 | The Witch of Edmonton |  |
Sir Art.
Come, Gentlemen, we must all help to grace
The nimble-footed youth of Edmonton, that are so kinde
To call us up to day with an high Morrice.
Warb.
I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now.
Absurditie's in my opinion ever the best Dancer in a Morrice.
Som.
I could rather sleep then see 'em.
Sir Art.
Not well, Sir?
Som.
Faith not ever thus leaden; yet I know no cause for 't.
Warb.
Now am I beyond mine own condition highly dispos'd
to mirth.
Sir Art.
Well, you may have yet a Morrice to help both;
To strike you in a dump, and make him merry.
Enter Fidler and Morrice; all but Banks.
Fidl.
Come, will you set your selves in Morrice-ray? the fore-Bell,
second Bell, Tenor and great Bell; Maid-marion for the same Bell.
But where's the Weather-cock now? the Hobby-horse?
1.
Is not Banks come yet? What a spight 'tis?
Sir Art.
When set you forward, Gentlemen?
1.
VVe stay but for the Hobby-horse, Sir: all our Footmen
are ready.
Som.
'Tis marvel your Horse should be behinde your Foot.
2.
Yes, Sir: he goes further about: we can come in at the
VVicker, but the broad Gate must be opened for him.
Enter Banks, Hobby-horse and Dog.
Sir Art.
Oh, we staid for you, Sir.
Clow.
Onely my Horse wanted a Shooe, Sir: but we shall make
you amends e're we part.
Sir Art.
I? well said, make 'em drink e're they begin.
[Ent. serv. with beer.
Clow.
A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my Horse,
not pledge else. Here Hobby. [Holds him the bowl.]
I pray you:
No? not drink? You see; Gentlemen, we can but bring our
horse to the VVater; he may chuse whether he'll drink or no.
Som.
A good Moral made plain by History.
1.
Strike up, Father Sawgut, strike up.
Fidl.
E'en when you will, Children. Now in the name of the
best foot forward. How now? not a word in thy Guts? I
think, Children, my Instrument has caught cold on the sudden.
Clow.
My Ningle's knavery: black Tom's doing.
Omn.
Why what mean you, Father Sawgus?
Clow.
Why what would you have him do? You hear his Fiddle
is speechless.
Fidl.
I'll lay mine Ear to my Instrument, that my poor Fiddle is
bewitch'd. I play'd The Flowers in May
, e'en now, as sweet as a
Violet; now 'twill not go against the hair: you see I can make no
more Musick then a Beetle of a Cow-turd.
Clow.
Let me see, Father Sawgut, say, once you had a brave Hobby-horse,
that you were beholding to. I'll play and dance too.
Ningle, away with it.
[Dog plays the Morrice; which ended, enter a Constable and Officers.
Omn.
I marry, Sir!
Const.
Away with jollity, 'tis too sad an hour.
Sir Arthur Clarington, your own assistance,
In the Kings Name, I charge, for apprehension
Of these two Murderers, Warbeck and Somerton.
Sir Art.
Ha! flat Murtherers?
Som.
Ha, ha, ha, this has awakened my melancholy.
Warb.
And struck my mirth down flat. Murtherers?
Const.
The accusation is flat against you, Gentlemen.
Sir, you may be satisfied with this. I hope
You'll quietly obey my power;
'Twill make your cause the fairer.
Ambo.
Oh! with all our hearts, Sir.
Clow.
There's my Rival taken up for Hang-man's meat. Tom
told me he was about a piece of Villany. Mates and Morricemen,
you see here's no longer piping, no longer dancing. This
news of Murder has slain the Morrice. You that go the footway,
Exe.
Fidl.
[Strikes his Fiddle.]
I? Nay and my Fiddle he come to
himself again, I care not. I think the Devil has been abroad
amongst us to day. I'll keep thee out of thy fit now if I can.
Exe.
Sir Art.
These things are full of horror, full of pity.
But if this time be constant to the proof,
The guilt of both these Gentlemen I dare take
Upon mine own danger; yet howsoever, Sir,
Your power must be obey'd.
Warb.
Oh most willingly, Sir.
'Tis a most sweet affliction. I could not meet
A joy in the best shape with better will.
Come, fear not, Sir; nor Judge, nor Evidence,
Can binde him o're, who's freed by conscience.
Som.
Mine stands so upright to the middle Zone,
It takes no shadow to't, it goes alone.
Exeunt.
| The Witch of Edmonton | |