Ha! whom tolls the bell for?
3.3.89 Frank
O, O!
3.3.90 Old Thorney
Ah me!
The cause appears too soon; my child, my son!
3.3.92 Carter
Susan, girl, child! not speak to thy father? ha!
3.3.93 Frank
O, lend me some assistance to o'ertake
This hapless woman.
3.3.95 Old Thorney
Let's o'ertake the murderers.
Speak whilst thou canst, anon may be too late;
I fear thou hast death's mark upon thee too.
3.3.98 Frank
I know them both; yet such an oath is passed
As pulls damnation
up if it be broke.
I dare not name 'em: think what forced men do.
3.3.102 Old Thorney
Keep oath with murderers! that were a conscience
To hold the devil in.
3.3.104 Frank
Nay, sir, I can describe 'em,
Shall show them as familiar as their names:
The taller of the two at this time wears
His satin doublet white, but crimson-lined,
Hose of black satin, cloak of scarlet –
3.3.109 Old Thorney
Warbeck,
Warbeck, Warbeck! – do you list to this, sir?
3.3.111 Carter
Yes, yes, I listen you; here's nothing to be heard.
3.3.112 Frank
Th' other's cloak branched velvet, black, velvet-lined his suit.
3.3.113 Old Thorney
I have 'em already; Somerton, Somerton!
Binal revenge all this. Come, sir, the first work
Is to pursue the murderers, when we have
Removed these mangled bodies hence.
3.3.117 Carter
Sir, take that carcass there, and give me this.
I will not own her now; she's none of mine.
Bob me off with a dumb-show! no, I'll have life.
This is my son too, and while there's life in him,
'Tis half mine; take you half that silence for't. –
When I speak I look to be spoken to:
Forgetful slut!
3.3.124 Old Thorney
Alas, what grief may do now!
Look, sir, I'll take this load of sorrow with me.
3.3.126 Carter
Ay, do, and I'll have this.
Exit Old Thorney with Susan in his arms
How do you, sir?
3.3.128 Frank
O, very ill, sir.
3.3.129 Carter
Yes,
I think so; but 'tis well you can speak yet:
There's no music but in sound; sound it must be.
I have not wept these twenty years before,
And that I guess was ere that girl was born;
Yet now methinks, if I but knew the way,
My heart's so full, I could weep night and day.
Exit with Frank
Contents

ACT III

Scene 4

Before Sir Arthur Clarington's house

Enter Sir Arthur Clarington, Warbeck, and Somerton
3.4.1 Sir Arthur
Come, gentlemen, we must all help to grace
The nimble-footed youth of Edmonton,
That are so kind to call us up to-day
With an high morris.
3.4.5 Warbeck
I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now. Absurdity's in my opinion ever the best dancer in a morris.
3.4.7 Somerton
I could rather sleep than see 'em.
3.4.8 Sir Arthur
Not well, sir?
3.4.9 Somerton
'Faith, not ever thus leaden: yet I know no cause for't.
3.4.10 Warbeck
Now am I beyond mine own condition highly disposed to mirth.
3.4.11 Sir Arthur
Well, you may have yet a morris to help both;
To strike you in a dump, and make him merry.
Enter Sawgut with the Morris-dancers, &c
3.4.13 Sawgut
Come, will you set yourselves in morris-ray? the forebell, second- bell, tenor, and great-bell; Maid Marian for the same bell. But where's the weathercock now? the Hobby-horse?
3.4.16 First Dancer
Is not Banks come yet? What a spite 'tis!
3.4.17 Sir Arthur
When set you forward, gentlemen?
3.4.18 First Dancer
We stay but for the Hobby-horse, sir; all our footmen are
ready.
3.4.20 Somerton
'Tis marvel your horse should be behind your foot.
3.4.21 Second Dancer
Yes, sir, he goes further about; we can come in at the wicket, but the broad gate must be opened for him.
Enter Cuddy Banks with the Hobby-horse, followed by the Dog
3.4.23 Sir Arthur
O, we stayed for you, sir.
3.4.24 Cuddy Banks
Only my horse wanted a shoe, sir; but we shall make you amends ere
we part.
3.4.26 Sir Arthur
Ay? well said; make 'em drink ere they begin.
Enter Servants with beer
3.4.27 Cuddy Banks
A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my horse; he'll mount the better. Nay, give me: I must drink to him, he'll not pledge else. [Drinks] Here, Hobby [Holds the bowl to the Hobby-horse] – I pray you: no? not drink! You see, gentlemen, we can but bring our horse to the water; he may choose whether he'll drink or no. [Drinks again]
3.4.32 Somerton
A good moral made plain by history.
3.4.33 First Dancer
Strike up, Father Sawgut, strike up.
3.4.34 Sawgut
E'en when you will, children. [Cuddy mounts the Hobby]
– Now in the name of – the best foot forward!
[Endeavours to play, but the fiddle gives no sound]
– How now! not a word in thy guts? I
think, children, my instrument has caught cold on the sudden.
3.4.39 Cuddy Banks
[Aside] My ningle's knavery; black Tom's doing.
3.4.40 All the Dancers
Why, what mean you, Father Sawgut?
3.4.41 Cuddy Banks
Why, what would you have him do? you hear his fiddle is
speechless.
3.4.43 Sawgut
I'll lay mine ear to my instrument that my poor fiddle is bewitched. I played "The Flowers in May" e'en now, as sweet as a violet; now 'twill not go against the hair: you see I can make no more music than a beetle of a cow-turd.
3.4.47 Cuddy Banks
Let me see, Father Sawgut [Takes the fiddle]; say once you had a brave hobby-horse that you were beholding to. I'll play and dance too. – Ningle, away with it. [Gives it to the Dog, who plays the morris]
3.4.50 All the Dancers
Ay, marry, sir! [They dance]
Enter a Constable and Officers
3.4.51 Constable
Away with jollity! 'tis too sad an hour. –
Sir Arthur Clarington, your own assistance,
In the king's name, I charge, for apprehension
Of these two murderers, Warbeck and Somerton.
3.4.55 Sir Arthur
Ha! flat murderers?
3.4.56 Somerton
Ha, ha, ha! this has awakened my melancholy.
3.4.57 Warbeck
And struck my mirth down flat. – Murderers?
3.4.58 Constable
The accusation's flat against you, gentlemen. –
Sir, you may be satisfied with this. [Shows his warrant]
I hope you'll quietly obey my power;
'Twill make your cause the fairer.
3.4.62 Somerton  and  Warbeck
O, with all our hearts, sir.
3.4.63 Cuddy Banks
There's my rival taken up for hangman's meat, Tom told me he was
about a piece of villany. – Mates and morris-men, you see here's no longer
piping, no longer dancing; this news of murder has slain the morris. You that go
the footway, fare ye well; I am for a gallop. – Come, ningle.
Canters off with the Hobby-horse and the Dog
3.4.67 Sawgut
[Strikes his fiddle, which sounds as before] Ay? nay, an 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.
Exit with the Morris-dancers
3.4.71 Sir Arthur
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
On mine own danger; yet, howsoever, sir,
Your power must be obeyed.
3.4.76 Warbeck
O, most willingly, sir.
'Tis a most sweet affliction; I could not meet
A joy in the best shape with better will:
Come, fear not, sir; nor judge nor evidence
Can bind him o'er who's freed by conscience.
3.4.81 Somerton
Mine stands so upright to the middle zone
It takes no shadow to't, it goes alone. [Exeunt]
Contents

ACT IV

Scene 1

Edmonton. The Street

Enter Old Banks and several Countrymen
4.1.1 Old Banks
My horse this morning runs most piteously of the glanders, whose nose
yesternight was as clean as any man's here now coming from the barber's; and
this, I'll take my death upon't, is long of this jadish witch Mother Sawyer.
4.1.4 First Countryman
I took my wife and a serving-man in our town of Edmonton
thrashing in my barn together such corn as country wenches carry to market; and
examining my polecat why she did so, she swore in her conscience she was
bewitched: and what witch have we about us but Mother Sawyer?
4.1.8 Second Countryman
Rid the town of her, else all our wives will do nothing else
but dance about other country maypoles.
4.1.10 Third Countryman
Our cattle fall, our wives fall, our daughters fall, and
maid-servants fall; and we ourselves shall not be able to stand, if this beast
be suffered to graze amongst us.
Enter Hamluc with thatch and a lighted link
4.1.13 Hamluc
Burn the witch, the witch, the witch, the witch!
4.1.14 Countrymen
What hast got there?
4.1.15 Hamluc
A handful of thatch plucked off a hovel of hers; and they say,
when 'tis burning, if she be a witch, she'll come running in.
4.1.17 Old Banks
Fire it, fire it! I'll stand between thee and home for any danger.
Hamluc sets fire to the thatch
Enter Mother Sawyer running
4.1.18 Mother Sawyer
Diseases, plagues, the curse of an old woman
Follow and fall upon you!
4.1.20 Countrymen
Are you come, you old trot?
4.1.21 Old Banks
You hot whore, must we fetch you with fire in your tail?
4.1.22 First Countryman
This thatch is as good as a jury to prove she is a witch.
4.1.23 Countrymen
Out, witch! beat her, kick her, set fire on her!
4.1.24 Mother Sawyer
Shall I be murdered by a bed of serpents? Help, help!
Enter Sir Arthur Clarington and a Justice
4.1.25 Countrymen
Hang her, beat her, kill her!
4.1.26 Justice
How now! forbear this violence.
4.1.27 Mother Sawyer
A crew of villains, a knot of bloody hangmen,
Set to torment me, I know not why.
4.1.29 Justice
Alas, neighbour Banks, are you a ringleader in mischief? fie! to
abuse an aged woman.
4.1.31 Old Banks
Woman? a she hell-cat, a witch! To prove her one, we no
sooner set fire on the thatch of her house, but in she came running as if the
devil had sent her in a barrel of gunpowder; which trick as surely proves her a
witch as the pox in a snuffling nose is a sign a man is a whore-master.
4.1.35 Justice
Come, come: firing her thatch? ridiculous!
Take heed, sirs, what you do; unless your proofs
Come better armed, instead of turning her
Into a witch, you'll prove yourselves stark fools.
4.1.39 Countrymen
Fools?
4.1.40 Justice
Arrant fools.
4.1.41 Old Banks
Pray, Master 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.
4.1.44 Mother Sawyer
And break'dst my back with beating me.
4.1.45 Old Banks
I'll break it worse.
4.1.46 Mother Sawyer
Wilt thou?
4.1.47 Justice
You must not threaten her; 'tis against law: Go on.
4.1.48 Old Banks
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 hanged I cannot choose, though it be ten times in an hour, but run to the cow, and taking up her tail, kiss – saving your worship's reverence – my cow behind, that the whole town of Edmonton has been ready to bepiss themselves with laughing me to scorn.
4.1.54 Justice
And this is long of her?
4.1.55 Old Banks
Who the devil else? for is any man such an ass to be such a
baby, if he were not bewitched?
4.1.57 Sir Arthur
Nay, if she be a witch, and the harms she does end in such
sports, she may scape burning.
4.1.59 Justice
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.
4.1.62 Countrymen
No, no, we'll find cudgel enough to strike her.
4.1.63 Old Banks
Ay; no lips to kiss but my cow's – !
4.1.64 Mother Sawyer
Rots and foul maladies eat up thee and thine!
Exeunt Old Banks and Countrymen
4.1.65 Justice
Here's none now, Mother Sawyer, but this gentleman,
Myself, and you: let us to some mild questions;
Have you mild answers; tell us honestly
And with a free confession – we'll do our best
To wean you from it – are you a witch, or no?
4.1.70 Mother Sawyer
I am none.
4.1.71 Justice
Be not so furious.
4.1.72 Mother Sawyer
I am none.
None but base curs so bark at me; I'm none:
Or would I were! if every poor old woman
Be trod on thus by slaves, reviled, kicked, beaten,
As I am daily, she to be revenged
Had need turn witch.
4.1.78 Sir Arthur
And you to be revenged
Have sold your soul to th' devil.
4.1.80 Mother Sawyer
Keep thine own from him.
4.1.81 Justice
You are too saucy and too bitter.
4.1.82 Mother Sawyer
Saucy?
By what commission can he send my soul
On the devil's errand more than I can his?
Is he a landlord of my soul, to thrust it,
When he list, out of door?
4.1.87 Justice
Know whom you speak to.
4.1.88 Mother Sawyer
A man; perhaps no man. Men in gay clothes,
Whose backs are laden with titles and with honours,
Are within far more crookèd than I am,
And, if I be a witch, more witch-like.
4.1.92 Sir Arthur
You're a base hell-hound. –
And now, sir, let me tell you, far and near
She's bruited for a woman that maintains
A spirit that sucks her.
4.1.96 Mother Sawyer
I defy thee.
4.1.97 Sir Arthur
Go, go:
I can, if need be, bring an hundred voices,
E'en here in Edmonton, that shall loud proclaim
Thee for a secret and pernicious witch.
4.1.101 Mother Sawyer
Ha, ha!
4.1.102 Justice
Do you laugh? why laugh you?
4.1.103 Mother Sawyer
At my name,
The brave name this knight gives me – witch.
4.1.105 Justice
Is the name of witch so pleasing to thine ear?
4.1.106 Sir Arthur
Pray sir, give way, and let her tongue gallop on.
4.1.107 Mother Sawyer
A witch! who is not?
Hold not that universal name in scorn, then.
What are your painted things in princes' courts,
Upon whose eyelids lust sits, blowing fires
To burn men's souls in sensual hot desires,
Upon whose naked paps a lecher's thought
Acts sin in fouler shapes than can be wrought?
4.1.114 Justice
But those work not as you do.
4.1.115 Mother Sawyer
No, but far worse
These by enchantments can whole lordships change
To trunks of rich attire, turn ploughs and teams
To Flanders mares and coaches, and huge trains
Of servitors to a French butterfly.
Have you not city-witches who can turn
Their husband's wares, whole standing shops of wares,
To sumptuous tables, gardens of stolen sin;
In one year wasting what scarce twenty win?
Are not these witches?
4.1.125 Justice
Yes, yes; but the law
Casts not an eye on these.
4.1.127 Mother Sawyer
Why, then, on me,
Or any lean old beldam? Reverence once
Had wont to wait on age; now an old woman,
Ill-favoured grown with years, if she be poor,
Must be called bawd or witch. Such so abused
Are the coarse witches; t'other are the fine,
Spun for the devil's own wearing.
4.1.134 Sir Arthur
And so is thine.
4.1.135 Mother Sawyer
She on whose tongue a whirlwind sits to blow
A man out of himself, from his soft pillow
To lean his head on rocks and fighting waves,
Is not that scold a witch? The man of law
Whose honeyed hopes the credulous client draw –
As bees by tinkling basins – to swarm to him
From his own hive to work the wax in his;
He is no witch, not he!
4.1.143 Sir Arthur
But these men-witches
Are not in trading with hell's merchandise,
Like such as you are, that for a word, a look,
Denial of a coal of fire, kill men,
Children, and cattle.
4.1.148 Mother Sawyer
Tell them, sir, that do so:
Am I accused for such an one?
4.1.150 Sir Arthur
Yes; 'twill be sworn.
4.1.151 Mother Sawyer
Dare any swear I ever tempted maiden
With golden hooks flung at her chastity
To come and lose her honour; and being lost,
To pay not a denier for't? Some slaves have done it.
Men-witches can, without the fangs of law
Drawing once one drop of blood, put counterfeit pieces
Away for true gold.
4.1.158 Sir Arthur
By one thing she speaks
I know now she's a witch, and dare no longer
Hold conference with the fury.
4.1.161 Justice
Let's, then, away. –
Old woman, mend thy life; get home and pray.
Exeunt Sir Arthur and Justice
4.1.163 Mother Sawyer
For his confusion.
Enter the Dog
My dear Tom-boy, welcome!
I'm torn in pieces by a pack of curs
Clapt all upon me, and for want of thee:
Comfort me; thou shalt have the teat anon.
4.1.168 Dog
Bow, wow! I'll have it now.
4.1.169 Mother Sawyer
I am dried up
With cursing and with madness, and have yet
No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine.
Stand on thy hind-legs up – kiss me, my Tommy,
And rub away some wrinkles on my brow
By making my old ribs to shrug for joy
Of thy fine tricks. What hast thou done? let's tickle.
Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee?
4.1.177 Dog
Yes;
And nipped the sucking child.
4.1.179 Mother Sawyer
Ho, ho, my dainty,
My little pearl! no lady loves her hound,
Monkey, or paroquet, as I do thee.
4.1.182 Dog
The maid has been churning butter nine hours; but it shall not
come.
4.1.184 Mother Sawyer
Let 'em eat cheese and choke.
4.1.185 Dog
I had rare sport
Among the clowns i' th' morris.
4.1.187 Mother Sawyer
I could dance
Out of my skin to hear thee. But, my curl-pate,
That jade, that foul-tongued whore, Nan Ratcliffe,
Who, for a little soap licked by my sow,
Struck and almost had lamed it; – did not I charge thee
To pinch that queen to th' heart?
4.1.193 Dog
Bow, wow, wow! look here else.
Enter Ann Ratcliffe mad
4.1.194 Ann
See, see, see! the man i' th' moon has built a new windmill; and
what running there's from all quarters of the city to learn the art of grinding!
4.1.196 Mother Sawyer
Ho, ho, ho! I thank thee, my sweet mongrel.
4.1.197 Ann
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?
4.1.200 Mother Sawyer
No, I am a lawyer.
4.1.201 Ann
Art thou? I prithee let me scratch thy face; for thy pen has flayed-off a great many men's skins. You'll have brave doings in the vacation; for knaves and fools are at variance in every village. I'll sue Mother Sawyer, and her own sow shall give in evidence against her.
4.1.205 Mother Sawyer
Touch her. [To the Dog, who rubs against her]
4.1.206 Ann
O, my ribs are made of a paned hose, and they break! There's a Lancashire hornpipe in my throat; hark, how it tickles it, with doodle, doodle, doodle, doodle! Welcome, sergeants! welcome, devil! – hands, hands! hold hands, and dance around, around, around.
Dancing
Re-enter Old Banks, with Cuddy, Ratcliffe, and Countrymen
4.1.210 Ratcliffe
She's here; alas, my poor wife is here!
4.1.211 Old Banks
Catch her fast, and have her into some close chamber, do; for
she's, as many wives are, stark mad.
4.1.213 Cuddy Banks
The witch! Mother Sawyer, the witch, the devil!
4.1.214 Ratcliffe
O, my dear wife! help, sirs!
Ann is carried off by Ratcliffe and Countrymen
4.1.215 Old Banks
You see your work, Mother Bumby.
4.1.216 Mother Sawyer
My work? should she and all you here run mad,
Is the work mine?
4.1.218 Cuddy Banks
No, on my conscience, she would not hurt a devil of two years old.
Re-enter Ratcliffe and Countrymen
How now! what's become of her?
4.1.220 Ratcliffe
Nothing; she's become nothing but the miserable trunk of a wretched woman. We were in her hands as reeds in a mighty tempest: spite of our strengths away she brake; and nothing in her mouth being heard but "the devil, the witch, the witch, the devil!" she beat out her own brains, and so died.
4.1.224 Cuddy Banks
It's any man's case, be he never so wise, to die when his brains
go a wool-gathering.
4.1.226 Old Banks
Masters, be ruled by me; let's all to a justice. – Hag,
thou hast done this, and thou shalt answer it.
4.1.228 Mother Sawyer
Banks, I defy thee.
4.1.229 Old Banks
Get a warrant first to examine her, then ship her to Newgate; here's enough, if all her other villanies were pardoned, to burn her for a witch. – You have a spirit, they say, comes to you in the likeness of a dog; we shall see your cur at one time or other: if we do, unless it be the devil himself, he shall go howling to the gaol in one chain, and thou in another.
4.1.234 Mother Sawyer
Be hanged thou in a third, and do thy worst!
4.1.235 Cuddy Banks
How, father! you send the poor dumb thing howling to the gaol? he
that makes him howl makes me roar.
4.1.237 Old Banks
Why, foolish boy, dost thou know him?
4.1.238 Cuddy Banks
No matter if I do or not: he's bailable, I am sure, by
law; – but if the dog's word will not be taken, mine shall.
4.1.240 Old Banks
Thou bail for a dog!
4.1.241 Cuddy Banks
Yes, or a bitch either, being my friend. I'll lie by the heels
myself before puppison shall; his dog-days are not come yet, I hope.
4.1.243 Old Banks
What manner of dog is it? didst ever see him?
4.1.244 Cuddy Banks
See him? yes, and given him a bone to gnaw twenty times. The dog is no court-foisting hound that fills his belly full by base wagging his tail; neither is it a citizen's water-spaniel, enticing his master to go a-ducking twice or thrice a week, whilst his wife makes ducks and drakes at home: this is no Paris-garden bandog neither, that keeps a bow-wow-wowing to have butchers bring their curs thither; and when all comes to all, they run away like sheep: neither is this the Black Dog of Newgate.
4.1.251 Old Banks
No, Goodman Son-fool, but the dog of hellgate.
4.1.252 Cuddy Banks
I say, Goodman Father-fool, it's a lie.
4.1.253 All
He's bewitched.
4.1.254 Cuddy Banks
A gross lie, as big as myself. The devil in St. Dunstan's will as soon drink with this poor cur as with any Temple-bar laundress that washes and wrings lawyers.
4.1.257 Dog
Bow, wow, wow, wow!
4.1.258 All
O, the dog's here, the dog's here.
4.1.259 Old Banks
It was the voice of a dog.
4.1.260 Cuddy Banks
The voice of a dog? if that voice were a dog's, what voice had my mother? so am I a dog: bow, wow, wow! It was I that barked so, father, to make coxcombs of these clowns.
4.1.263 Old Banks
However, we'll be coxcombed no longer: away, therefore, to
the justice for a warrant; and then, Gammer Gurton, have at your needle of
witchcraft!
4.1.266 Mother Sawyer
And prick thine own eyes out. Go, peevish fools!
Exeunt Old Banks, Ratcliffe, and Countrymen
4.1.267 Cuddy Banks
Ningle, you had liked to have spoiled all with your bow-ings. I was glad to have put 'em off with one of my dog-tricks on a sudden; I am bewitched, little Cost-me-nought, to love thee – a pox, – that morris makes me spit in thy mouth. – I dare not stay; farewell, ningle; you whoreson dog's nose! – Farewell, witch! [Exit]
4.1.272 Dog
Bow, wow, wow, wow.
4.1.273 Mother Sawyer
Mind him not, he is not worth thy worrying;
Run at a fairer game: that foul-mouthed knight,
Scurvy Sir Arthur, fly at him, my Tommy,
And pluck out's throat.
4.1.277 Dog
No, there's a dog already biting, – 's conscience.
4.1.278 Mother Sawyer
That's a sure bloodhound. Come, let's home and play;
Our black work ended, we'll make holiday. [Exeunt]
Contents

ACT IV

Scene 2

A Bedroom in Carter's house. A bed thrust forth, with Frank in a slumber.

Enter Katherine
4.2.1 Katherine
Brother, brother! so sound asleep? that's well.
4.2.2 Frank
[Waking] No, not I, sister; he that's wounded here
As I am – all my other hurts are bitings
Of a poor flea; – but he that here once bleeds
Is maimed incurably.
4.2.6 Katherine
My good sweet brother, –
For now my sister must grow up in you, –
Though her loss strikes you through, and that I feel
The blow as deep, I pray thee be not cruel
To kill me too, by seeing you cast away
In your own helpless sorrow. Good love, sit up;
And if you can give physic to yourself,
I shall be well.
4.2.14 Frank
I'll do my best.
4.2.15 Katherine
I thank you;
What do you look about for?
4.2.17 Frank
Nothing, nothing;
But I was thinking, sister, –
4.2.19 Katherine
Dear heart, what?
4.2.20 Frank
Who but a fool would thus be bound to a bed,
Having this room to walk in?
4.2.22 Katherine
Why do you talk so?
Would you were fast asleep!
4.2.24 Frank
No, no; I'm not idle.
But here's my meaning; being robbed as I am,
Why should my soul, which married was to hers,
Live in divorce, and not fly after her?
Why should I not walk hand in hand with Death,
To find my love out?
4.2.30 Katherine
That were well indeed,
Your time being come; when Death is sent to call you,
No doubt you shall meet her.
4.2.33 Frank
Why should not I
Go without calling?
4.2.35 Katherine
Yes, brother, so you might,
Were there no place to go when you're gone
But only this.
4.2.38 Frank
'Troth, sister, thou say'st true;
For when a man has been an hundred years
Hard travelling o'er the tottering bridge of age,
He's not the thousand part upon his way:
All life is but a wandering to find home;
When we're gone, we're there. Happy were man,
Could here his voyage end; he should not, then,
Answer how well or ill he steered his soul
By Heaven's or by Hell's compass; how he put in –
Losing blessed goodness' shore – at such a sin;
Nor how life's dear provision he has spent,
Nor how far he in's navigation went
Beyond commission: this were a fine reign,
To do ill and not hear of it again;
Yet then were man more wretched than a beast;
For, sister, our dead pay is sure the best.
4.2.54 Katherine
'Tis so, the best or worst; and I wish Heaven
To pay – and so I know it will – that traitor,
That devil Somerton – who stood in mine eye
Once as an angel – home to his deservings:
What villain but himself, once loving me,
With Warbeck's soul would pawn his own to hell
To be revenged on my poor sister!
4.2.61 Frank
Slaves!
A pair of merciless slaves! speak no more of them.
4.2.63 Katherine
I think this talking hurts you.
4.2.64 Frank
Does me no good, I'm sure;
I pay for't everywhere.
4.2.66 Katherine
I have done, then.
Eat, if you cannot sleep; you have these two days
Not tasted any food. – Jane, is it ready?
4.2.69 Frank
What's ready? what's ready?
4.2.70 Katherine
I have made ready a roasted chicken for you:
Enter Maid with chicken
Sweet, wilt thou eat?
4.2.72 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.
4.2.75 Katherine
You shall, dear brother. [Exit Maid]
Would I were a musician, you should hear
How I would feast your ear! [Lute plays within]
– stay mend your pillow,
And raise you higher.
4.2.80 Frank
I am up too high,
Am I not, sister now?
4.2.82 Katherine
No, no; 'tis well.
Fall-to, fall-to. – A knife! here's never a knife.
Brother, I'll look out yours. [Takes up his vest]
Enter the Dog, shrugging as it were for joy, and dances
4.2.85 Frank
Sister, O, sister,
I'm ill upon a sudden, and can eat nothing.
4.2.87 Katherine
In very deed you shall: the want of food
Makes you so faint. Ha! [Sees the bloody knife] – here's none in your pocket;
I'll go fetch a knife. [Exit hastily]
4.2.90 Frank
Will you? – 'tis well, all's well.
Frank searches first one pocket, then the other, finds the knife, and then lies down. – The Dog runs off. – The spirit of Susan comes to the bed's side; Frank stares at it, and then turns to the other side, but the spirit is there too. Meanwhile enter Winnifred as a page, and stands sadly at the bed's foot – Frank affrighted sits up. The spirit vanishes
4.2.91 Frank
What art thou?
4.2.92 Winnifred
A lost creature.
4.2.93 Frank
So am I too. – Win?
Ah, my she-page!
4.2.95 Winnifred
For your sake I put on
A shape that's false; yet do I wear a heart
True to you as your own.
4.2.98 Frank
Would mine and thine
Were fellows in one house! – Kneel by me here.
On this side now! how dar'st thou come to mock me
On both sides of my bed?
4.2.102 Winnifred
When?
4.2.103 Frank
But just now:
Outface me, stare upon me with strange postures,
Turn my soul wild by a face in which were drawn
A thousand ghosts leapt newly from their graves
To pluck me into a winding-sheet!
4.2.108 Winnifred
Believe it,
I came no nearer to you than yon place
At your bed's feet; and of the house had leave,
Calling myself your horse-boy, in to come,
And visit my sick master.
4.2.113 Frank
Then 'twas my fancy;
Some windmill in my brains for want of sleep.
4.2.115 Winnifred
Would I might never sleep, so you could rest!
But you have plucked a thunder on your head,
Whose noise cannot cease suddenly: why should you
Dance at the wedding of a second wife,
When scarce the music which you heard at mine
Had ta'en a farewell of you? O, this was ill!
And they who thus can give both hands away
In th' end shall want their best limbs.
4.2.123 Frank
Winnifred, –
The chamber-door's fast?
4.2.125 Winnifred
Yes.
4.2.126 Frank
Sit thee, then, down;
And when thou'st heard me speak, melt into tears:
Yet I, to save those eyes of thine from weeping,
Being to write a story of us two.
Instead of ink dipped my sad pen in blood.
When of thee I took leave, I went abroad
Only for pillage, as a freebooter,
What gold soe'er I got to make it thine.
To please a father I have Heaven displeased;
Striving to cast two wedding-rings in one,
Through my bad workmanship I now have none;
I have lost her and thee.
4.2.138 Winnifred
I know she's dead;
But you have me still.
4.2.140 Frank
Nay, her this hand
Murdered; and so I lose thee too.
4.2.142 Winnifred
O me!
4.2.143 Frank
Be quiet; for thou my evidence art,
Jury, and judge: sit quiet, and I'll tell all.
While they are conversing in a low tone, enter at one door Carter and Katherine, at the other the Dog, pawing softly at Frank
4.2.145 Katherine
I have run madding up and down to find you,
Being laden with the heaviest news that ever
Poor daughter carried.
4.2.148 Carter
Why? is the boy dead?
4.2.149 Katherine
Dead, sir!
O, father, we are cozened: you are told
The murderer sings in prison, and he laughs here.
This villain killed my sister see else, see,
Takes up his vest, and shows the knife to her father, who secures it
A bloody knife in's pocket!
4.2.154 Carter
Bless me, patience!
4.2.155 Frank
[Seeing them] The knife, the knife, the knife!
4.2.156 Katherine
What knife? [Exit the Dog]
4.2.157 Frank
To cut my chicken up, my chicken;
Be you my carver, father.
4.2.159 Carter
That I will.
4.2.160 Katherine
How the devil steels our brows after doing ill!
4.2.161 Frank
My stomach and my sight are taken from me;
All is not well within me,
4.2.163 Carter
I believe thee, boy; I that have seen so many moons clap their
horns on other men's foreheads to strike them sick, yet mine to scape and be
well; I that never cast away a fee upon urinals, but am as sound as an honest
man's conscience when he's dying; I should cry out as thou dost, "All is not
well within me," felt I but the bag of thy imposthumes. Ah, poor villain! ah, my
wounded rascal! all my grief is, I have now small hope of thee,
4.2.169 Frank
Do the surgeons say my wounds are dangerous then?
4.2.170 Carter
Yes, yes, and there's no way with thee but one.
4.2.171 Frank
Would he were here to open them!
4.2.172 Carter
I'll go to fetch him; I'll make an holiday to see thee as I wish.
4.2.173 Frank
A wondrous kind old man!
4.2.174 Winnifred
[Aside to Frank] Your sin's the blacker
So to abuse his goodness. – [Aloud] Master, how do you?
4.2.176 Frank
Pretty well now, boy; I have such odd qualms Come cross my
stomach. – I'll fall-to; boy, cut me –
4.2.178 Winnifred
[Aside] You have cut me, I'm sure; – A leg or wing, sir?
4.2.179 Frank
No, no, no; a wing –
[Aside] Would I had wings but to soar up yon tower!
But here's a clog that hinders me.
Re-enter Carter, with Servants bearing the body of Susan in a coffin
What's that?
4.2.183 Carter
That! what? O, now I see her; 'tis a young wench, my daughter,
sirrah, sick to the death; and hearing thee to be an excellent rascal for
letting blood, she looks out at a casement, and cries, "Help, help! stay that
man! him I must have or none."
4.2.187 Frank
For pity's sake, remove her: see, she stares
With one broad open eye still in my face!
4.2.189 Carter
Thou putted'st both hers out, like a villain as thou art; yet,
see! she is willing to lend thee one again to find out the murderer, and that's
thyself.
4.2.192 Frank
Old man, thou liest!
4.2.193 Carter
So shalt thou – in the gaol. –
Run for officers.
4.2.195 Katherine
O, thou merciless slave!She was – though yet above
ground – in her grave
To me; but thou hast torn it up again –
Mine eyes, too much drowned, now must feel more rain.
4.2.199 Carter
Fetch officers.
Exit Katherine and Servants with the body of Susan
4.2.200 Frank
For whom?
4.2.201 Carter
For thee, sirrah, sirrah! Some knives have foolish posies upon
them, but thine has a villainous one; look! [Showing the bloody knife] O,
it is enamelled with the heart-blood of thy hated wife, my belovèd
daughter! What sayest 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.
4.2.207 Winnifred
I beseech you, sir,
Strike him no more; you see he's dead already.
4.2.209 Carter
O, sir, you held his horses; you are as arrant a rogue as he: up
go you too.
4.2.211 Frank
As you're a man, throw not upon that woman Your loads of
tyranny, for she is innocent.
4.2.213 Carter
How! how! a woman! Is't grown to a fashion for women in all
countries to wear the breeches?
4.2.215 Winnifred
I'm not as my disguise speaks me, sir, his page, But his first,
only wife, his lawful wife.
4.2.217 Carter
How! how! more fire i' th' bed-straw!
4.2.218 Winnifred
The wrongs which singly fell upon your daughter
On me are multiplied; she lost a life,
But I an husband, and myself must lose
If you call him to a bar for what he has done.
4.2.222 Carter
He has done it, then?
4.2.223 Winnifred
Yes, 'tis confessed to me.
4.2.224 Frank
Dost thou betray me?
4.2.225 Winnifred
O, pardon me, dear heart! I'm mad to lose thee,
And know not what I speak; but if thou didst,
I must arraign this father for two sins,
Adultery and murder.
Re-enter Katherine
4.2.229 Katherine
Sir, they are come.
4.2.230 Carter
Arraign me for what thou wilt, all Middlesex knows me better for
an honest man than the middle of a market-place knows thee for an honest
woman. – Rise, sirrah, and don your tacklings; rig yourself for the gallows,
or I'll carry thee thither on my back: your trull shall to the gaol go with you:
there be as fine Newgate birds as she that can draw him in: pox on's wounds!
4.2.235 Frank
I have served thee, and my wages now are paid;
Yet my worse punishment shall, I hope, be stayed.
Exeunt
Contents

ACT V

Scene 1

The Witch's Cottage

Enter Mother Sawyer
Mother Sawyer. Still wronged by every slave, and not a dog
Bark in his dame's defence? I am called witch,
Yet am myself bewitched from doing harm.
Have I given up myself to thy black lust
Thus to be scorned? Not see me in three days!
I'm lost without my Tomalin; prithee come,
Revenge to me is sweeter far than life;
Thou art my raven, on whose coal-black wings
Revenge comes flying to me. O, my best love!
I am on fire, even in the midst of ice,
Raking my blood up, till my shrunk knees feel
Thy curled head leaning on them: come, then, my darling;
If in the air thou 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
Show but his swarth cheek to me, let earth cleave
And break from hell, I care not! Could I run
Like a swift powder-mine beneath the world,
Up would I blow it all, to find out thee,
Though I lay ruined in it. Not yet come!
I must, then, fall to my old prayer:
Sanctibicetur nomen tuum
Not yet come! the worrying of wolves,
biting of mad dogs, the manges, and
the –
Enter the Dog which is now white
5.1.29 Dog
How now! whom art thou cursing?
5.1.30 Mother Sawyer
Thee!
Ha! no, it is my black cur I am cursing
For not attending on me.
5.1.33 Dog
I am that cur,
5.1.34 Mother Sawyer
Thou liest: hence! come not nigh me.
5.1.35 Dog
Baw, waw!
5.1.36 Mother Sawyer
Why dost thou thus appear to me in white,
As if thou wert the
ghost of my dear love?
5.1.39 Dog
I am dogged, and list not to tell thee; yet, – to torment
thee, – my whiteness puts thee in mind of thy winding-sheet.
5.1.41 Mother Sawyer
Am I near death?
5.1.42 Dog
Yes, if the dog of hell be near thee; when the devil comes to thee
as a lamb, have at thy throat!
5.1.44 Mother Sawyer
Off, cur!
5.1.45 Dog
He has the back of a sheep, but the belly of an otter; devours by
sea and land. "Why am I in white?" didst thou not pray to me?
5.1.47 Mother Sawyer
Yes, thou dissembling hell-hound!
Why now in white more than at other times?
5.1.49 Dog
Be blasted with the news! whiteness is day's footboy, a forerunner
to light, which shows thy old rivelled face: villanies are stripped naked; the
witch must be beaten out of her cockpit.
5.1.52 Mother Sawyer
Must she? she shall not: thou'rt a lying spirit:
Why to mine eyes art thou a flag of truce?
I am at peace with none; 'tis the black colour,
Or none, which I fight under: I do not like
Thy puritan paleness; glowing furnaces
Are far more hot than they which flame outright.
If thou my old dog art, go and bite such
As I shall set thee on.
5.1.60 Dog
I will not.
5.1.61 Mother Sawyer
I'll sell myself to twenty thousand fiends
To have thee torn in pieces, then.
5.1.63 Dog
Thou canst not; thou art so ripe to fall into hell, that no more
of my kennel will so much as bark at him that hangs thee.
5.1.65 Mother Sawyer
I shall run mad.
5.1.66 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.
5.1.68 Mother Sawyer
It cannot, ugly cur; I'll confess nothing;
And not confessing,
who dare come and swear
I have bewitched them? I'll not confess one mouthful.
5.1.72 Dog
Choose, and be hanged or burned.
5.1.73 Mother Sawyer
Spite of the devil and thee,
I'll muzzle up my tongue from telling tales.
5.1.75 Dog
Spite of thee and the devil, thou'lt be condemned.
5.1.76 Mother Sawyer
Yes! when?
5.1.77 Dog
And ere the executioner catch thee full in's claws, thou'lt
confess all.
5.1.79 Mother Sawyer
Out, dog!
5.1.80 Dog
Out, witch! thy trial is at hand:
Our prey being had, the devil does laughing stand.
Runs aside
Enter Old Banks, Ratcliffe, and Countrymen
5.1.82 Old Banks
She's here; attach her. – Witch you must go with us.
[They seize her]
5.1.84 Mother Sawyer
Whither? to hell?
5.1.85 Old Banks
No, no, no, old crone; your mittimus shall be made thither,
but your own jailors shall receive you. – Away with her!
5.1.87 Mother Sawyer
My Tommy! my sweet Tom-boy! O, thou dog!
Dost thou now fly to thy kennel and forsake me?
Plagues and consumptions – [She is carried off]
5.1.90 Dog
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Let not the world witches or devils condemn;
They follow us, and then we follow them.
Enter Cuddy Banks
5.1.93 Cuddy Banks
I would fain meet with mine ningle once more: he has had a claw amongst 'em: my rival that loved my wench is like to be hanged like an innocent. A kind cur where he takes, but where he takes not, a dogged rascal; I know the villain loves me. [The Dog barks] No! art thou there? [Seeing the Dog] that's Tom's voice, but 'tis not he; this is a dog of another hair, this. Bark, and not speak to me? not Tom, then; there's as much difference betwixt Tom and this as betwixt white and black.
5.1.100 Dog
Hast thou forgot me?
5.1.101 Cuddy Banks
That's Tom again. – Prithee, ningle, speak; is thy name Tom?
5.1.102 Dog
Whilst I served my old Dame Sawyer 'twas; I'm gone from her now.
5.1.103 Cuddy Banks
Gone? Away with the witch, then, too! she'll never thrive if thou
leavest her; she knows no more how to kill a cow, or a horse, or a sow, without
thee, than she does to kill a goose.
5.1.106 Dog
No, she has done killing now, but must be killed for what she has
done; she's shortly to be hanged.
5.1.108 Cuddy Banks
Is she? in my conscience, if she be, 'tis thou hast brought her to
the gallows, Tom.
5.1.110 Dog
Right; I served her to that purpose; 'twas part of my wages.
5.1.111 Cuddy Banks
This was no honest servant's part, by your leave, Tom. This
remember, I pray you, between you and I; I entertained you ever as a dog, not as
a devil.
5.1.114 Dog
True;
And so I used thee doggedly, not devilishly;
I have deluded thee for sport to laugh at:
The wench thou seek'st after thou never spak'st with,
But a spirit in her form, habit, and likeness.
Ha, ha!
5.1.120 Cuddy Banks
I do not, then, wonder at the change of your garments, if you can
enter into shapes of women too.
5.1.122 Dog
Any shape, to blind such silly eyes as thine; but chiefly those
coarse creatures, dog, or cat, hare, ferret, frog, toad.
5.1.124 Cuddy Banks
Louse or flea?
5.1.125 Dog
Any poor vermin.
5.1.126 Cuddy Banks
It seems you devils have poor thin souls, that you can bestow
yourselves in such small bodies. But, pray you, Tom, one question at
parting; – I think I shall never see you more; – where do you borrow those
bodies that are none of your own? – the garment-shape you may hire at
broker's.
5.1.131 Dog
Why would'st thou know that, fool? it avails thee not.
5.1.132 Cuddy Banks
Only for my mind's sake, Tom, and to tell some of my friends.
5.1.133 Dog
I'll thus much tell thee: thou never art so distant
From an evil spirit, but that thy oaths,
Curses, and blasphemies pull him to thine elbow;
Thou never tell'st a lie, but that a devil
Is within hearing it; thy evil purposes
Are ever haunted; but when they come to act, –
As thy tongue slandering, bearing false witness,
Thy hand stabbing, stealing, cozening, cheating, –
He's then within thee: thou play'st, he bets upon thy part.
Although thou lose, yet he will gain by thee.
5.1.143 Cuddy Banks
Ay? then he comes in the shape of a rook?
5.1.144 Dog
The old cadaver of some self-strangled wretch
We sometimes borrow, and appear human;
The carcass of some disease-slain strumpet
We varnish fresh, and wear as her first beauty.
Did'st never hear? if not, it has been done;
An hot luxurious lecher in his twines,
When he has thought to clip his dalliance,
There has provided been for his embrace
A fine hot flaming devil in her place.
5.1.153 Cuddy Banks
Yes, I am partly a witness to this; but I never could embrace her;
I thank thee for that, Tom. Well, again I thank thee, Tom, for all this counsel;
without a fee too! there's few lawyers of thy mind now. Certainly, Tom, I begin
to pity thee.
5.1.157 Dog
Pity me! for what?
5.1.158 Cuddy Banks
Were it not possible for thee to become an honest dog
yet? – 'Tis a base life that you lead, Tom, to serve witches, to kill
innocent children, to kill harmless cattle, to stroy corn and fruit, etc.:
'twere better yet to be a butcher and kill for yourself.
5.1.162 Dog
Why, these are all my delights, my pleasures, fool.
5.1.163 Cuddy Banks
Or, Tom, if you could give your mind to ducking, – I know you
can swim, fetch, and carry, – some shopkeeper in London would take great
delight in you, and be a tender master over you: or if you have a mind to the
game either at bull or bear, I think I could prefer you to Moll Cutpurse.
5.1.167 Dog
Ha, ha! I should kill all the game, – bulls, bears, dogs and
all; not a cub to be left.
5.1.169 Cuddy Banks
You could do, Tom; but you must play fair; you should be staved-
off else. Or if your stomach did better like to serve in some nobleman's,
knight's, or gentleman's kitchen, if you could brook the wheel and turn the
spit – your labour could not be much – when they have roast meat, that's
but once or twice in the week at most: here you might lick your own toes very
well. Or if you could translate yourself into a lady's arming puppy, there you
might lick sweet lips, and do many pretty offices; but to creep under an old
witch's coats, and suck like a great puppy! fie upon't! – I have heard
beastly things of you, Tom.
5.1.178 Dog
Ha, ha!
The worse thou heard'st of me the better 'tis
Shall I serve thee, fool, at the selfsame rate?
5.1.181 Cuddy Banks
No, I'll see thee hanged, thou shalt be damned first! I know thy
qualities too well, I'll give no suck to such whelps; therefore henceforth I
defy thee. Out, and avaunt!
5.1.184 Dog
Nor will I serve for such a silly soul:
I am for greatness now, corrupted greatness;
There I'll shug in, and get a noble countenance;
Serve some Briarean footcloth-strider,
That has an hundred hands to catch at bribes,
But not a finger's nail of charity.
Such, like the dragon's tail, shall pull down hundreds
To drop and sink with him: I'll stretch myself.
And draw this bulk small as a silver wire,
Enter at the least pore tobacco-fume
Can make a breach for: – hence, silly fool!
I scorn to prey on such an atom soul.
5.1.196 Cuddy Banks
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
again: if thou goest to London, I'll make thee go about by Tyburn, stealing in
by Thieving Lane. If thou canst rub thy shoulder against a lawyer's gown, as
thou passest by Westminster-hall, do; if not, to the stairs amongst the bandogs,
take water, and the Devil go with thee!
Exit, followed by the Dog barking
Contents

ACT V

Scene 2

London. The neighbourhood of Tyburn

Enter Justice, Sir Arthur, Somerton, Warbeck, Carter, and Katherine
5.2.1 Justice
Sir Arthur, though the bench hath mildly censured your errors, yet you have indeed been the instrument that wrought all their misfortunes; I would wish you paid down your fine speedily and willingly
5.2.4 Sir Arthur
I'll need no urging to it.
5.2.5 Carter
If you should, 'twere a shame to you; for if I should speak my conscience, you are worthier to be hanged of the two, all things considered; and now make what you can of it: but I am glad these gentlemen are freed.
5.2.8 Warbeck
We knew our innocence.
5.2.9 Somerton
And therefore feared it not.
5.2.10 Katherine
But I am glad that I have you safe.
A noise within
5.2.11 Justice
How now! what noise is that?
5.2.12 Carter
Young Frank is going the wrong way. Alas, poor youth! now I begin
to pity him.
Exeunt
Contents

ACT V

Scene 3

London. The neighbourhood of Tyburn

Enter Frank Thorney and officers with halberds and exeunt
Enter, as to see the execution, Carter, Old Thorney, Katherine, and Winnifred, weeping
5.3.1 Old Thorney
Here let our sorrows wait him; to press nearer
The place of his sad death, some apprehensions
May tempt our grief too much, at height already. –
Daughter be comforted.
5.3.5 Winnifred
Comfort and I
Are far too separated to be joined.
But in eternity: I share too much
Of him that's going thither.
5.3.9 Carter
Poor woman, 'twas not thy fault; I grieve to see thee weep for him
that hath my pity too.
5.3.11 Winnifred
My fault was lust, my punishment was shame.
Yet I am happy that my soul is free
Both from consent, foreknowledge, and intent
Of any murder but of mine own honour,
Restored again by a fair satisfaction,
And since not to be wounded.
5.3.17 Old Thorney
Daughter, grieve not
For that necessity forceth;
Rather resolve to conquer it with patience. –
Alas, she faints!
5.3.21 Winnifred
My griefs are strong upon me;
My weakness scarce can bear them.
[Within] Away with her! hang her, 'witch!
Enter to execution Mother Sawyer; Officers with halberds, followed by a crowd of country people
5.3.24 Carter
The witch, that instrument of mischief! Did not she witch the devil into my son-in-law, when he killed my poor daughter? – Do you hear, Mother Sawyer?
5.3.27 Mother Sawyer
What would you have?
Cannot a poor old woman have your leave
To die without vexation?
5.3.30 Carter
Did not you bewitch Frank to kill his wife? he could never have done't without the devil.
5.3.32 Mother Sawyer
Who doubts it? but is every devil mine?
Would I had one now whom I might command
To tear you all in pieces? Tom would have done't
Before he left me.
5.3.36 Carter
Thou didst bewitch Ann Ratcliffe to kill herself.
5.3.37 Mother Sawyer
Churl, thou liest; I never did her hurt:
Would you were all as near your ends as I am,
That gave evidence against me for it!
5.3.40 First Countryman
I'll be sworn, Master Carter, she bewitched Gammer Washbowl's
sow to cast her pigs a day before she would have farrowed: yet they were sent up
to London and sold for as good Westminster dog-pigs at Bartholomew fair as ever
great-bellied ale-wife longed for.
5.3.44 Mother Sawyer
These dogs will mad me: I was well resolved
To die in my
repentance. Though 'tis true
I would live longer if I might, yet since
I cannot, pray torment me not; my conscience
Is settled as it shall be: all take heed
How they believe the devil; at last he'll cheat you.
5.3.51 Carter
Thou'dst best confess all truly.
5.3.52 Mother Sawyer
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 damnèd conjuror like the devil.
5.3.57 All
Away with her, away! [She is led off]
Enter Frank to execution, Officers, &c.
5.3.58 Old Thorney
Here's the sad object which I yet must meet
With hope of comfort, if a repentant end
Make him more happy than misfortune would
Suffer him here to be.
5.3.62 Frank
Good sirs, turn from me:
You will revive affliction almost killed
With my continual sorrow.
5.3.65 Old Thorney
O, Frank, Frank!
Would I had sunk in mine own wants, or died
But one bare minute ere thy fault was acted!
5.3.68 Frank
To look upon your sorrows executes me
Before my execution.
5.3.70 Winnifred
Let me pray you, Sir –
5.3.71 Frank
Thou much-wronged woman, I must sigh for thee,
As he that's only loth to leave the world
For that he leaves thee in it unprovided,
Unfriended; and for me to beg a pity
From any man to thee when I am gone
Is more than I can hope; nor, to say truth,
Have I deserved it: but there is a payment
Belongs to goodness from the great exchequer
Above; it will not fail thee, Winnifred;
Be that thy comfort.
5.3.81 Old Thorney
Let it be thine too,
Untimely-lost young man.
5.3.83 Frank
He is not lost
Who bears his peace within him: had I spun
My web of life out at full length, and dreamed
Away my many years in lusts, in surfeits,
Murders of reputations, gallant sins
Commended or approved; then, though I had
Died easily, as great and rich men do,
Upon my own bed, not compelled by justice,
You might have mourn'd for me indeed; my miseries
Had been as everlasting as remediless:
But now the law hath not arraigned, condemned
With greater rigour my unhappy fact
Than I myself have every little sin
My memory can reckon from my childhood:
A court hath been kept here, where I am found
Guilty; the difference is, my impartial judge
Is much more gracious than my faults
Are monstrous to be named; yet they are monstrous.
5.3.101 Old Thorney
Here's comfort in this penitence.
5.3.102 Winnifred
It speaks
How truly you are reconciled, and quickens
My dying comfort, that was near expiring
With my last breath: now this repentance makes thee
As white as innocence; and my first sin with thee,
Since which I knew none like it, by my sorrow
Is clearly cancelled. Might our souls together
Climb to the height of their eternity,
And there enjoy what earth denied us, happiness!
But since I must survive, and be the monument
Of thy loved memory, I will preserve it
With a religious care, and pay thy ashes
A widow's duty, calling that end best
Which, though it stain the name, makes the soul blest.
5.3.116 Frank
Give me thy hand, poor woman; do not weep.
Farewell: thou dost forgive me?
5.3.118 Winnifred
'Tis my part
To use that language.
5.3.120 Frank
O, that my example
Might teach the world hereafter what a curse
Hangs on their heads who rather choose to marry
A goodly portion than a dower of virtues! –
Are you there, gentlemen? there is not one
Amongst you whom I have not wronged; [to Carter] you most:
I robbed you of a daughter; but she is
In Heaven; and I must suffer for it willingly.
5.3.128 Carter
Ay, ay, she's in Heaven, and I am so glad to see thee so well
prepared to follow her. I forgive thee with all my heart; if thou hadst not had
ill counsel, thou wouldst not have done as thou didst; the more shame for them.
5.3.131 Somerton
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.
5.3.135 Warbeck
And so am I,
And heartily forgive you.
5.3.137 Katherine
I will pray for you
For her sake, who I'm sure did love you dearly.
5.3.139 Sir Arthur
Let us part friendly too; I am ashamed
Of my part in thy wrongs.
5.3.141 Frank
You are all merciful,
And send me to my grave in peace. Sir Arthur,
Heaven send you a new heart! – Lastly, to you, sir;
And though I have deserved not to be called
Your son, yet give me leave upon my knees
To beg a blessing. [Kneels]
5.3.147 Old Thorney
Take it; let me wet
Thy cheeks with the last tears my griefs have left me.
O, Frank, Frank, Frank!
5.3.150 Frank
Let me beseech you, gentlemen,
To comfort my old father, keep him with ye;
Love this distressèd widow; and as often
As you remember what a graceless man
I was, remember likewise that these are
Both free, both worthy of a better fate
Than such a son or husband as I have been.
All help me with your prayers. – On, on; 'tis just
That law should purge the guilt of blood and lust.
Exit, led off by the Officers
5.3.159 Carter
Go thy ways; I did not think to have shed one tear for thee, but
thou hast made me water my plants spite of my heart. – Master Thorney, cheer
up, man; whilst I can stand by you, you shall not want help to keep you from
falling: we have lost our children, both on's, the wrong way, but we cannot help
it; better or worse, 'tis now as 'tis.
5.3.164 Old Thorney
I thank you, sir; you are more kind than I Have cause to hope
or look for.
5.3.166 Carter
Master Somerton, is Kate yours or no?
5.3.167 Somerton
We are agreed.
5.3.168 Katherine
And but my faith is passed, I should fear to be married, husbands
are so cruelly unkind. Excuse me that I am thus troubled.
5.3.170 Somerton
Thou shalt have no cause.
5.3.171 Justice
Take comfort, Mistress Winnifred: Sir Arthur,
For his abuse to you and to your husband,
Is by the bench enjoined to pay you down
A thousand marks.
5.3.175 Sir Arthur
Which I will soon discharge.
5.3.176 Winnifred
Sir, 'tis too great a sum to be employed
Upon my funeral.
5.3.178 Carter
Come, come; if luck had served, Sir Arthur, and every man had his due, somebody might have tottered ere this, without paying fines, like it as you list, – Come to me, Winnifred; shalt be welcome. – Make much of her, Kate, I charge you: I do not think but she's a good wench, and hath had wrong as well as we. So let's every man home to Edmonton with heavy hearts, yet as merry as we can, though not as we would.
5.3.184 Justice
Join, friends, in sorrow; make of all the best: Harms past may be lamented, not redrest. [Exeunt]
Contents

EPILOGUE

6.1.1 Winnifred
I am a widow still, and must not sort
A second choice without a good report;
Which though some widows find, and few deserve,
Yet I dare not presume, but will not swerve
From modest hopes. All noble tongues are free;
The gentle may speak one kind word for me.
Contents

Finis