 | The Witch of Edmonton |  |
Act. IV.
Scæn. 1.
Enter Old Banks, and two or three Country-men.O. Bank.
My Horse this morning runs most pitiously of the
Glaunders, whose nose yesternight was as clean as
any Man 's here now coming from the Barbers; and this I'll take
my death upon 't is long of this Jadish Witch, Mother Sawyer.
1.
I took my Wife and a Servingman in our Town of Edmonton,
thrashing in my Barn together, such Corn as Country-VVenches
carry to Market; and examining my Polecat why she did so, she
swore in her conscience she was bewitch'd: and what Witch have
we about us, but Mother Sawyer?
2.
Rid the Town of her, else all our Wives will do nothing else
but dance about other Country May-poles.
3.
Our Cattel fall, our Wives fall, our Daughters fall, and Maid-servants
fall; and we our selves shall not be able to stand, if this
Beast be suffered to graze amongst us.
Enter W. Hamlac, with Thatch and a Link.
Haml.
Burn the Witch, the Witch, the Witch, the Witch.
Omn.
What hast got there?
A handful of Thatch pluck'd off a Hovel of hers: and
they say, when 'tis burning, if she be a VVitch, she'll come running
in.
O. Bank.
Fire it, fire it: I'll stand between thee and home for
any danger.
As that burns, enter the Witch.
Sawy.
Diseases, Plagues; the curse of an old VVoman follow
and fall upon you.
Omn.
Are you come, you old Trot?
O. Bank.
You hot VVhore, must we fetch you with fire in your
tail?
1.
This Thatch is as good as a Jury to prove she is a Witch.
Omn.
Out Witch; beat her, kick her, set fire on her.
Sawy.
Shall I be murthered by a bed of Serpents? help, help!
Enter Sir Arthur Clarington, and a Justice.
Omn.
Hang her, beat her, kill her.
Just.
How now? Forbear this violence.
Sawy.
A crew of Villains, a knot of bloody Hang-men set to
torment me I know not why.
Just.
Alas, neighbour Banks, are you a Ring-leader in mischief?
Fie, to abuse an aged woman!
O. Bank.
VVoman? a She-hell-cat, a Witch: to prove her
one, we no sooner set fire on the Thatch of her House, but in she
came running, as if the Divel had sent her in a Barrel of Gunpowder;
which trick as surely proves her a VVitch, as the Pox in
a snuffling nose, is a sign a Man is a Whore-master.
Just.
Come, come; firing her Thatch? ridiculous: take heed
Sirs what you do: unless your proofs come better arm'd, instead
of turning her into a VVitch, you'll prove your selves starke
Fools.
Omn.
Fools?
Just.
Arrant Fools.
O. Bank.
Pray, Mr. Justice what do you call 'em, hear me but
in one thing: This grumbling Devil owes me I know no good will
ever since I fell out with her.
Sawy.
And brakedst my back with beating me.
O. Bank.
I'll break it worse.
Sawy.
VVilt thou?
You must not threaten her: 'tis against Law. Go on.
O. Bank.
So, Sir, ever since, having a Dun-Cow tied up in my
Back-side, let me go thither, or but cast mine eye at her, and if I
should be hang'd, I cannot chuse, though it be ten times in an
hour, but run to the Cow, and taking up her tail, kiss (saving your
Worship's Reverence) my Cow behinde; That the whole Town
of Edmonton has been ready to be-piss themselves with laughing
me to scorn.
Just.
And this is long of her?
O. Bank.
VVho the Devil else? for is any man such an Ass, to be
such a Baby, if he were not bewitch'd?
Sir Art.
Nay, if she be a VVitch, and the harms she does end
in such sports, she may scape burning.
Just.
Go, go; pray vex her not: she is a Subject, and you must
not be Judges of the Law to strike her as you please.
Omn.
No, no, we'll finde cudgel enough to strike her.
O. Bank.
I, no lips to kiss but my Cows—?
Exeunt.
Sawy.
Rots and foul maladies eat up thee and thine.
Just.
Here's none now, Mother Sawyer, but this Gentleman,
my self and you; let us to some milde Questions, have you milde
Answers? Tell us honestly, and with a free confession, (we'll do
our best to wean you from it) are you a VVitch, or no?
Sawy.
I am none.
Just.
Be not so furious.
Sawy.
I am none. None but base Curs so bark at me. I am
none. Or would I were: if every poor old VVoman be trod on
thus by slaves, revil'd, kick'd, beaten, as I am daily, she to be reveng'd
had need turn VVitch.
Sir Art.
And you to be reveng'd have sold your Soul to th'Devil.
Sawy.
Keep thine own from him.
Just.
You are too sawcie, and too bitter.
Sawy.
Sawcie? by what commission can he send my Soul on the
Divel's Errand, more then I can his? is he a Landlord of my Soul,
to thrust it when he list out of door?
Just.
Know whom you speak to.
Sawy.
A Man: perhaps, no Man. Men in gay clothes, whose
Backs are laden with Titles and Honours, are within far more
crooked then I am; and if I be a VVitch, more VVitch-like.
Y' are a base Hell-hound. And now, Sir, let me tell
you, Far and neer she's bruited for a woman that maintains a Spirit
that sucks her.
Sawy.
I defie thee.
Sir Arth.
Go, go, I can, if need be, bring an hundred voyces
e'en here in Edmonton, that shall lowd proclaim thee for a secret
and pernicious Witch.
Sawy.
Ha, ha!
Just.
Do you laugh? why laugh you?
Sawy.
At my name: the brave name this Knight gives me, Witch.
Just.
Is the Name of Witch so pleasing to thine Ear?
Sir Art.
Pray, Sir, give way, and let her Tongue gallop on.
Sawy.
A Witch? who is not?
Hold not that universal Name in scorne then.
What are your painted things in Princes Courts?
Upon whose Eye-lids Lust sits blowing fires
To burn Mens Souls in sensual hot desires:
Upon whose naked Paps, a Leachers thought
Acts Sin in fouler shapes then can be wrought.
Just.
But those work not as you do.
Sawy.
No, but far worse:
These, by Inchantments, can whole Lordships change
To Trunks of rich Attire: turn Ploughs and Teams
To Flanders Mares and Coaches; and huge trains
Of servitors, to a French Butter-Flie.
Have you not City-witches who can turn
Their husbands wares, whole standing shops of wares,
To sumptuous Tables, Gardens of stoln sin?
In one yeer wasting, what scarce twenty win.
Are not these Witches?
Just.
Yes, yes, but the Law
Casts not an eye on these.
Sawy.
VVhy then on me,
Or any lean old Beldame? Reverence once
Had wont to wait on age. Now an old woman.
Ill favour'd grown with yeers, if she be poor,
Must be call'd Bawd or VVitch. Such so abus'd
Are the course VVitches: t'other are the fine,
Spun for the Devil's own wearing.
Sir Art.
And so is thine.
She on whose tongue a whirlwind sits to blow
A man out of himself, from his soft pillow,
To lean his head on Rocks and fighting waves,
Is not that Scold a Witch? The Man of Law
VVhose honeyed hopes the credulous Client draws,
(As Bees by tinkling Basons) to swarm to him,
From his own Hive, to work the VVax in his;
He is no VVitch, not he.
Sir Art.
But these Men-VVitches
Are not in trading with Hells Merchandize,
Like such as you are, that for a word, a look,
Denial of a Coal of fire, kill Men,
Children and Cattel.
Sawy.
Tell them, Sir, that do so:
Am I accus'd for such an one?
Sir Art.
Yes, 'twill be sworn.
Sawy.
Dare any swear I ever tempted Maiden
VVith golden hooks flung at her chastity,
To come and lose her honour? and being lost,
To pay not a Denier for't? Some slaves have done it.
Men-witches can without the Fangs of Law,
Drawing once one drop of blood, put counterfeit pieces
Away for true Gold.
Sir Art.
By one thing she speaks,
I know now she's a VVitch, and dare no longer
Hold conference with the Fury.
Just.
Let's then away:
Old woman, mend thy life, get home and pray.
Exeunt.
Sawy.
For his confusion. [Enter Dog.]
My dear Tom-boy welcome.
I am torn in pieces by a pack of Curs
Clap'd all upon me, and for want of thee:
Comfort me: thou shalt have the Teat anon.
Dog.
Bough wough: I'll have it now.
Sawy.
I am dri'd up
VVith cursing and with madness; and have yet
No blood to moysten these sweet lips of thine.
Stand on thy hind-legs up. Kiss me, my Tommy,
And rub away some wrinkles on my brow,
Of thy fine tricks. VVhat hast thou done? Let's tickle.
Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee?
Dog.
Yes, and nip'd the sucking-childe.
Sawy.
Ho, ho, my dainty,
My little Pearl. No Lady loves her Hound,
Monkey, or Parakeet, as I do thee.
Dog.
The Maid has been churming Butter nine hours; but it
shall not come.
Sawy.
Let 'em eat Cheese and choak.
Dog.
I had rare sport
Among the Clowns i'th' Morrice.
Sawy.
I could dance
Out of my skin to hear thee. But my Curl-pate,
That Jade, that foul-tongu'd whore, Nan Ratcliff,
VVho for a little Soap lick'd by my Sow,
Struck, and almost had lam'd it; Did not I charge thee,
To pinch that Quean to th'heart?
Dog.
Bough, wough, wough: Look here else.
Enter Anne Ratcliff mad.
Ratc.
See, see, see; the Man i'th' Moon has built a new Windmill,
and what running there 's from all quarters of the City to
learn the Art of Grinding!
Sawy.
Ho, ho, ho! I thank thee, my sweet Mungrel.
Ratc.
Hoyda! a-pox of the Devil's false Hopper! all the golden
Meal runs into the rich Knaves purses, and the poor have nothing
but Bran. Hey derry down! Are not you Mother Sawyer?
Sawy.
No, I am a Lawyer.
Ratc.
Art thou? I prithee let me scratch thy Face; for thy Pen
has flea'd off a great many mens skins. You'll have brave doings
in the Vacation; for Knaves and Fools are at variance in every
Village. I'll sue Mother Sawyer, and her own Sow shall give in
evidence against her.
Sawy.
Touch her.
Ratc.
Oh my Ribs are made of a paynd Hose, and they break.
There's a Lancashire Horn-pipe in my throat: hark how it tickles it,
with Doodle, Doodle, Doodle, Doodle. VVelcome Serjeants:
welcome Devil. Hands, hands; hold hands, and dance a-round,
a-round, a-round.
Enter Old Banks, his Son the Clown, Old Ratcliff, Country-fellows.
O. Ratc.
She's here; alas, my poor wife is here.
Catch her fast, and have her into some close Chamber:
do, for she's as many VVives are, stark mad.
Clow.
The witch, Mother Sawyer, the witch, the devil.
[Car. her off.
O. Ratc.
O my dear VVife! help, Sirs!
O. Bank.
You see your work, Mother Bumby.
Saw.
My work? should she & all you here run mad, is the work mine?
Clow.
No, on my conscience, she would not hurt a Devil of two
yeers old.
How now? what's become of her?
O. Ratc.
Nothing: she's become nothing, but the miserable
trunk of a wretched woman. We were in her hands as Reeds in
a mighty Tempest: spight of our strengths, away she brake; and nothing
in her mouth being heard, but the Devil, the VVitch, the
VVitch, the Devil; she beat out her own brains, and so died.
Clow.
It's any Man's case, be he never so wise, to die when his
brains go a wool-gathering.
O. Banks.
Masters, be rul'd by me; let's all to a Justice. Hag,
thou hast done this, and thou shalt answer it.
Sawy.
Banks, I defie thee.
O. Bank.
Get a VVarrant first to examine her, then ship her to
Newgate: here's enough, if all her other villanies were pardon'd,
to burn her for a VVitch. You have a Spirit, they say, comes to
you in the likeness of a Dog; we shall see your Cur at one time
or other: if we do, unless it be the Devil himself, he shall go howling
to the Goal in one chain, and thou in another.
Sawy.
Be hang'd thou in a third, and do thy worst.
Clow.
How, Father? you send the poor dumb thing howling to
th'Goal? He that makes him howl, makes me roar.
O. Bank.
VVhy, foolish Boy, dost thou know him?
Clow.
No matter, if I do or not. He's baylable I am sure by
Law. But if the Dog's word will not be taken, mine shall.
O. Bank.
Thou Bayl for a Dog?
Clow.
Yes, or a Bitch either, being my Friend. I'll lie by the
heels my self, before Puppison shall: his Dog-days are not come
yet, I hope.
O. Bank.
VVhat manner of Dog is it? didst ever see him?
Clow.
See him? yes, and given him a bone to gnaw twenty
times. The Dog is no Court foysting Hound, that fills his belly
enticing his Master to go a-ducking twice or thrice a
week, whilst his VVife makes Ducks and Drakes at home: this is
no Paris-Garden Bandog neither, that keeps a Bough, wough,
woughing, to have Butchers brings their Curs thither; and when all
comes to all, they run away like Sheep: neither is this the black
Dog of New-gate.
O. Bank.
No, Good-man Son-fool, but the Dog of Hell-gate.
Clow.
I say, Good-man Father-fool, it's a lye.
Omn.
He's bewitch'd.
Clow.
A gross lye as big as my self. The Devil in St. Dunstan's
will as soon drink with this poor Cur, as with any Temple-Bar-Laundress,
that washes and wrings Lawyers.
Dog.
Bough, wough, wough, wough.
Omn.
O the Dog's here, the Dog's here.
O. Bank.
It was the voice of a Dog.
Clow.
The voice of a Dog? if that voice were a Dog's, what
voice had my Mother? so am I a Dog: bough, wough, wough
it was I that bark'd so, Father, to make Cocks-combs of these
Clowns.
O. Bank.
However, we'll be Cocks-comb'd no longer: away
therefore to th'Justice for a Warrant; and then, Gammer Gurton,
have at your Needle of VVitch-craft.
Sawy.
And prick thine own eyes out. Go, peevish Fools.
Exe.
Clow.
Ningle, you had like to have spoyl'd all with your
Boughings. I was glad to put 'em off with one of my Dog-tricks, on
a sudden, I am bewitch'd, little Cost-me-nought, to love thee—a
Pox, that Morrice makes me spit in thy mouth. I dare not stay. Farewel,
Ningle; you whoreson Dogs-note. Farewel Witch.
Exit.
Dog.
Bough, wough, wough, wough.
Sawy.
Minde him not, he's not worth thy worrying: run at a
fairer Game: that fowl-mouth'd Knight, scurvy Sir Arthur, flie at
him, my Tommy; and pluck out 's throat.
Dog.
No, there a Dog already biting 's conscience.
Sawy.
That's a sure Blood-hound. Come, let's home and play.
Our black work ended, we'll make holiday.
Exeunt.
SCÆN. 2.
Enter Katherine: a Bed thrust forth, on it Frank in a slumber.Kat.
Brother, Brother, Brother! so sound asleep? that's well.
Frank.
No, not I, Sister: he that 's wounded here,
As I am; (all my other hurts are bitings
Of a poor flea) but he that here once bleeds,
Is maim'd incurably.
Kat.
My good sweet Brother,
(For now my Sister must grow up in you)
Though her loss strikes you through, and that I feel
The blow as deep, I pray thee be not cruel
To kill me too, by seeing you cast away
In your own helpless sorrow. Good Love sit up:
And if you can give Physick to your self,
I shall be well.
Frank.
I'll do my best.
Kat.
I thank you. What do you look about for?
Frank.
Nothing, nothing; but I was thinking, Sister.
Kat.
Dear heart, what?
Fran.
Who but a fool would thus be bound to a bed,
Having this Room to walk in?
Kat.
Why do you talk so? would you were fast asleep.
Frank.
No, no, I 'm not idle:
But here's my meaning: being rob'd as I am,
VVhy should my Soul, which married was to hers,
Live in divorce, and not flie after her?
VVhy should not I walk hand in hand with death
To finde my Love out?
Kat.
That were well, indeed.
Your time being come, when death is sent to call you,
No doubt you shall meet her.
Frank.
Why should not I go without calling?
Kat.
Yes, Brother, so you might, were there no place
To go to when y'are gone, but onely this.
Frank.
Troth, Sister, thou sayst true:
For when a man has been an hundred yeers,
He's not the thousand part upon his way.
All life is but a wandring to finde home:
When we are gone, we are there. Hapyy were man,
Could here his Voyage end; he should not then
Answer how well or ill he steer'd his Soul,
By Heaven's or by Hell's Compass; how he put in
(Loosing bless'd Goodness shore) at such a sin;
Nor how life's dear provision he has spent:
Nor how far he in's Navigation went
Beyond Commission. This were a fine Raign,
To do ill, and not hear of it again.
Yet then were Man more wretched then a Beast:
For, Sister, our dead pay is sure the best.
Kat.
'Tis so, the best or worst. And I wish Heaven
To pay (and so I know it will) that Traytor,
That Devil Somerton (who stood in mine eye
Once as an Angel) home to his deservings.
What Villain but himself, once loving me,
With Warbeck's Soul would pawn his own to Hell,
To be reveng'd on my poor Sister?
Frank.
Slaves! a pair of merciless Slaves!
Speak no more of them.
Kate.
I think this talking hurts you.
Frank.
Does me no good, I'm sure,
I pay for't everywhere.
Kat.
I have done then.
Eat, if you cannot sleep: you have these two days
Not tasted any food. Jane, is it ready?
Frank.
What's ready? what's ready?
Kat.
I have made ready a rosted Chicken for you.
Sweet, wilt thou eat?
Frank.
A pretty stomach on a sudden—yes—
There's one in the house can play upon a Lute:
Good Girl, let 's hear him too.
Kat.
You shall, dear Brother.
VVould I were a Musician, you should hear
Lute plays.
How I would feast your ear.
Frank.
I am up too high: am I not, Sister, now?
Kat.
No, no; 'tis well: fall to, fall to. A Knife: here's never
a Knife, Brother, I'll look out yours.
Enter Dog, shrugging as it were for joy, and dances.
Frank.
Sister, O Sister, I am ill upon a sudden; and can eat nothing.
Kat.
In very deed you shall. The want of Food makes you
so faint. Ha! here 's none in your pocket. I'll go fetch a
Knife.
Exit.
Frank.
Will you? 'Tis well, all's well.
[She gone, he searches first one, then the other Pocket. Knife found. Dog runs off. He lies on one side: the Spirit of Susan his second Wife comes to the Beds-side. He stares at it; and turning to the other side, it's there too. In the mean time, Winnifride as a Page comes in, stands at his Beds-feet sadly: he frighted, sits upright. The Spirit vanishes.
Frank.
What art thou?
Win.
A lost Creature.
Frank.
So am I too. Win? Ah, my She-Page!
Win.
For your sake I put on a shape that's false; yet do I wear
a heart true to you as your own.
Frank.
VVould mine and thine were Fellows in one house.
Kneel by me here: on this side now? How dar'st thou come to
mock me on both sides of my bed?
Win.
VVhen?
Frank.
But just now: out-face me, stare upon me with strange
postures: turn my Soul wilde by a face in which were drawn a thousand
Ghosts leap'd newly from their Graves, to pluck me into a
winding-Sheet.
Win.
Believe it, I came no neerer to you then yon place, at your
beds-feet; and of the house had leave, calling my self your Horseboy,
in to come, and visit my sick Master.
Frank.
Then 'twas my Fancy. Some Wind-mill in my brains
for want of sleep.
Win.
VVould I might never sleep, so you could rest.
VVhose noise cannot cease suddainly: why should you
Dance at the wedding of a second wife?
VVhen scarce the Musick which you heard at mine
Had tane a farewel of you. O this was ill!
And they who thus can give both hands away,
In th'end shall want their best Limbs.
Frank.
Winnifride, the Chamber door fast?
Win.
Yes.
Frank.
Sit thee then down;
And when th'ast heard me speak, melt into tears:
Yet I to save those eyes of thine from weeping,
Being to write a Story of us two,
In stead of Ink, dip'd my sad Pen in blood.
VVhen of thee I took leave, I went abroad
Onely for Pillage, as a Freebooter.
VVhat Gold soere I got, to make it thine.
To please a Father, I have Heaven displeas'd.
Striving to cast two wedding Rings in one,
Through my bad workmanship I now have none.
I have lost her and thee.
Win.
I know she's dead: but you have me still.
Frank.
Nay, her this hand murdered; and so I lose thee too.
Win.
Oh me!
Frank.
Be quiet, for thou my evidence art,
Jurie and Judge: sit quiet, and I'll tell all.
As they whisper, enter at one end o'th' Stage Old Carter and Katharine, Dog at th'other, pawing softly at Frank.
Kat.
I have run madding up and down to find you, being laden
with the heaviest News that ever poor Daughter carried.
Cart.
VVhy? is the Boy dead?
Kat.
Dead, Sir! O Father, we are cozen'd: you are told the Murtherer
sings in Prison, and he laughs here.
A bloody Knife in's Pocket.
Cart.
Bless me, patience!
Frank.
The Knife, the Knife, the Knife!
Kat.
VVhat Knife?
Exit Dog.
Frank.
To cut my Chicken up, my Chicken; be you my Carver,
Father.
That I will.
Kat.
How the Devil steels our brows after doing ill!
Frank.
My stomack and my sight are taken from me; all is not
well within me.
Cart.
I believe thee, Boy: I that have seen so many Moons clap
their Horns on other mens Foreheads to strike them sick, yet mine
to scape, and be well! I that never cast away a Fee upon Urinals,
but am as sound as an honest mans Conscience when hee's dying, I
should cry out as thou dost, All is not well within me, felt I but the
Bag of thy imposthumes. Ah poor Villaine! Ah my wounded Rascal!
all my grief is, I have now small hope of thee.
Frank.
Do the Surgeons say, My wounds are dangerous then?
Cart.
Yes, yes, and there's no way with thee but one.
Frank.
Would he were here to open them.
Cart.
Ile go to fetch him: Ile make an holiday to see thee as I
wish.
Exit to fetch Officers.
Frank.
A wondrous kinde old man.
Win.
Your sins the blacker, so to abuse his goodness. Master, how
do you?
Frank.
Pretty well now, boy: I have such odd qualms come cross
my stomack! Ile fall too: boy, cut me.
Win.
You have cut me, I'm sure, a Leg or Wing, Sir.
Frank.
No, no, no: a Wing? would I had Wings but to soar
up yon Tower: but here's a Clog that hinders me. What 's that?
[Father with her in a Coffin.]
Cart.
That? what? O now I see her; 'tis a young Wench, my
Daughter, Sirrah, sick to the death: and hearing thee to be an excellent
Rascal for letting blood, she looks out at a Casement, and
crys, Help, help, stay that man; him I must have or none.
Frank.
For pities sake, remove her: see, she stares with one
broad open eye still in my face.
Cart.
Thou puttest both hers out, like a Villaine as thou art; yet
see, she is willing to lend thee one againe to finde out the Murtherer,
and that's thy self.
Frank.
Old man, thou liest.
Cart.
So shalt thou i'th' Goal. Run for Officers.
Kat.
O thou merciless Slave! she was (though yet above ground)
in her Grave to me, but thou hast torn it up againe. Mine eyes too
Cart.
Fetch Officers.
Exit Katharaine.
Frank.
For whom?
Cart.
For thee, sirrah, sirrah: some knives have foolish Posies
upon them, but thine has a villanous one; look, Oh! it is enammeld
with the Heart-Blood of thy hated Wife, my beloved Daughter.
What saist thou to this evidence? is't not sharp? does't not
strike home? thou canst not answer honestly, and without a trembling
heart, to this one point, this terrible bloody point.
Win.
I beseech you, Sir, strike him no more; you see he's dead
already.
Cart.
O, Sir! you held his Horses, you are as arrant a Rogue as
he: up, go you too.
Frank.
As y'are a man, throw not upon that Woman your loads
of tyrannie, for she's innocent.
Cart.
How? how? a woman? is't grown to a fashion for women
in all Countries to wear the Breeches?
Win.
I am not as my disguise speaks me, Sir, his Page; but his
first onely wife, his lawful wife.
Cart.
How? how? more fire i'th' Bed-straw?
Win.
The wrongs which singly fell on your Daughter, on me are
multiplyed: she lost a life, but I, an Husband and my self must lose,
if you call him to a Bar for what he has done.
Cart.
He has done it then?
Win.
Yes, 'tis confess'd to me.
Frank.
Dost thou betray me?
Win.
O pardon me, dear heart! I am mad to lose thee, and know
not what I speak: but if thou didst, I must arraigne this Father for
two sins, Adultery and Murther.
Kat.
Sir, they are come.
Enter Katherine.
Cart.
Arraigne me for what thou wilt, all Middlesex knows me
better for an honest man, then the middle of a Market place knows
thee for an honest woman: rise, Sirrah, and don your Tacklings, rig
your self for the Gallows, or I'll carry thee thither, on my back: your
Trull shall to th'Goal go with you; there be as fine New-gate birds
as she, that can draw him in. Pox on's wounds.
Frank.
I have serv'd thee, and my wages now are paid,
Yet my worst punishment shall, I hope, be staid.
Exeunt.
| The Witch of Edmonton | |