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THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis    
First Line: Our poet once resolv'd to quit the stage
Last Line: You cannot bear the physick of the stage.


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SIR EDW ARD HARTFORT, a worthy, bospitable, true English Gentleman, of good
Understanding and honest Principles.
YOUNG HARTFORT, bis Son; a clownisb, sordid, Country Fool, that loves nothing b
ut drinking Ale, and Conntry Sports.
SIR JEFFERY SHACKLEHEAD, a simple Justice, pretending to great Skill in
Witches, and a great Prosecutor of them.
SIR TIMOTHY SHACKLEHEAD, Sir Jeffery's Son; a very pert, confident,
simple Fellow, bred at Oxford, and the Inns-of Court.

TOM SHACKLEHEAD, Sir Jeffery's poor younger Brother, an bumble
Companion, and led; Drinker in the Country.
SMERK, Chaplain to Sir Edward; Foolish, Knavish, Popish,
Arrogant, Insolent; yet, for his Interest, Slavish.
TEGUE O. DIVELLY, the Irish Priest; an equal Mixture of Fool and knave


BELLFORT, Yorkshire Gentleman of good Estates' well-bred, and of good Sense.
DOUBTY, Yorkshire Gentleman of good Estates' well-bred, and of good Sense.


LADY SHACKLEHEAD, Wife to Sir Jeffery; a notable,
discreet Lady, something inclined to Wantonness.
THEODOSIA, Daughter to Sir Jeffery, ISABELLA,
Daughter to Sir Edward, Woman of good Humour, Wit and Beauty.
ISABELLA, Daughter to Sir Edward, Woman of good Humour, Wit and Beauty.
SUSAN, House-keeper to Sir Edward.
CLOD, a Country Fellow; a Retainer to Sir Edward's Family.
THOMAS O. GEORGES, another Country Fellow.
THE DEVIL, Witch.
MOTHER DEMDIKE, Witch.
MOTHER DICKENSON, Witch.
MOTHER HARGRAVE, Witch.
MAL SPENCER, Witche
MADGE, and several others. Witches.
Old Woman that searches them.
Constable, Servants, Dancers, Musicians, Messengers, &c

SCENE—IN LANCASHIRE, NEAR PENDLE-HILLS.

PROLOGUE BY THE AUTHOR.

Our Poet once resolv'd to quit the Stage;
But seeing what slight Plays still please the Age,
He is drawn in; and thinks to pass with Ease:
He cannot write so ill as some that please.
Our Author says, he has no need to fear;
All Faults, but of good Writing, you can bear.
The common Eyes all Paintings please alike;
Signs are as good to them as Pieces of Vandike.
Our Author honours th' understanding Few;
And from the Many he appeals to You:
For (tho' in Int'rest most should judge) 'tis fit
There should an Oligarchy be in Wit.
False Wit is now the most pernicious Weed,
Rank and o'er-grown———and all run up to Seed.
In Knavish Politicks much of it is employ'd,
With nasty spurious Stuff the Town is cloy'd;
Which daily from the Teeming Press y'have found:
But true Wit seems in Magick Fetters bound,
Like Sprights, which Conjurers Circles do surround.
The Age's Sores must rankle farther, when
It cannot bear the Cauterizing Pen:
When Satyr, the true Med'cine, is declin'd,
What hope of Cure can our Corruptions find?
If th' Poet's End only to please must be,
Juglers, Rope-dancers, are as good as he.
Instruction is an honest Poet's Aim;
And not a large, or wide, but a good Fame.
But he has found long since this would not do,
And therefore thought to have deserted you.
But Poets, and young Girls, by no Mishaps
Are warn'd; those Damning fright not, nor these Claps:
Their former Itch will, spight of all, perswade,
And both will fall again to their old Trade.
Our Poet says, that some resolve in spite
To damn, tho' good, whatever he shall write.
He fears not such as Right or Wrong oppose;
He swears, in Sense, his Friends out-weigh such Foes:
He cares not much whether he sink or swim,
He will not suffer———but we shall for him.
We then are your Petitioers to Day,
Your Charity for this Crippled Piece we pray:
We're only Losers, if you damn the Play.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter Sir Edward Hartfort and Smerk.

Smerk.—Sir, give me leave, as by my Duty bound,
To let you know (tho' I am lately come
Into your Family) I have observ'd
(For all your real Courtesie, and seeming Mirth
Among your Friends that visit you) a fixt,
A constant Melancholy does possess you, Sir,
When y' are alone; and you seem not to relish
The Happiness your ample Fortune, and
The great Esteem your Worth has ever gain'd
From all good Men, might give you; I am bound
T' enquire the Cause, and offer my Advice.
Sir Edward.—Pray search no further; I, for once, can pardon
The Rashness of your Curiosity.
I did not take you for my Counsellor.
Smerk.—You now, Sir, are become one of my Flock:
And I am bound in Conscience to advise,
And search into the Troubles of your Spirit,
To find the Secrets that disturb your Mind.
Sir Edw.—I do not wonder that a Person should
Be foolish and pragmatical; but know,
I will advise and teach your Master of Artship
(That made you Lord it over Boys and Freshmen)
To add to your small Logick and Divinity
Two main Ingredients, Sir, Sense and Good-Manners.
Smerk.—Consider, Sir, the Dignity of my Function.
Sir Edw.—Your Father is my Taylor, you are my Servant:
And do you think a Cassock and a Girdle
Can alter you so much, as to enable
You (who before were but a Coxcomb, Sir),
To teach me? Know, I only took you for
A Mechanick Divine, to read Church Prayers
Twice every Day, and once a Week to teach
My Servants Honesty and Obedience.
You may be Bell-weather to a silly Flock,
And lead 'em where you please, but ne'er must hope
To govern Men of Sense and Knowledge.
Smerk.—My Office bids me say, this is profane,
And little less than Atheistical.
Sir Edw.—You're insolent, you're one of the senseless,
Hot-headed Fools, that injure all your Tribe;
Learn of the Wife, the Moderate and Good;
Our Church abounds with such Examples for you.
I scorn the Name of Atheist; you're ill-manner'd,
But who-e'er touches one of you hot-spur Parsons,
You brand him home, and right or wrong, no matter.
Smerk.—My Orders give me Authority to speak.
Sir Edw.—Your Orders separate, and set you apart
To minister, that is, to serve in Churches,
And not to domineer in Families.
Smerk.—A Power Legantine I have from Heaven.
Sir Edw.—Shew your Credentials. Come, good petulant,
Mr. Chop-Logick, pack up your few Books
And old black Thread-bare Cloaths to Morrow Morning,
And leave my House; get you a Wall-ey'd Mare
Will carry double, for your Spouse and you,
When some cast Chamber-Maid shall smile upon you,
Charm'd with a Vicaridge of Forty Pound
A Year, the greatest you can ever look for.
Smerk.—Good Sir! I have offended, and am sorry.
I ne'er will once commit this Fault again,
Now I'm acquainted with your Worship's Mind.
Sir Edw.—So, now you are not bound in Conscience then.
The Indiscretion of such paultry Fellows
Are Scandals to the Church and Cause they Preach for.
What fatal Mischiefs have Domestic Priests
Brought on the best of Families in England!
Where their dull Patrons give them Line enough,
First with the Women they insinuate,
(Whose Fear and Folly make them Slaves to you)
And give them ill Opinions of their Husbands.
Oft ye divide them, if the Women rule not:
But, if they govern, then your Reign is sure;
Then y'have the Secrets of the Family,
Dispose o' th' Children, place and then displace,
Whom, and when you think fit.
Smerk.—Good, noble Sir! I humbly shall desist.
Sir Edw.—The Husband must not drink a Glass, but when
You shall, of your good Grace, think fit for him.
None shall be welcome but whom you approve;
And all this Favour is, perhaps, requited
With th' infusing of ill Principles into the Sons,
And stealing, or corrupting of the Daughters.
Sometimes upon a weak and bigot Patron you
Obtain so much to be Executor:
And, if he dies, marry his Widow, and
Claim then the cheating of his Orphans too.
Smerk.—Sweet Sir, forbear; I'm fully sensible.
Sir Edw.—With furious Zeal you press for Discipline:
With Fire and Blood maintain your great Diana:
Foam at the Mouth when a Dissenter's nam'd,
(With flery Eyes, wherein we flaming see
A persecuting Spirit) you roar at
Those, whom the wisest of your Functions strive
To win by Gentleness and easie Ways;
You damn 'em, if they do not love a Surplice.
Smerk.—Had I the Power, I'd make them wear pitch'd Surplices,
And light them till they flam'd about their Ears,
I would———
Sir Edw.—Such Firebrands as you but hurt the Cause.
The learnedst and the wisest of your Tribe
Strive by good Life and Meekness to o'ercome them.
We serve a Prince renown'd for Grace and Mercy,
Abhorring ways of Blood and Cruelty;
Whose Glory will, for this, last to all Ages.
Him Heaven preserve long quiet in his Throne.
I will have no such violent Sons of Thunder;
I will have Moderation in my House.
Smerk.—Forgive my Zeal, and, if your Worship please,
I will submit to all your wise Instructions.
Sir Edw.—Then (on your good Behaviour) I receive you.
Search not the Secrets of my House or me.
Vain was our Reformation, if we still
Suffer Auricular Confession here;
By which the Popish Clergy rule the World.
No Business in my Family shall concern you;
Preach nothing but good Life and Honesty.
Smerk.—I will not.
Sir Edw.—No controversial Sermons will I hear:
No meddling with Government; y' are ignorant
O'th' Laws and Customs of our Realm, and should be so.
The other World should be your Care, not this.
A Plow-man is as fit to be a Pilot,
As a good Clergy-man to be a States-man, Sir:
Besides, the People are not apt to love you,
Because your Sloth's supported by their Labours;
And you do Hurt to any Cause you would
Advance.
Smerk.—I humbly bow, Sir, to your Wisdom.
Sir Edw.—A meek and humble modest Teacher be.
For piteous Trifles you Divines fall out.
If you must quarrel, quarrel who shall be
Most honest Men; leave me, and then consider
Of what I've said.
Smerk.—I will do any thing,
Rather than lose your Worship's Grace and Favour.
Sir Edw.—Be gone. (Exit Smerk.)

Enter Isabella.

Isabella.—Sir, why do you walk alone, and melancholy?
I have observ'd you droop much on the sudden.
Sir Edw.—Dear Isabella, the most solid Joy
And Comfort of my fading Life! thou truest Image
Of thy dead Mother! who excell'd her Sex:
Fair, and not pround on't; Witty, and not Vain;
Not Grave, but Wise; Chast, and yet Kind and Free;
Devout, not Sower; Religious, not Precise:
In her no foolish Affectation was,
Which makes us nauseate all good Qualities:
She was all Meekness and Humility;
The tend'rest Mother and the softest Wife.
Isab.—My dearest and most honoured Father,
Had you not been the best of Parents living,
I could not have out-liv'd that Mother's Loss;
Loss of her tender Care, and great Example.
Sir Edw.—Yet learn, my Child, never to grieve for that
Which cannot be recall'd; those whom I love
With Tenderness I will embrace, when living;
And when they're dead, strive to forget 'em soon.
Isab.—What is it can afflict you now, dear Father?
Sir Edw.—Thou'rt wife, to thee I can declare my Grief:
Thy Brother has been still my tender Care,
Out of my Duty, rather than Affection,
Whom I could never bend by Education,
To any generous Purpose; who delights—
In Dogs and Horses, Peasants, Ale and Sloth.
Isab.—He may have Children will be wiser, Sir;
And you are young enough yet to expect
Many Years' Comfort in your Grand-children.
Sir Edw.—To that End I would match the unhewn Clown
To the fair Daughter of Sir Jeffery Shacklehead,
Who has all the Perfection can be wish'd
In Woman-kind, and might restore the Breed:
But he neglects her, to enjoy his Clowns,
His foolish Sports, and is averse to Marriage.
I would not have my Name perish in him.
Isab.—(Aside.) I'm sure she'll never help to the Continuance.
Sir Edw.—But thou art good, my Child, obedient:
And though Sir Timothy, Sir Jeffery's Son,
Has not the great Accomplishments I wish him,
His Temper yet is flexible and kind,
And will be apt to yield to thy Discretion:
His Person not ungracious, his Estate
Large, and lies altogether about his House,
Which (for its Situation and its Building)
With noble Gardens, Fountains, and a River
Running quite through his Park and Garden,
Exceeds most in the North. Thou know'st, my Child,
How this Cross-Match will strengthen and advance
My Family.———He's coming hither from
His Sport; h' has given his Horse to his Man, and now
Is walking towards us; I'll go and find
My Lady and her Daughter. (Exit Sir Edward.)
Isab.—O hard Fate!
That I must disobey so good a Father:
I to no Punishment can be condemn'd
Like to the Marriage with this foolish Knight;
But by ill Usage of him, I will make him,
If possible, hate me as I hate him.

Enter Sir Timothy Shacklehead.

Sir Timothy.—O my fair Cousin,
I spied ye, and that made me give my Man my Horse, to come to you.
Isab.—Me! have you any business with me?
Sir Tim.—Business! yes, Faith, I think I have you know it well en
ough; but we have had no Sport this Afternoon, and therefore I made Haste to
come to you.
Isab.—Such as you should have no sport made to you; you should ma
ke it for others.
Sir Tim.—Ay, it's no matter for that; but, Cousin, would you
believe it? we were all bewitch'd; Mother Demdike and her Imps were
abroad, I think: but you are the pretty Witch, that enchants my
Heart.———This must needs please her.
(Aside.)
Isab.—Well said, Academy of Compliments! you are well read, I
see.
Sir Tim.—Ods Bud! who would have thought she had read that?
Isab.—Nay, for Learning and good Breeding, let Tim alone.
Sir Tim.—Tim! I might be Sir Timothy in your Mouth tho', one
would think.
Isab.—I am sorry the King bestowed Honour so cheaply.
Sir Tim.—Nay, not so cheaply neither; for though my Lady
Mother had a dear Friend at Court, yet I was fain to give one a
Hundred Pounds, besides my Fees, I am sure of that. Tim! hum,
go too———
Isab.—Was there ever so fulsom a Fool!
Sir Tim.—Besides, I gave Thirty Guineas for the Sword I was Knigh
ted with, to one of his Nobles; for the King did not draw his own Sword upon
me.
Isab.—Do you abuse the Nobility? Would a Nobleman sell you a
Sword?
Sir Tim.—Yes, that they will, sell that or any thing else at Cour
t. I am sure, he was a great Courtier; he talked so prettily to the King's
Dogs, and was so familiar with them, and they were very kind to him, and
he had great Interest in them: He had all their Names, as Quick, and
Mumper, and I don't know who; and discours'd with them, I protest
and vow, as if they had been Christians.
Isab.—O thou art a pretty Fellow; hey for little
Tim of Lancaster!
Sir Tim.—You might give one one's Title, one
would think, I say again; especially one that loves you too.
Isab.—Yes, I will give you your Title.
Sir Tim.—Thank you, dear Cousin.
(He offers to kiss her Hand, she gives him a Box on the Ear.)
Isab.—Take that, and your proper Title, Fool.
Sir Tim.—Fool! I defle you, I scorn your
Words; 'tis a burning Shame you should be so uncivil,
that it is: Little thinks my Lady Mother how I am used.
Isab.—Once for all, as a Kinsman, I
will be civil to you; but if you dare make Love
to me, I'll make thee such an Example, thou
shalt be a Terror to all foolish Knights.
Sir Tim.—Foolish! Ha, ha, ha, that's a pretty Jest: Why, han't I
been at Oxford and the Inns-of-Court? I have spent my Time well, indeed, if I
be a Fool still: But I am not such a Fool to give you over, for all this.
Isab.—Dost thou hear? thou most incorrigible Lump, never to be lickt
into Form! thou Coxcomb incarnate! thou fresh, insipid, witless, mannerless
Knight, who wearest a Knighthood worse than a Haberdasher of Small Wares
would! it serves but to make thy Folly more eminent.
Sir Tim.—Well, well, Forsooth, some body shall know this.
Isab.—Every one that knows thee, knows it. Dost thou
think, because thy foolish Mother has cocker'd thee with Morning
Caudles, and Afternoon Luncheons, thou art fit to make Love?
I'll use thee like a Dog, if thou darest but speak once more of Love, or name t
he Word before me.
Sir Tim.—Mum, mum, no more to be said; I shall be heard some
where. Will your Father maintain you in these Things? ha, Gentlewoman?
Isab.—Tell, if thou durst; I'll make thee tremble. Heart, if you
ben't gone now presently, I'll beat you.
(Exit Sir Timothy.)

Enter Theodosia.

Isab.—My Dear, art thou come! I have been just now tormented by
thy foolish Brother's awkward Courtship; forgive me that I make so bold with
him.
Theodosia.—Pr'ythee do, my Dear; I shall be as free with
thine, though he is not so great a Plague; for he is bashful, very
indifferent, and for ought I perceive, to my great Comfort, no
Lover at all: But mine is pert, foolish, confident, and, on my Conscience, in L
ove to boot.
Isab.—Well, we are resolved never to marry where we are
designed, that's certain. For my part, I am a free English Woman, and will stan
d up for my Liberty, and Property of Choice.
Theod.—And 'Faith, Girl, I'll be a Mutineer on thy Side; I hate
the Imposition of a Husband, 'tis as bad as Popery.
Isab.—We will be Husband and Wife to one another, dear
Theodosia.
Theod.—But there are a Brace of Sparks we saw at the
Spaw, I am apt to believe, would forbid the Banns, if they were here.
Isab.—Bellfort and Doubty; they write us Word they
will be here suddenly, but I have little Hopes; for my Father is so resolved in
whatever he proposes, I must despair of his Consent for Bellfort, though he
is too reasonable to force me to marry any one; besides, he is engaged in
Honour to your Father.
Theod.—Nay, if thou thinkest of Subjection still, or I
either, we are in a desperate Case: No; mutiny, mutiny, I say.
Isab.—And, no Money, no Money, will our Fathers say.
Theod.—If our Lovers will not take us upon those
Terms, they are not worthy of us: if they will, farewell, Daddy, say I.
Isab.—If so, I will be as hearty a Rebel, and as brisk, as thou a
rt for thy Life. But canst thou think they are such Romancy Knights, to take
Ladies with nothing? I am scarce so vain, though I am a Woman.
Theod.—I would not live without Vanity, for the Earth. If
every one could see their own Faults, 'twould be a sad World.
Isab.—Thou say'st right; sure, the World would be almost
depopulated; most Men would hang themselves.
Theod.—Ay, and Women too: Is there any Creature so happy as your
affected Lady, or conceited Coxcomb?
Isab.—I must confess, they have a happy Error, that serves their
Turn better than Truth: But away with Philosophy, and let's walk on, and
consider of the more weighty Matters of our Love.
Theod.—Come along, my Dear.
(Exeunt Isabella and Theodosia.)

Enter Sir Timothy.

Sir Timothy.—What a Pox is the Matter? She has piss'd upon a Nett
le to Day, or else the Witches have bewitched her. Hah! now I talk of Witches,
I am plaguily afraid, and all alone: No, here's Nuncle Thomas.

Enter Thomas Shacklehead.

Thomas Shacklehead.—How now, Cousin?
Sir Tim.—Cousin! plain Cousin! you might have more Manners,
Uncle; 's Flesh, an one gives you an Inch, you'll take an Ell. I see,
Familiarity breeds Contempt.
Tom Shac.—Well, Sir Timothy, then; By'r Lady, I thought no harm:
but I am your Uncle, I'll tell a that.
Sir Tim.—Yes, my Father's younger Brother. What a murrain do we
keep you for, but to have an Eye over our Dogs and Hawks, to drink Ale with
the Tenants (when they come with Rent or Presents) in Black Jacks, at the
upper End of a brown Shuffle-board Table in the Hall? to sit at the lower End o
'th' Board at Meals, rise, make a Leg, and take away your Plate at second
Course? and you to be thus familiar!
Tom Shac.—Pray forgive me, good Cousin; Sir Timothy, I mean.
Sir Tim.—Very well! you will be saucy again, Uncle. Uds lud, why was
I Knighted, but to have my Title given me? My Father and Lady Mother can give
it me, and such a Fellow as you, a meer younger Brother, to forget it!
Tom Shac.—Nay, nay, haud yee, you mun ta't in good part; I did
but forget a bit, good Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim.—My Mother would be in a fine Taking about it, an she
knew it.
Tom Shac.—Nay, pray now do not say ought to my Lady, by th'
Mass, who'll be e'en stark wood, an who hears on't. But look a, look a!
here come th' Caursers; the Hare ha's play'd the De'el with us to
Neeght, we han been aw bewitched.
Sir Tim.—Ay, so we have, to have the Hare vanish in open Field be
fore all our Faces, and our Eyes never off from her.
Tom Shac.—Ay, and then awd Wife (they caw'n her Mother Demdike)
to start up i'th' same Pleck! i'th' very Spot o'Grawnt where we losten Puss!

Enter Sir Jeffery Shacklehead, Sir Edward Hartfort, Young Hartfort,
Chaplain, Clod and other Servants.

Sir Edward.—These are Prodigies you tell! they cannot be;
your Senses are deceived.
Sir Jeffery.—My Senses deceived! that's well. Is there a
Justice in Lancashire has so much Skill in Witches, as I have? nay,
I'll speak a proud Word, you shall turn me loose against any
Witch-finder in Europe; I'd make an Ass of Hopkins, if he were alive.
Young Hartfort.—Nay, I'll swear, 'tis true.
Pox on that awd Carrion, Mother Demdike! she ha's marr'd
all our Sports, and almost kill'd two Brace of
Greyhounds worth a Thousand Pounds.
Sir Edw.—Dreams, meer Dreams of
Witches, old Woman's Fables; the Devil's not
such a Fool as you would make him.
Sir Jeff.—Dreams! Mercy upon
me! are you so prophane to deny Witches?
Smerk.—Heaven defend me!
will you destroy the Existence of Witches? 'Tis very Atheistical.
Sir Edw.—Incorrigible
Ignorance! 'tis such as you are
Atheistical, that would equal
the Devil's Power with that
of Heaven it self. I see,
such simple Parsons cannot endure to hear the Devil dishonour'd.

Sir

Jeff.—No Witches! why, I have hang'd above Fourscore. Read Bodin, Remigi
us, Delrio, Nider, Institutor, Sprenger, Godelman, and More, and Malleus
Maleflacarum, a great Author, that writes sweetly about Witches, very sweetly!
Sir Edw.—Malleus Maleficarum a Writer? he has read nothing but
the Titles, I see.
Sir Jeff.—Oh, ay, a great Man! Malleus was a great Man! Read
Cousin, read the Antidote against Atheism. Well, I'll make Work among your Witc
hes.
Y. Hart.—Ay, good Sir Jeffery, do: Uds lud, they'll grow so
bold, one shan't go a Coursing, Hunting or Hawking for 'em one of these
Days; and then all the Joy of one's Life's gone.
Sir Edw.—Why, are those all the Joys of Life?
Y. Hart.—Ay, Godsflesh, are they; I'd not give a Farthing to live
without 'em: What's a Gentleman, but his Sports?
Tom Shac.—Nay, by'r Lady, I mun have a Saup of Ale now and then,
besides Sports.
Sir Jeff.—Why, here's my Son, Sir Timothy, saw the Hare vanish,
and the Witch appear.
Sir Tim.—That I did, upon my Honour, Sir Jeffery.

Enter Clod.

Clod.—So ho! here's the Hare again.
Y. Hart.—Ha, Boys! loo on the Dogs; more Sport, more Sport.
Sir Edw.—'Tis almost dark, let's home: Go to your Mistress, Fool.
Y. Hart.—Time enough for that, Sir; I must have this Caurse first;
halloo!
(They all go out as to Coursing.)

Mother Demdike rises out of the Ground, as they re-enter.

Sir Jeff.—Now, Sir Edward, do you see! the Hare is vanish'd,
and here is the Hag.
Sir Edw.—Yes, I see 'tis almost dark, the Hare is run from
your tired Dogs, and here is a poor old Woman gathering of Sticks.
Smerk.—Avant, thou filthy Hag! I defie thee, and all thy Works.
Clod.—This is wheint indeed, Sir; you are a Scholard, pray defend
me.
Sir Jeff.—Now you shall see how the Witches fear me.
Sir Edw.—The old Women have reason to fear you, you have hang'd
so many of 'em.
Sir Jeff.—Now Tom Shacklehead, and you Clod, lay hold o'th'
Witch quickly; now you shall see my Skill; we'll search her; I warrant,
she has Biggs, or Teats, a Handful long, about her Parts that shall be
nameless: Then we'll have her watched Eight and Forty Hours, and
pricked with Needles, to keep her from Sleeping, make her
confess; God, she'll confess any thing in the World then; and if not, after all
, we'll tie her Thumbs and great Toes together, and fling her into your great
Pond. Let me alone with her, I warrant ye: Come, come, come! where are you?
Sir Edw.—So, I must have a poor old Woman murder'd in my House.
(Mother Demdike knocks down Tom Shacklehead and Clod, and vanishes.)
Tom Shac. and Clod.—Oh the Witch! the Devil!
Sir Jeff.—How now, what's the Matter?
Tom Shac.—Why, by'r Lady, the De'el isth' Matter; the old Hag
has knockt us both dawn, and is vanisht under Grawnt, I think.
Sir Edw.—Your Fear has knock'd you down, and the old Woman
has escap'd.
Sir Jeff.—No, no, she has done't; a Witch has a mighty
Strength: Six Men are not strong enough for a Witch of Fourscore.
Sir Edw.—Come pr'ythee, Sir Jeffery, let's home, and
drive these Fables out of our Heads. It's dark.
Sir Jeff.—Nay, I know how to deal with her; I'll
send my Warrant, and a Constable with't, that is strong enough to beat six Witc
hes, ay, six the ablest Witches on 'em all: You'd wonder at it! but, 'Faith,
'tis true.
(Exeunt omnes.)

Mother Demdike re-enters.

Mother Demdike.—Ha, ha, ha, how I have fooled these Fellows!
let 'em go home, and prate about it. This Night we'll revel in Sir
Edward's Cellar, and laugh at the Justice. But to the Business of the Night.

She sings.

Come, Sisters, come; why do you stay?
Our Business will not brook Delay;
(a) The Owl is flown from th' hollow Oak,
From Lakes and Bogs the Toads do croak,
The Foxes bark, the Screetch-Owl screams:
Wolves howl, Bats fly, and the faint Beams
Of Glow-worms' Light grow bright apace;
The Stars are fled, th' Moon hides her Face.
(b) The Spindle now is turning round:
(c) Mandrakes are groaning under Ground.
(d) I'th' Hole, i'th' Ditch (our Nails have made)
(e) Now all our Images are laid,
Of Wax and Wool, which we must (f) prick,
With Needles urging to the Quick.
(g) Into the Hole I'll pour a Flood
Of black Lamb's Blood, to make all good.
The Lamb with Nails and Teeth we'll tear.
Come, where's the Sacrifice? appear.

Enter Mother Dickenson, Hargrave, Mal Spencer, and several other
Witches, with a black Lamb.

Witches.—'Tis here.
M. Demd.—Why are you all so tardy grown?
Must I the Work perform alone?
Dickenson.—Be patient, (h) Dame; we'll all obey.
M. Demd.—Come then to Work; anon we'll play.
To yonder Hall
Our Lord we'll call,
Sing, Dance and Eat,
Play many a Feat,
And fright the Justice and the Squire,
And plunge the Cattle in the Mire.
But now to Work———
(They tear the black Lamb in Pieces, and pour the Blood
into the Hole.)
(i) Deber, Deber, do not stay;
Upon the Waves go sport and play,
And see the Ship be cast away.
Come, let us now our Parts perform,
And scrape a Hole, and raise a Storm.
Dicken.—(k) Here is some Sea-Sand I have gotten,
Which thus into the Air I throw.
Hargrave.—Here's Sage, that under Ground was rotten,
Which thus a-round me I bestrew.
Spencer.—Sticks on the Bank a-cross are laid.
Harg.—The Hole by our Nails is almost made.
Hogs Bristles boil within the Pot.
M. Demd.—The hollow Flint-Stone I have got;
Which I over my Shoulder throw
Into the West, to make Winds blow.
Now Water here, and Urine put,
And with your Sticks stir it about.
Now dip your Brooms, and toss them high,
To bring the Rain down from the Sky.
Not yet a Storm! (l) Come, let us wound
The Air with every dreadful Sound,
And with live Vipers beat the Ground.
(They beat the Ground with Vipers; they bark, howl,
his, cry like Screetch-Owls, hollow like Owls, and make
many confused Noises: The Storm begins.)

SONG OF THREE PARTS.

Now the Winds roar,
And the Skies pour
Down all their Store. (It Thunders and Lightens.)

And now the Night's black,
Heark how the Clouds crack!
Heark how the Clouds crack!
(It Thunders and Lightens.)

A hollow Din the Woods now make,
The Valleys tremble, Mountains shake,
And all the living Creatures quake.
(It Thunders and Lightens.)

It keeps awake the sleepy Fowl,
The Sailors swear, the high Seas roll,
And all the frighted Dogs do howl.
(It Thunders and Lightens.)

Demd.—(Speaks.) Now to our Task let's all be gone;
Our Master we shall meet anon,
Between the Hours of Twelve and One.
(They all set up a Laugh.)

Enter Clod with a Candle and Lanthorn.

Clod.—Whaw, what a Storm is this! I think Mother Demdike and all
her De'els are abroad to Neeght; 'tis so dark too, I canno see my Hont.
(One of the Witches flies away with Candle and Lanthorn, Mother Demdike
sets him upon the Top of a Tree, and they all fly away laughing.)
Oh the Dee'l, the Dee'l! help! help! this is Mother Demdike; help!
s'flesh, what mun I do? I canno get dawn: 'Swawnds, Ayst be
clem'd, an I stay here aw Neeght.

Enter Bellfort and Doubty.

Bellfort.—Was there ever such a Storm raised
on a sudden, the Sky being clear, and no Appearance on't before!
Doubty.—But the worst part of our Misfortune is to be out of our
Way, in a strange Country, the Night so dark, that Owls and Bats are
bewilder'd.
Bell.—There is no Help: Cover the Saddles, and stand
with the Horses under that Tree, while we stand close, and shelter our selves h
ere; the Tempest is so violent, it cannot last.
Doubt.—New Philosophy helps us to a little Patience; Heaven be
praised, we are not at Sea yet.
Bell.—These Troubles we Knight-Errants must endure, when we
march in Search of Ladies.
Doubt.—'Would we were in as good Lodgings as our Dogs have, which
we sent before to Whalley. I fear too, (after all this Device of yours) our
pretending to hunt here will never take.
Bell.—Why so?
Doubt.—Will any body think that a Man in his right Wits should ch
use this Hilly Country to hunt in?
Bell.—O, yes, there are Huntsmen that think there's no Sport
without venturing Neck or Collar-bone: Besides, there is no other way to
hope to see our Mistresses; by this Means we shall troll out my
Mistress's Brother, who loves and understands nothing but
Country Sports. By that we may get Acquaintance with Sir
Edward Hartfort, who is reported to be a wise, honest,
hospitable, true English Man. And that will bring us
into Sir Jeffery Shacklehead's Family, Whalley being in the Mid-way betwixt the
m.
Doubt.—I am resolved to see my Mistress, what-e'er comes on't,
and know my Doom. Your Yorkshire Spaw was a fatal Place to me, I lost a
Heart there; Heaven knows when I shall find it again.
Bell.—Those Interviews have spoiled me for a Man of this
World; I can no more throw off my loose Corns of Love upon a Tenant's
Daughter in the Country, or think of Cuckholding a keeping Fool in
the City; I am grown as pitiful a whining loving Animal, as any
Romance can furnish us with.
Doubt.—That we should 'scape in all the Tour of
France and Italy, where the Sun has Power to ripen Love, and
catch this Distemper in the North! But my Theodosia in
Humour, Wit, and Beauty, has no Equal.
Bell.—Besides my Isabella.
Doubt.—To you your Isabella's equal.
Bell.—We are pretty Fellows to talk of
Love; we shall be wet to the Skin: Yonder are Lights in many Rooms; it must be
a great House, let's make towards it.
Doubt.—It is so dark, and among these Hills and Inclosures, 'tis
impossible. Will no lucky Fellow, of this Place, come by and guide us? We are
out of all Roads.
Clod.—Oh! Oh! what mun Ay do? Ay am well neegh parisht: I mun
try to get dawn. (He falls.) Help, help! Murder! Murder!
Bell.—What a Devil is here! A Fellow fallen from the Top of a Tre
e!
Doubt.—'Sdeath! is this a Night to climb in? what does this
mean?
Clod.—Oh! Oh!
Bell.—Here, who art thou? What's the Matter?
Clod.—O the De'el! Avant; I defie thee, and all thy Warks.
Doubt.—Is he drunk, or mad? Give me thy Hand, I'll help thee.
Clod.—Be gone, Witches; I defie ye! help! help!
Bell.—What dost thou talk of? We are no Witches, nor Devils; but
Travellers that have lost our Way, and will reward thee well, if thou wilt
guide us into it.
Clod.—An yeow been a Mon, Ay'st talk wy ye a bit; yeow mun
tack a Care o' your sells, the Plece's haunted with Buggarts and
Witches; one of 'em took my Condle and Lanthorn out of my Hont,
and flew along wy it; and another set me o' Top o'th' Tree,
where I feel dawn naw; Ay ha well neegh brocken my Theegh.
Doubt.—The Fellow's mad! I neither understand his Words, nor his
Sense: Pr'ythee, how far is it to Whalley?
Clod.—Why, yeow are quite besaid th' Road, Mon; yeow shoulden a
gone down th' Bonk by Thomas o Georges, and then een at Yate, and turn'd dawn t
h' Lone, and left the Steepo o'th' reeght Hont.
Bell.—Pr'ythee, don't tell us what we should have done; but how
far is it do Whalley?
Clod.—Why, marry, four Mail and a bit.
Doubt.—We'll give thee an Angel, and shew us the Way thither.
Clod.—Marry, that's wheint, I conno see my Hont; haw con Ay show
yeow to Whalley to Neeght?
Bell.—Canst thou show us to any House, where we may have
Shelter and Lodging to Night? We are Gentlemen, and Strangers, and
will pay you well for't.
Clod.—Ay, by'r Lady, con I, th' best Ludging and
Diet too in aw Loncashire. Younder at th' Hough, where yeow
seen th' Leeghts there.
Doubt.—Whose House is that?
Clod.—Why, what a Pox, where han you lived?
why, yeow are Strongers indeed! Why, 'tis Sir Yedard
Hartfort's, he keeps open Hawse to all Gentry,
yeou'll be welcome to him by Day and by Neeght; he's Lord of aw hereabauts.
Bell.—My Mistress's Father! Luck, if it be thy Will, have at my
Isabella———Canst thou guide us thither?
Clod.—Ay, Ay, there's a pawer of Company there naw, Sir
Jeffery Shacklehead, and the Knight his Son, and Doughter.
Doubt.—Lucky above my Wishes! O my dear Theodosia how
my heart leaps at her!———Pr'ythee, guide us thither, we'll pay t
hee well.
Clod.—Come on; I am e'en breed out o' my Senses, I was ne'er so
freeghten'd sin I was born: Give me your Hont.
Bell.—No, here are our Men and Horses; we'll get up, and you
shall lead the foremost. Now, Stars, be kind.
(Exeunt omnes.)

ACT II. SCENE I.

Enter Isabella and Smerk.

Isabella.—How this Insolence provokes me!
You are not, sure, in earnest!
(Aside, to him.)
Smerk.—Can any one behold those radiant Eyes,
And not have Sentiments of Love like mine?
Isab.—This Fellow has read Romances, as well as School-men.
(Aside.)
Smerk.—Those Eyes, to which mine are Burning-glasses,
That to my Heart convey the Fire of Love?
Isab.—What a Fustian Fool's this!———Is this Language
for a Divine?
Smerk.—Are not Divines made of those Elements
Which make up other Men? Divines may be
In Love, I hope.
Isab.—And may they make Love to the Daughter, without
The Consent of the Father?
Smerk.—Undoubted, as Casuists must determine.
Isab.—Will not Common Sense, without a Casuist, tell us
When we do wrong? If so, the Law we're bound to
Is not plain enough.
Smerk.—Submit to the Judgement of Divines, (sweet Lady;)
Marriage is not an Ordinance made by Parents,
But from above deriv'd; and 'tis for that I sue.
Isab.—Is it not fit I should obey my Father?
Smerk.—O no, sweet Lady; move it not to him;
Your Father has not Reverence enough
For th' Church and Church-men.
Besides, I'll tell you,
He's Atheistically inclin'd (Pardon my Boldness)
For he believes no Witches: But, Madam, if my
Poor Person and my Parts may seem gracious to you,
You lawfully may chuse to make me happy.
Isab.—Your Person needs must please; 'tis amiable.
Smerk.—Ah, sweet Madam!
Isab.—Your Parts beyond Exception, neat, spruce, florid,
And very diverting.
Smerk.—No, no, dear Madam.
Isab.—Who can behold your Face without Pleasure?
Or Consider your Parts without Reverence?
Smerk.—O Lord! I swear you pose me with your great
Civilities: I profess, you do.
Isab.—'Tis impossible you should keep long from being dignified.
Smerk.—'Tis that I mainly aim at, next the Enjoyment of so fine
a Lady.
Isab.—May I flatter my self, to think you are in earnest?
Smerk.—You may, most excellent Lady.
Isab.—And so am I.
Smerk.—Sweet Madam, I receive you as a Blessing on my Knees.
(She gives him a Box on the Ear.)
Isab.—Thou most insolent of Pedants! thou silly formal
Thing, with a stiff plain Band, a little Parsonical Grogram, and a
Girdle thou art so proud of, in which thou would'st do well to
hang thy self; some have vouchsafed to use it for that
Purpose: Thou that never wert but a
Curate,———a
Journey-man Divine, as thy Father was a Journey-man Taylor, before he could set
up for himself, to have the Impudence to pretend Love to me!
Smerk.—My Function yet, I say, deserves more Reverence.
Isab.—Does it not make you an Ass, or not a Taylor's Son?
Smerk.—It equals me with the best of Gentry.
Isab.—How, Arrogance! Can any Power give Honor, but the King's?
This is Popery. I'll have you trounc'd. Could it once enter into thy vain
Pate, that I could be contented with the pitiful Equipage of a Parson's
Wife? Bless me! to be carried home to an antique Building, with narrow
Windows, and huge Iron Bars, like an old Goal in some Country Borough, wickedly
abus'd too with Dilapidations: To lie in Darneux Curtains, and a Bed's-Tester
carv'd with Idolatrous Images, out of two Load of old Timber: Or to have for a
Friend, or a Lying-in-one, better, one of Worsted Camblet; and to be drest and
undrest by my Cook-maid, who is my Woman and my Chamber-maid, and serves me
and the Hogs?
Smerk.—I intend none of these: I assure you, my House shall
be———
Isab.—I know what it will be: Your Parlour hung with Green
Printed Stuff, of the new Fashion, with Gilt Leather in Panes, a
Finger's Breadth at least, stuft up with a great many stinking
Russia-Leather Chairs, and an odious Carpet of the same: Then
Shelves on one Side of your Chimney for a Pair of Tables, a
Chess-Board, your Frame of Wax Candle, and Tobacco-Pipes?
Smerk.—No, no, no, Madam.
Isab.—On the other Side, Shelves for huge
Folio's, by which you would be counted a great read
Man; vast large Volumes of Expositions upon a short Creed; some twenty Folio's
upon the Ten Commandments; Laud's, Heylin's, Andrews's, and Tom Fuller's
Works; with, perhaps, a Piece of Augustin, to shew you understand a
little Latin: And this is your Ecclesiastical Furniture! very fit
for a Gentlewoman's Eating-Room, is it not?
Smerk.—I understand the Mode, Madam, and contemn
such vulgar Ornaments.
Isab.—And in this Parlour to eat Five Tithe-Pigs in a Week, broug
ht in by my Women, Chamber-maid, Wash-maid, Cook-maid, &c. And if it be not a
Working-Day, waited on by your Groom, Plough-man, Carter, Butler,
Tithe-gatherer, all in one, with Horse nail'd Shoes; his Head new kemb'd and fl
eek'd, with a starch'd Band and no Cuffs?
Smerk.—My Merits will provide you better; please to hear me.
Isab.—Yes, I know your Merits. Then to quibble with you, for my
Dissert, your Back-side of half an Acre, with some Sixteen Trees of
Marygold and Sweeting-Apples, Horse-Plumbs, and Warden-Pears, hem'd in with Pai
ns of antique crumbling Clay; where I should have six Hives of Bees, and you a
Mare and Foal, going with a Peacock and Hen?
Smerk.—All these I much despise; would you hear?
Isab.—Hear! yes, how I should have nothing to entertain my
Visiters with, but stew'd Prunes and Honey-combs, and flying Ale,
bottled with Lemon-Pill, without all Sight o' Wine. And should I
march abroad to visit, 'twould be behind my Canonical Husband,
perhaps, upon a pied-bald Mare big with Foal, holding both
Hands upon his Girdle; and when at Place appointed I
arrive, for want of Groom, off slips my nimble
Husband first, then helps me down. And now,
Fool, I have painted thee, and what thou art to trust to, in thy Colours.
Smerk.—I beseech you, Madam, moderate your Passions: Hear my
Propositions.
Isab.—No, Impudence; my Father shall hear 'em.
Smerk.—I beseech you, Madam, for Heaven's sake! that
will undo me. I shall desist, I shall desist. (Exit Isabella.)

Enter Susan the Chamber-maid.

Good lack! how a Man may be mistaken! I durst have sworn, by her
Courtesie and frequent Smiles, she had been in Love with me.
Susan.—Sweet Sir, what is befallen you? has my
Lady anger'd you? If she can, her Heart is not like mine.
Smerk.—Nothing, Mrs. Susan,
nothing———but to be thus despised! (To himself.)
Susan.—Dear Sir, can I
serve you in any thing? I am bound.
I ne'er have been so elevated by
any Man; methinks, I never
should have enough of your powerful Ministry, sweet Sir.
Smerk.—Pish! if she tells her Father, I am ruin'd. (To himself.)
Susan.—Dear Man, now, come drive away this Sadness. Come, give
me thy Hand; let's sit down, and be merry.
Smerk.—How! my Hand! go too———This Creature is
in Love with me: But shall my prodigious Natural Parts, and no less amazing Acq
uisitions in Metaphysicks and School-Divinity, be cast upon a
Chamber-maid?———Farewell, I must not be too familiar. (Exit.)
Susan.—So, scornful, cruel Creature, I will soften thee yet. *
Have I for thee sate Days and Nights cross-legg'd, and sigh'd before thou
cam'st hither? and fasted on S. Agnes's Night for thee? and since thy
coming have tied three colour'd True-Lover's Knots, quill'd thy
Cuffs, and starch'd thy Band my self; and never fail'd thee of
the Morning Caudle or Jelly Broth? Have I already put my Hair
and Nails in Powder, in thy Drink; and put a live Fish' in a
Part about till it died, and then gave it thee to eat, and
all for this! Well, I will mollifie thee, and Mother
Demdike shall help me to Morrow: I'll to her, and
discourse her about it: If I have Breath, I cannot live without him.

Enter Sir Edward Hartfort, and his Son.

Sir Edward.—Susan, go tell my
Cousin Theodosia, I would speak with her.
Susan.—I will, Sir. (Exit.)
Young Hartfort.—Pshaw, now
must I be troubled with making Love! a
deuce take it for me; I had rather be a Coursing, an 'twere time o'th' Day.
Sir Edw.—Now, Son, for your own Good and my Satisfaction, I would
have you (since her Father and I am agreed) to settle this Business, and
marry with Theodosia with all the Speed that can be.
Y. Hart.—What Haste, Sir? for my Part, I care not for
Marriage, not I. I love my Neighbours, a Cup of Ale, and my Sports; I care for
nought else.
Sir Edw.—(But that thy Mother was too virtuous for my Suspicion)
I should think that by thy sordid Mind thou wert a Stranger to my Blood; and,
if you be not rul'd by me, assure your self, I'll make you a Stranger to my
Estate.
Y. Hart.—What does he mean now? hah! to disinherit me?
Sir Edw.—No part of it's entail'd; and if you will not marry
where I direct you, your Sister will obey me, and may bring me one to
inherit it. Consider that.

Enter Theodosia.

Here comes your Mistress, beautiful and good as any of her
Sex———Sweet Cousin, be pleas'd to stay one
Moment with my Son: I'll wait on you again. (Exit.)
Theodosia.—Your Servant,
Sir———How shall I be
entertain'd by this Dolt! how much
rather had he be with Country
Justices and Farmers, in a
low Thatch'd House, with a smooth black Pot of Ale in his Hand; or with his Kit
es, Dogs and Cattle?
Y. Hart.—What a Devil shall I say to her now? I had as lief
knock my Head against the Wall, as make Love———Will you
please to sit down, Cousin?
Theod.—Ay, Cousin———And fall fast asleep, if I can
.
(Aside.)
Y. Hart.—'Twas a great Storm, and rose very suddenly to Night,
Cousin.
Theod.—Very true.
Y. Hart.—Pox, I don't know what to say to her. (Aside, To
her.) 'Tis almost over though, now.
Theod.—'Tis so.
Y. Hart.—'Tis so———What a Devil shall I
say more! 'Would I were at Six Go-downs upon Reputation, in Ale,
with honest Tom Shacklehead. (Aside.)———What do
you think 'tis a Clock, Madam? (To her.)
Theod.—Six Minutes past Eight, by mine.
Y. Hart.—Mine goes faster. Is yours Aspenwold's?
Theod.—No, Tompions.
Y. Hart.—'Tis a very pretty
one———Pish, I can go no farther, not I.
Theod.—'Tis Bed-time.
Y. Hart.—Ay, so it is; and
I am main sleepy, by'r Lady; Coursing
had gotten me a woundy Stomach; and I eat like a Swine, 'Faith and Troth.
Theod.—But it got nothing to your Stomach.
Y. Hart.—You have heard the Story; we cours'd a Witch all Day
instead of a Hare, Mother Demdike.

Theod.—'Tis well you did not catch her, she would have been
very tough Meat.
Y. Hart.—Ha, ha, ha; well, I vow that's very well. But I
hope Sir Jeffery will hang the Witch; I am sure, she has tired my Dogs and me s
o, that I am so sleepy, I can scarce hold up my Head, by'r Lady.
Theod.—I am tired too! This Dulness is almost as tedious as his
making of Love would be. (Aside.)
Y. Hart.—If 'twould hold up now, we should have fine Weather
for Hawking to Morrow, and then have at the Powts.
Theod.—Your Hawks would not fly at Mother Demdike too?
Y. Hart.—Nay, marry, I cannot tell: But 'would you would go
a Hawking, you should ride upon a Pad of mine, should carry you with a
Bumper in your Hand, and not spill a Drop.
Theod.—I am for no Field Sports, I thank you, Sir.
Y. Hart.—Now can't I speak a Word more? (They pause.)
Theod.—Now, methinks we are meer Man and Wife already,
without marrying for the Matter. Ha, he's a-sleep, and snores like
the Base-pipe of an Organ: Though I like his Indifference better
than I should his Love; yet I have no Patience to bear Sleeping
in my Face; that's a little too much.
Y. Hart.—O Lord, what's that! Oh, Mother Demdike! Oh! oh! the Wit
ch! the Witch!
Theod.—He talks in his Sleep, e'en as well as when he's awake.
Y. Hart.—Murder! Murder! O help! the Witch! O the Witch! oh! oh!
Mother Demdike!
Theod.—He talks and dreams of the Witch: I'll try a Trick with hi
m.
(She pulls the Chair from under him, and Exit.)
Y. Hart.—O help! help! the Witch! the Witch! Ay, there she
vanish'd! I saw her: oh! she flew up the Chimney! I'll go to Sir
Jeffery, and take my Oath presently. Oh, I am sore frightened.

Enter Isabella.

Oh! the Witch! the Witch! Mother Demdike!
(Exit Young Hartfort.)
Isabella.—What ails the Fool! Is he mad? Here's a
Coil with Witches!

Enter Sir Jeffery, Lady Shacklehead, and Sir Timothy.

Sir Timothy.—O, Madam, are you there? I have done your Errand.
Lady Shacklehead.—Your Servant, Cousin.
Isab.—Your Ladyship's humble Servant.
L. Shac.—Look you, Cousin, Lady me no Ladies, unless you be
civiller to Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim.—Look you there!
Sir Jeffery.—I suppose, you are not ignorant who we are—
L. Shac.—Nay, pr'ythee, Sir Jeffery, hold; let me alone.
Sir Jeff.—Nay, go on, my Dear, thou shalt have it: Well, thou
art as notable a Woman as any is within Fifty Miles of thy Head, I'll say
that for thee.
L. Shac.—Pray, Cousin, conceive me; Breeding is a fine
Thing; but you have always liv'd in the Country. I have, for my
Part, been often at London, lodg'd in Covent-Garden; ay, and
been in the Drawing-Room too.———Poor
Creature! she does not know what that is.
Sir Jeff.—Pray, mind my Chicken;
she's the best bred Woman in the Country.
L. Shac.—Pray, spare me, Sir
Jeffery,———here's Sir
Timothy, I have bred him with great
Care and Charges at Oxford, and the Inns-of-Court.
Sir Tim.—Ay, and I have been in the Drawing-Room too.
L. Shac.—I have
gotten him Knighted too, for
mine and Sir Jeffery's
Services, which we have perform'd in governing the Country about us so well.
Isab.—What does your Ladyship drive at?
Sir Tim.—Ay, you know well enough: Now look as though Butter
would not melt in your Mouth.
L. Shac.—Besides, let me tell you, Sir Timothy's Person's as char
ming as another's; his Shape and Heighth perfect; his Face, though I say it,
exceeding good; his Eyes vigorous and sparkling; his Nose and Chin
resembling our Family: In short, Nature has not been negligent in
his Composition.
Sir Jeff.—Well, thou art the best spoken Woman in
England, I'll say that for thee.
Isab.—I confess all this, Madam.
Sir Tim.—Oh! do you so?
L. Shac.—Pray give me leave: Not one Knight in
the Land dresses better, or wears better fancied Garniture,
or better Perriwigs.
Sir Tim.—My Trimming's my own Fancy; and the
best Wig-maker in England, one in Crooked-Lane, works for me.
L. Shac.—Hold, Sir
Timothy!———I say, these Things premis'd, it is not fit to use my
Son uncivilly: I am loth to complain to your Father; consider, and be wise. I
know, we are politickly coy, that's decent; I my self was so to Sir Jeffery.
Sir Jeff.—Ay, by'r Lady, was she.———Well, I thought
I should never have won thee: Thou wert a parlous Girl.
L. Shac.—But I was never uncivil.
Isab.—I know not what you mean! I uncivil to my dear Cousin!
what makes thee think so? I assure your Ladyship, I value him as he
deserves———What, Cousin, art angry for a Jest? I
think no Man like him, for my part.
Sir Jeff.—Why, look you, Sir Tim!
L. Shac.—Nay, Sir Timothy, you are to blame;
Justice shews one's Kindness, go to.
Sir Tim.—I swear and vow, I thought you had
been in earnest, Cousin. I am your humble Servant.
L. Shac.—Well, we'll leave you together.
Sir Jeff.—Come on, Boy, stand up to her:
'Gad, I bore up briskly to thy Mother, before I won
her. Ah! when I was young, I would
have———Well, no more to be said.
L. Shac.—Come, come away; you will have your Saying.
(Exeunt Lady Shacklehead and Sir Jeffery.)
Sir Tim.—Well, but have you so good an Opinion of me, as you
declar'd? hum———
Isab.—The very same, I assure you.
Sir Tim.—Ah, my dear pretty Rogue! Then I'll marry you
presently; and make you a Lady.
Isab.—Let me see, are they out of Hearing?
Sir Tim.—Come, 'Feth, let's kiss, upon that Business;
here's a Parson in the House: Nay, 'Feth, I must kiss thee, my dear little Rogu
e.
Isab.—Stand off, Baboon! Nay, a Baboon of good Parts exceeds
thee: Thou Maggot, Insect, worse than any nasty Thing the Sun is Father to.
Sir Tim.—What! do you begin to call Names again? but this is in
Jest too! Pr'ythee let me kiss thee; pray, Dear; 'Feth, do.
Isab.—In Jest! Heaven is my Witness, there's not a living
Thing upon two Legs I would not chuse before thee.
Sir Tim.—Holloo! where's Sir Jeffery and my Lady?
Isab.—They are out of thy Hearing, Oaf. S'life, how
dar'st thou be so impudent to love me with that Face, that can
provoke nothing but Laughter at best in any one? Why, thou
hast the Rickets in thy Face: There's no Proportion; every Feature, by it self,
is abominable; and, put together, intolerable. Thou hast the very Lines and
Air of a Pig's Face; Baptista Porta would have drawn thee so.
Sir Tim.—Hah! what do you say? my Face! I'll not change Faces
with e'er a Man in Lancashire. Face! talk of Face! hah!
Isab.—Thou art uglier than any Witch in Lancashire; and if
thou wert in Woman's Clothes, thy own Father would apprehend thee for
one. Thy Face! I never saw so deform's a Thing on the Head of an old
Lyra Viol. It might fright Birds from a Cherry-Garden; but what else 'tis good
for, I know not.
Sir Tim.—'Sbud! now you provoke me, I must tell you, I think my
self as handsome for a Man, as you are for a Woman.
Isab.—Oh, foh! out upon thy filthy Visage! my Maid with her
Sizers, in two Minutes, shall cut me a better in brown Paper. There is
not a Creature upon Earth but is a Beauty to thee: Besides, thou hast
a hollow Tooth would cure the Mother, beyond Assa foetida, or burnt Feathers.

Enter Theodosia.

Sir Tim.—Well, well, you'll sing another Note when I
have acquainted your Father, you will.

Isab.—Thou liest, I will not: If I were condemn'd to Death, I wou
ld not take a Pardon to marry thee. Set thy Fool's Heart at rest then, and
make no more nauseous Love to me. Thy Face, to one fasting, would give a
Vomit beyond Crocus.
Sir Tim.—You are a proud, peevish Minx, and that's the
best of you! let me tell you that, hum. I can have your Betters
every Day I rise.
Theodosia.—How now! what says the Fool?
Sir Tim.—Uds ludlikins! Huswife, if you provoke
me, I'll take you o' the Pate.
Isab.—Thou odious, loathsome Coxcomb! out of my Sight, or I'll te
ar thy Eyes out.
Sir Tim.—Coxcomb! ha, ha, ha: Ah, thou art a good one! Well, I
say no more.
Isab.—Da, da, pretty Thing! (Exit Sir Timothy.)

Enter Sir Edward, Bellfort and Doubty.

Sir Edward.—Gentlemen, the Storm has oblig'd me, that drove
you under my Roof: I knew your Fathers well, we were in Italy together,
and all of us came home with our English Religion, and our English
Principles. During your Stay here (which, for my own sake, I hope
will not be short) command my House. Let not your Dogs and
Servants lie at Whalley; but be pleas'd to know this House is yours, and you wi
ll do me Honour in commanding it.
Bellfort.—This Generosity makes good the Character that all Men
give of you.
Doubty.—A Character that England rings with, and all Men of
never so differing Opinions agree in.
Sir Edw.—Gentlemen, you do me too much Honour; I would
endeavour to imitate the Life of our English Gentry, before we were
corrupted with the base Manners of the French.
Bell.—If all had that noble Resolution, long since we had curb'd
the Greatness of that Monarch.
Isab.—What are these! Apparitions! hah, Doubty and Bellfort!
Theod.—They are they, indeed. What ails my Heart to beat so fast!
Isab.—Methinks, mine is a little too busie here.
Sir Edw.—Gentlemen, here is my Daughter and her Kinswoman: I
think you saw 'em last Summer at Scarborough.
Bell.—We did, Sir.
Doubt.—We little thought to have the Honour of seeing so
fine Ladies this Night.

Enter Servant, and whispers to Sir Edward.

Bell.—We could not expect this Happiness, till next
Season at the Waters.
Sir Edw.—What Story is this? my Son almost frighted out of his Wi
ts with a Witch!—Gentlemen, I beg your Pardon for a Moment. (Exeunt Sir
Edward and Servant.)
Both.—Your humble Servant.
Isab.—Nothing could be more unexpected, than seeing you here.
Theod.—Pray, Gentlemen, how did you come?
Doubt.—Travelling for Whalley (where I told you, Madam, in my
Letters, I would suddenly be) we lost our Way by the Darkness of the Night, and
wander'd till we came near this House, whither an honest Country Fellow
brought us for Shelter from this dreadful Tempest.
Bell.—And your Father is pleas'd to admit a Brace of stray Fellow
s, with the greatest Civility in the World: But, Madam, coming safe to Shoar,
after a Shipwreck could not bring such Joy to me, as I find in seeing you.
(To Isabella.)
Doubt.—The Sun, to a Man left a Winter at Greenland, could
not be so ravishing a Sight, as you, dear Madam, are to me. (To Theodosia.)
Theod.—This is Knight-Errantry indeed.
Isab.—Methinks, they talk Romance too. But 'tis too late, if
they be in earnest; for the Dames are disposed of.
Bell and Doubt.—How? married!
Isab.—Not executed, but condemn'd.
Theod.—Beyond all Hopes of Mercy.
Doubt.—Death, Madam, you struck me to the Heart! I felt your Word
s here.
Bell.—My Heart was just at my Mouth; if you had not stopt it
with this Cordial, 't had flown. I may live now, in hopes of a Reprieve
for you.
Isab.—Our Fathers will never consent to that.
Theod.—Mine will not, I am sure. I have a Mother to boot. more ob
stinate than he.
Doubt.—If they be so merciless, Self-preservation, the great Law
of Nature, will justifie your Escape.
Bell.—We Knight-Errants, as you call us, will rescue you, I
warrant you.
Isab.—But if we leave our Fools, our Fathers will leave us.
Bell.—If you lose your Father, Madam, you shall find one that will
value you infinitely more, and love you more tenderly.
Doubt.—And you, Madam, shall meet with one, whose Person and
whose Fortune shall be always at your Command.
Theod.—We grow a little too serious about this Matter.
Isab.—'Tis from Matrimony we would fly: Oh, 'tis a dreadful
Thing!
Bell.—This Heresie can never be defended by you: A Man must be bl
ind, that inclines to that Opinion before you.

Enter Sir Edward, Smerk, and Servants.

Sir Edward.—Gentlemen, I ask your Pardon; be pleas'd to walk
into the next Room, and take a small Collation to refresh your selves.
Bell.—Your humble Servant.
Sir Edw.—This Country Fellow, that led you hither, tells me
Tales of Witches, and here's an Uproar in my Family, and they say this
Place is haunted with them: I hope, you have no Faith in those Things.
Doubt.—When I hear a very strange Story, I always think
'tis more likely he should lye that tells it me, than that should be true.
Sir Edw.—'Tis a good Rule for our Belief. (Exeunt.)
Smerk.—My Blood rises at them! These are damn'd Hobbist and
Atheists; I'd have 'em burnt in Smithfield.
Isab.—Well, these Gentlemen may, perhaps, go to their
Servants and Horses at Whalley to Morrow; where they must stay some time, befor
e we see 'em again.
Theod.—We are ruin'd then: For this Marriage will be so pressed
upon us, now the Writings are sealed, and Clothes bought; we shall have no
way to delay it, but downright breaking with our Fathers.
Isab.—I am resolv'd to consult with the Gentlemen this
Night, whatever comes on't.
Theod.—How canst thou possibly bring it about, my Dear?
Isab.—I warrant thee: a Woman's Wit will naturally
work about these Matters. Come, my Dear.
(Exeunt omnes.)

The Scene Sir Edward's Celiar.

Enter all the Witches and, the Devil in the Form of a Buck-Goat, after
them.

Mother Demdike.—Lo here, our little (a) Master's come! Let each of us
(b) salute his Bum.
(All kiss the Devil's Arse.)
See our provisions ready here,
To which no (c) Salt must e'er come near!
(Tables rise.)
Mal Spencer.—Who draws the Wine?
M. Demd.—Our (d) Brooms shall do't. Go thou.
Mother Dickenson.—And thou.
Mother Hargrave.—And thou.
Mal Spen.—And thou.
(Their Brooms all march off, and fetch Bottles.)
Devil.—(c)What have ye done for my Delight?
Relate the Service of the Night.
M. Demd.—To a Mother's Bed I softly crept,
And while th' unchristen'd Brat yet slept,
(f) I suck'd the Breath and (g) Blood of that
And stole another's Flesh and Fat,
Which I will boil before it stink;
The thick for Ointment, thin for Drink
I'll keep—
(h) From a Murderer, that hung in Chains,
I bit dry'd Sinews, and shrunk Veins.
Marrow and Entrails I have brought;
A Piece of th' Gibbet too I got,
And of the Rope the fatal Knot.
I sunk a Ship, and in my Flight,
I kick'd a Steeple down to Night.
Devil.—Well done, my Dame; Ho, ho, ho, ho!
M. Dick.—(i) To Gibbets I flew, and dismal Caves,
To Charnel-Houses, and to Graves:
(k) Bones I got, and Flesh enough;
From dead Men's Eyes the glewy Stuff;
Their Eye-balls with my Nails scoop'd out,
And Pieces of their Limbs I've brought———
(l) A Brat i'th' Mother's Womb I slew;
The Father's Neck I twisted too:
Dogs bark'd Cocks crow'd, away I flew.
Devil.—A good Servant, Ho, ho, ho!

Harg.—(m) Flesh from a Raven in a Ditch
I snatch'd, and more from a rav'nous Bitch.
(n) 'Mongst Tombs I search'd for Flesh and Bone,
(o) With Hair about my Ears alone.
(p) Fingers. Noses, and a Wen,
And the Blood of murder'd Men:
(q) A mad Dog's Foam, and a Wolf's Hairs;
A Serpent's Bowels, Adder's Ears,
I put in my Pouch; and coming back,
The Bells in a Steeple I did crack.
I sent the Murrain into Hogs,
And drove the Kine into the Bogs.
Devil.—'Tis well, 'tis well! Ho, ho, ho!
Mal Spen.—(r) To make up Love-Cups, I have sought
A Wolf's Tail-hair and Yard; I've got
The green Frog's Bones, whose Flesh was ta'en
From thence by Ants; then a Cat's Brain;
The (s) Bunch of Flesh from a black Fole's Head,
Just as his Dam was brought to Bed,
Before sh' had lick'd it; and I've some
Of that which falls from a (t) Mare's Womb
When she's in lust; and as I came home
I put a Woman into Fits,
And frighted a Parson out of's Wits. (Dance.)
Devil.—All's well! Ho, ho, ho!

SONG.

I.

What Joy like ours can Mortals find?
We can command the Sea and Wind:
All Elements our Charms obey,
And all good Things become our Prey:
The daintiest Meat, and lustiest Wine,
We for our Sabbaths still design.
'Mongst all the great Princes the Sun shall e'er see,
None can be so great, or so happy as we.

II.

We sail in Egg-shells on rough Seas,
And see strange Countries when we please!
Or on our Bosoms we can fly,
And nimbly mounting to the Sky,
We leave the swiftest Birds behind,
And, when we please, out-strip the Wind.
Then we feast and we revel, after long Flight,
Or with a lov'd Incubus sport all the Night.

III.

When we're on Wing, we sport and play;
Mankind, like Emmets, we survry:
With Lightning blast with Thunder kill,
Cause Barrenness where-e'er we will.
Of full Revenge we have the Pow'r;
And Heav'n it self can have no more.
Here's Health to our Master, the Prince of the Flies,
Who commands from the Centre all up to the Skies.
All.—(u) Harr, harr, hoo, hoo, sabath, sabath, sabath,
Devil, Devil, Devil, dance here, dance there, play here, play there,
harr, harr, harr, hoo, hoo, hoo———
(They all sink and vanish.)

ACT III. SCENE I.

Enter Sir Edward Hartfort, Bellfort, and Doubty.

Doubty.—You have extremely delighted us this Morning; by your
House, Gardens, your Accommodation, and your way of Living; you put me in
mind of the Renown'd Sidney's admirable Description of Kalandar.
Sir Edward.—Sir, you compliment me too much.
Bellfort.—Methinks, you represent to us the Golden Days of
Queen Elizabeth; such, sure, were our Gentry then; now they are grown
servile Apes to Foreign Customs; they leave off Hospitality, for
which we were famous all over Europe, and turn their Servants to Board-wages.
Sir Edw.—For my part, I love to have my Servants part of my
Family; the other were, to hire Day-Labourers to wait upon me: I had
rather my Friends, Kindred, Tenants and Servants should live well
out of me, than Coach-makers, Taylors, Embroiderers and Lace-men
should. To be pointed at in the Streets, and have Fools stare at my Equipage, i
s a Vanity I have always scorn'd.
Doubt.—You speak like one descended from those Noble Ancestors
that made France tremble, and all the rest of Europe honour 'em.
Sir Edw.—I reverence the Memory of 'em. But our new-fashion'd
Gentry love the French too well to fight against 'em; they are bred Abroad, wit
hout knowing any thing of our Constitution; and come Home tainted with
Foppery, Slavish Principles, and the Popish Religion.
Bell.—They bring home Arts of Building from hot
Countries, to serve for our cold one; and Frugality from
those Places, where they have little Meat and small
Stomachs, to sufflce us, who have great Plenty and lusty Appetites.
Doubt.—They build Houses, with Halls
in 'em not so big as former Porches: Beggars were
better entertain'd by their Ancestors, than their Tenants by them.
Sir Edw.—For my part, I think 'twas never good Days, but when gre
at Tables were kept in large Halls, the Buttery Hatch always open; Black
Jacks, and a good Smell of Meat and March Beer; with Dogs Turds and
Marrow-bones as Ornaments in the Hall: These were Signs of good
House-keeping. I hate to see fine Italian Buildings, with no
Meat or Drink in 'em.
Bell.—I like not their little Plates: Methinks there's Virtue in
an English Sir-loin.
Doubt.—Our Sparks bring nothing but Foreign Vices and Follies
home: 'Tis ridiculous to be bred in one Country, to learn to live in another.
Sir Edw.—While we lived thus (to borrow a Coxcombly Word) we made
a better Figure in the World.
Bell.—You have a Mind that suits your Fortune, and can make your
own Happiness.
Sir Edw.—The greatest, is the Enjoyment of my Friends, and such
worthy Gentlemen as your selves; and when I cannot have enough of that, I
have a Library, good Horses and good Musick.
Doubt.—Princes may envy such an English Gentleman.
Sir Edw.—You are too kind: I am a true English-Man; I love
the Prince's Rights and People's Liberties, and will defend them both
with the last Penny in my Purse, and the last Drop in my Veins; and
dare defie the witless Plots of Papists.
Bell.—Spoken like a noble Patriot!
Sir Edw.—Pardon me, you talk like English Men, and
you have warm'd me: I hope to see the Prince and People flourish yet, old as I
am, in spite of Jesuits: I am sure our Constitution is the noblest in the
World.
Doubt.—'Would there were enow such English Gentlemen!
Bell.—'Twere to be wish'd; but our Gentry are so much
poysoned with Foreign Vanities, that methinks the Genius of England seems sunk
into the Yeomanry.
Sir Edw.—We have, indeed, too many rotten Members. You speak
like Gentlemen, worthy of such noble Fathers, as you both had. But,
Gentlemen, I spoke of Musick; I see two of my Artists come into the Garden, the
y shall entertain you with a Song this Morning.
Bell.—Sir, you oblige us every way. (An Italian Song.)
Finely compos'd, and excellently perform'd!
Doubt.—I see, Sir, you are well serv'd in every Thing.

Enter Isabella and Theodosia.

Sir Edw.—My sweet Cousin, good Morrow to thee; I hope to call
thee shortly by another Name———My dear Child, Heavens bless
thee. (Isabella kneels.)
Bell.—Ladies, your most humble Servant; you are early up, to take
the Pleasure of the Morning in these Gardens.
Doubt.—'Tis a Paradise you are in; every Object within this
Place is ravishing.
Theodosia.—This Place affords variety of Pleasures; nothing here
is wanting.
Bell.—Where such fine Ladies are.

Enter Servant with Tegue O Divelly, an Irish Priest.

Servant.—Sir, a Gentleman to speak with you.
Sir Edw.—With me! Daughter, pray shew those Gentlemen the
Statues, Grottoes, and the Water-works. I'll wait on you immediately.
Bell.—This is an Opportunity beyond our Hopes.
(Exeunt Bellfort, Doubty, Isabella and Theodosia.)
Sir Edw.—Would you speak with me?
Priest.—Arrah, and please ty Oorship, I am come here to
dis plaash, to maake a wisitt unto thee: Dosht thou not know me, Joy?
Sir Edw.—O, you live at Mr. Redletter's, my Catholick Neighbour?
Priest.—Ah, by my Shoul, ay.
Sir Edw.—How came you to venture hither? you are a Popish
Priest.
Priest.—Ah, but 'tis no matter for all daat, Joy: by my
Shoul, but I will taak de Oades, and I think I vill be excus'd; but
hark vid you a while, by my trott, I shall be a Paapist too for all dat, indeed
, yes.
Sir Edw.—Excellent Principles!
Priest.—I do come for de nonce to see dee, and yet I do not come
on purpose, Gra. But it is no matter, I will talk vid you aboot daat; I do
come upon occasion, and Mr. Redletter did shend me unto dee.
Sir Edw.—For what?
Priest.—What will I say unto dee now, but Mr. Redletter did
shend me, and yet I did come of my self too for all daat upon occasion,
daat I did hear concerning of dee, dat dy House and de Plaash is all
over-run with Witches and Spirits; do you see now?
Sir Edw.—I had best let this fool stay, to laugh at
him; he may be out of the damn'd Plot, if any Priest was: Sure
they would never trust this Fool. (Aside.)
Priest.—What shaal you shay unto me upon all
dis? I will exorcize doze Vitches, and I will plague those Devils now, by my Sh
oul, vid Holy-water, and vid Reliques; and I will freet 'em out of this
Plaash. God shaave the King.
Sir Edw.—I have forgot your Name.
Priest.—They do put the name of Kelly upon me, Joy; but,
by my fait, I am called by my own naame, Tegue O Divelly.
Sir Edw.—Tegue O Divelly?
Priest.—Yes, a very oold Naame in Eerland, by my
Shalwaation. Well, Gra, I have brought upon my Cloak-bagg
shome Holy-vaater and I will put it upon the Devils and
de Vitches Faashes; and I will make you shome more
Holy-water, and you vill vaash all dee Roomes vid it, an bee———
Sir Edw.—Well, Father Tegue O Divelly, you're welcome: But how
dare you venture publickly in these Times?
Priest.—Why, I have a great Consideraation upon dy Prudence;
for if dou voudst betray me, now phare will be de Soleedity of dat, Joy?
Sir Edw.—I speak not for my self, but others.
Priest.—The Devil taak me now, I do tink, I will suffer for
my Religion; I am affraid I will be slain at lasht at the Plaash they
call St. Tyburn, but I do not caare, by my Shalwaation; for if I will be hang'd
, I will be a Saint presently, and all my Country shall pray unto St. Tegue:
Besides, shome great People will be nameless too, I tell you I shay noe
more, but I will be prayed unto, Joy.
Sir Edw.—Prayed to! Very well.
Priest.—Yes, by my Shoule, will I; and I will have
Reliques maade of me too.

Enter Servant.

Servant.—Sir Jeffery Shacklehead and my Lady have
some Business with you, and desire your Company within.
Sir Edw.—Come, Father Tegue, come along with
me—Do you hear? find the Gentlemen that are walking
with my Daughter and her Cousin; and tell 'em, I will
wait on 'em presently. (Exeunt Sir Edward and Priest.)

Enter Bellfort, Doubty, Isabella and Theodosia.

Servant.—I will. They are
here———Gentlemen, my
Master is call'd away upon
Business; he begs your Excuse, and will wait on you presently. (Exit Servant.)
Bellfort.—Heaven gives us yet a longer Opportunity, and
certainly intends we should make use of it; I have my own Parson,
that comes to hunt with me, at Whalley, Madam, an excellent
School-Divine, that will end all Differences betwixt us.
Isabella.—He is like to begin 'em betwixt us; the Name of a Parso
n is a dreadful Name upon these Occasions; he'll bring us into a Condition we
can never get out of, but by Death.
Bell.—If the absolute Command of me and Fortune can please you, y
ou shall never desire to get out of it.
Doubty.—I should at more Distance, and with more Reverence
approach you, Madam, did not the shortness of the Time, and the great
danger of losing you, force me to be free. Throw not away this
precious Time; a Minute now is inestimable.
Theodosia.—Yet I must consider on that Minute,
on which the Happiness or Misery of all my Life may depend.
Isab.—How can I imagine that you, who have
rambled up and down the Southern World, should at least
fix on a Homebred Mistress in the North? how can you be in earnest?
Bell.—Consult your Understanding, and
your Looking-Glass; one will tell you how witty,
wise, and good you are; the other, how beautiful, how sweet, how charming.
Isab.—Men, before they are married, turn the great End of their
Perspective; but the little End after it.
Bell.—They are Men of ill Eyes, and worse Understanding;
but for your Perfections there needs no Perspective.
Theod.—If I were inclin'd to Marriage, methinks we are
not well enough acquainted yet to think of that.
Doubt.—To my Reputation, I suppose, you are no
Stranger; nor to my Estate, which lies all in the next
County: and for my Love, I will convince you of it, by settling whatever you pl
ease, or all that Estate upon you, before I expect any Favour from you.
Theod.—You are so generous, beyond my Deserts, that I know not
how to credit you.
Doubt.—Your Modesty is too great, and your Faith too little.

Enter Sir Timothy.

Sir Timothy.—Death! who are these with my Mistress and my
Sister? O! they are the silly Fellows that we saw at the Spaw, that
came hither last Night———Do you know, Sir, that this is my Mistr
ess, Sir?
Bell.—I know, Sir, that no Man is worthy of that Honour.
Sir Tim.—Yes, Sir; I will make you know that I am, Sir; and she
has the Honour to be my Mistress.
Bell.—Very well, Sir.
Sir Tim.—Very well, Sir! No, 'tis very ill, Sir, that you
should have the Boldness to take my Mistress by the Hand, Sir; and if
you do, Sir, I must tell you, Sir———What, do you smile, Sir?
Bell.—A Man may do what he will with his own Face. I may smile,
Sir———
Sir Tim.—If you do, Sir, I will fight, Sir; I tell you that, Sir;
hah!
Isab.—Sir Timothy, you are a bloody-minded Man.
Sir Tim.—'Tis for my Honour, my Honour———He's
plaguily afraid———Look you, Sir, if you smile, Sir, at me,
Sir, I will kick, Sir; that's more, Sir.
Bell.—If you do, you'll be the fifteenth Man I've run
through the Body, Sir.
Sir Tim.—Hah! what does he say! through the Body? Oh!
Theod.—Yonder's my Brother! we must not be so
particular; let's join.
Sir Tim.—How! the Body, Sir!
Bell.—Yes, Sir; and my Custom is (if it be a
great Affront I kill them for) I rip out their Hearts, dry 'em to Powder, and m
ake Snuff on 'em.
Sir Tim.—O Lord! Snuff!
Bell.—I have a Box full in my Pocket, Sir; will you please to
take some?
Sir Tim.—No, Sir; I thank you, Sir. Snuff, quoth a! I will
have nothing to do with such a cruel Man; I say no more, Sir.
Doubt.—Your Servant, Sir———
Sir Tim.—Your Servant, Sir———Does he take
such Snuff too.
Bell.—The same———Do you hear, Sir? If you value yo
ur own Life, which I will save for the Families' Sakes, not a Word of this to
any Man.
Sir Tim.—No, Sir; not I, Sir. Your humble Servant.

Enter Sir Edward.

Sir Edward.—I ask your Pardon, Gentlemen; I was stay'd by what, i
f you please to walk in, will divert you well enough.
Doubt.—We will wait on you, Sir.
Sir Edw.—Daughter, Sir Jeffery and my Lady have made Complaints
of you, for abusing Sir Timothy; let me hear no more on't: We have resolv'd
the Marriage shall be to Morrow; it will become you to be upon a little
better Terms to Day.
Sir Tim.—Do you hear that, Gentlewoman?
Sir Edw.—Gentlemen, I have sent to Whalley for all your
Servants, and Horses and Dogs; you must do me the Honour to make some Stay with
me.
Bell.—We cannot enough acknowledge your great Civility.
Sir Edw.—No Compliments; I oblige my self. Sir Jeffery
Shacklehead and I have just now agreed, that to Morrow shall be the
Day of Marriage between our Sons and Daughters.
Theod.—Very short Warning!
Sir Edw.—He'll not delay it longer.
Theod.—I'll in, and see what's the Reason of this
sudden Resolution.
Bell.—Sir, we wait on you.
Sir Edw.—Stay you there a while with Sir Timothy.
(Exeunt all but Sir Timothy and Isabella.)
Sir Tim.—Dear Cousin, pry'thee be kinder to me; I protest and
vow, as I am a Christian, I love thee better than both my Eyes, for all this.
Isab.—Why, how now, Dog's Face! hast thou the Impudence to make
Love again, with that hideous Countenance! that very insipid silly
Physiognomy of thine! with that most piteous Mien! Why, thou
look'st like an Operator for the Teeth.
Sir Tim.—This is all Sham, I won't believe it: I can see my self
in the great Glass, and to my Mind, no Man looks more like a Gentleman than my
self.
Isab.—A Gentleman! with that silly, waddling, shuffling Gate?
Thou hast not Mien good enough for a Chief Constable: Every Change of thy
Countenance, and every Motion of thy Body, proclaims thee an Ass.

Sir Tim.—Ay, ay; come, Madam, I shall please you better
when I am marry'd, with a Trick that I have, I tell ye.
Isab.—Out of my Sight; thou makest me sick to see thee.
Sir Tim.—I shall be more familiar with you to Morrow
Night: O my dear Rogue!———Well, I say no more; 'Faith, I shall&#
151;——Well, no more to be said.
Isab.—Be gone, thou Basilisk here; I vow, if thou wert the only
Man on Earth, the Kind should cease rather than I would marry thee.
Sir Tim.—You'll be in a better Humour to Morrow Night, though
you are such a Vixen now.
Isab.—This Place, where some Materials are to mend the Wall,
will furnish me with some Ammunition———be gone, I say.
Sir Tim.—I shan't do't; I know when I am in good Company.
Come, pr'ythee, Cousin, do not let us fool any longer; to Morrow we
shall be one Flesh———d'ye see?
Isab.—I had rather be inoculated into a Tree, than to be made one
Flesh with thee. Can that Westphalia Hide of thine ever become one Flesh with
me! When I can become one Ass with thee, it may; you shall never change my
Mind.
Sir Tim.—Well, well, I shall have your Body to Morrow Night; and
I warrant you, your Mind shall soon follow it.
Isab.—Be gone, thou infinite Coxcomb: I'll set thee farther.
(She throws Stones at him.)
Sir Tim.—What, what, what, what a

Pox!———hold———What a Devil, are you mad?—

51;—Flesh,———Heart,———hold———
What a Plague!———Uds bud, I could find in my Heart to turn
again.
Isab.—Do, filthy Face, if thou dar'st.
Sir Tim.—O help! Murder! Murder!
(Exit Sir Timothy.)
Isab.—I have no Patience with this Fool; no Racks, no Tortures
shall force me to marry him. (Exit Isabella.)

Enter Young Hartfort and Theodosia.

Theodosia.—I am very indifferent about this Matrimony; and,
for ought I see, you are so too.
Young Hartfort.—I must confess, you are as fine a
Gentle-woman as ever I saw, and I am not worthy of you; but my
Father says, he will disinherit me, if I will not marry you to Morrow; therefor
e I would desire you would please to think on't.
Theod.—I will think on't.
Y. Hart.—You shall command all my Estate, and do what you will:
For my Part, I resolve, all my Life, to give up my self wholly to my Sports,
and my Horses, and my Dogs; and to drink now and then a Cup of Ale
Neighbours: I hate Wine.
Theod.—You will do very well.
Y. Hart.—He says, we must be married to Morrow at
Ten: I can be going a Hawking at Six, and come home time
enough. I would be loth to neglect my Hawking at Powts
in the height of the Season.
Theod.—By no means: You'd do very ill, if you should.
Y. Hart.—Ay, so I should. But shall I
tell my Father, that you will have me to Morrow?
You know the Writings are sealed, and Wedding Cloths bought of all Sides.
Theod.—Well, I shall do as becomes me.
Y. Hart.—Well, Cousin, there's no more to be said betwixt you
and I then. Pauca Verba, a Word to the Wife, I say, is enough: so I
rest your humble Servant to command———I'll tell my
Father what you say presently———Your
Servant———To tell you truly, I had
never so much Mind to be married, as now; for I
have been so woundedly frightened with Witches, that I am afraid to lie alone,
d'ye see———well, I am glad this Business is over—A Pox
upon all making of Love for me!
(Exit Young Hartfort.)
Theod.—I thought I saw my Cousin in yon Walk; 'tis time fo
us to consult what to do; my Father and Mother are resolved upon to
Morrow for the fatal Day.
(Exit Theodosia.)

Enter Smerk, Priest, and Mrs. Susan.

Priest.—By my Shoul, Joy, I thank you for my Fast
break; for it does give Refreshment unto me, and Consolaation too, Gra.
Smerk.—Thank you, Mrs. Susan; my Caudle was
admirable; I am much strengthened by these good Creatures.
Susan.—Yours was
admirable———if
Mother Demdike has any Skill: I shall find the Operation before Night, and I wi
ll be reveng'd for his Scorn to me. (Aside.)
Priest.—Though thou dosht know me, yet thou dosht shay thou wilt
tell nothing concerning of me.
Smerk.—No; for my part, though I differ in some Things, yet I
honour the Church of Rome as a true Church.
Priest.—By my Shoulwaation ye did all come out of us, indeed; and
I have Expectaation daat you will come in agen, and I think I will live to
shee it. Perhaps I will tell you now, you had your Ordination too with us.
Smerk.—For my part, I think the Papists are honest, loyal Men, and
the Jesuits died innocent.
Priest.—Phaat! dou dosht not believe de Plot; de Devil taake me.
Smerk.—No, no; no Papist Plot, but a Presbyterian One.
Priest.—Aboo, boo, boo! by my Shoulvaation I will embraash dy
Father's Child, and I will put a great Kish upon dy Cheeke, now for dat:
Ay, dere ish a damn'd Presbyterian Plot to put out de Paapists, and de
Priests, and de good Men; and if I would have my Mind, de Devil taak
me, I would shee 'em all broyle and fry in de Plaash they call Smitfield, Joy.
Smerk.—I would have Surplices cram'd down their Throats, or
would have 'em hang'd in Canonical Girdles.
Priest.—Let me imbraash my Joy agen for daat.

Enter Bellfort and Doubty.

Belfort.—We shall have excellent Sport with these Priests:
See, they are come from their Breakfast, and embracing!
Priest.—And dou dosht not believe the Paapist's Plot, my Joy?
Smerk.—No; but the damn'd Presbyterian Plot I do. I would be a Turk
before I would be a Presbyterian; Rogues, Villains!
Priest.—By my Shoul, I vill give Satisfaction unto dee, and maak
dee of my Church: We have shome good Friends of dy Church, and dou art almost
as good a Friend as be in de West: I have forgot his Naam; I do taak it did
begin vid a T.
Doubty.—How now! do you not believe a Popish Plot?
Smerk.—No; but a Presbyterian one I do.
Bell.—This is great Impudence after the King has affirm'd it
in so many Proclamations; and three Parliaments have voted it, Nemine
contradicente.
Smerk.—Parliaments! tell me of Parliaments! With my Bible
in my Hand, I'll dispute with the whole House of Commons. Sir, I hate Parliamen
ts; none but Fanaticks, Hobbists, and Atheists, believe the Plot.
Priest.—By my Fait and Trot, dou dosht maak me weep indeed; by
my Shoul, Joy, dou wilt be a good Caatholick, if I will instruct dee; I will we
ep on dee indeed.
Bell.—Why, the true and wise Church of England-Men believe it,
and are a great Rock against the Church of Rome.
Doubt.—And Preach and Write learnedly against it: But such
Fellows as you are Scandals to the Church, a Company of Tantivy Fools.
Bell.—All the eminent Men of the Church of England believe the Pl
ot, and detest it with Horror; and abominate the Religion that contriv'd it.
Smerk.—Not all the eminent Men, or I am of another Opinion.
Priest.—By my Shoul, by my Shoul, Joy, dey are our Enemies, and
I would have no Fait upon dem; but dis is my dear Friend.
Doubt.—This is a Rascal conceal'd in the Church, and is none of i
t: Sure, his Patron knows him not.
Bell.—No, certainly.
Smerk.—You are Hobbists and Atheists.
Priest.—It is no matter for all daat, Joy, what dey do shay unto
thee; for by Chreest, and by Shaint Paatrick, dey be Heretick Dogs. By my
Shoulwaation, dou dosht maak me weep upon dee agen; by de Lady Mary, I
think I will be after reconciling dee to de Caatholick Church indeed.

Enter Sir Jeffery, Lady Shacklehead, Sir Edward, Isabella, and Theodosia.

Sir Jeffery.—Your Servant, Gentlemen.
Lady Shacklehead.—Your most humble Servant.
Bell and Doubt.—Your most humble Servant.
Sir Edward.—Is not my Irish Man a pleasant Fellow?
Doubt.—A great Father of the Church.
Bell.—And, perhaps may come to be hang'd for't.
Sir Edw.—Sir Jeffery is going to take some Informations
about Witches; perhaps that may divert you not ill: 'Tis against my
Opinion, but I give him the Way.
L. Shac.—I hope you are pleas'd to pardon my
Incivility, in rushing unawares into your Chamber last
Night; but I know you are so much a Gentleman, so well bred, and so accomplish'
d, I know you do———
Doubt.—Madam———
L. Shac.—And for that Reason I will make you my Confident in a
Business, that, perhaps, I do not know, but, I think, it may not be to your
Disadvantage; I will communicate it to you in private. Now, Sir Jeffery and I a
re to take some Examination: I assist him very much in his Business, or he
could never do it.
Sir Jeff.—Call in those Fellows; let's hear what they'll say abou
t these Witches—Come on; did you serve my Warrant on Mother Demdike?
(They call the Constable in, and a Country Fellow.)
Constable.—Sir, I went to her House, (and please your Worship)
and lookt in at her Window, and she was feeding three great Toads, and they
daunc'd and leapt about her; and she suckled a great black Cat, well nigh
as big as a Spaniel: I went into the House, and she vanisht, and there
was nothing but the Cat in the middle, who spit and star'd at me; and
I was frighted away.
Sir Jeff.—An arch Witch, I warrant her!
Const.—I went out at the Back-door, and by the
Threshold sat a great Hare; I struck at it, and it ran away, and ever since I h
ave had a great Pain in my Back, and cannot make Water, saving your Presence.
Sir Edw.—A Fit of the Gravel.
Priest.—No, by my Shoul, she is a great Vitch, and I vill cure
you upon daat.
Sir Jeff.—No: I tell you, Sir Edward I am sure she is a Witch; an
d between you and I, last Night, when I would have been kind to my Wife, she
bewitched me; I found it so.
Sir Edw.—Those Things will happen about Five and Fifty.
Priest.—I will tell you now, Joy, I will cure you too.
Taak one of de Tooth of a dead Man, and bee, and burn it, and taak de
Smoke into both your Noses, as you taak Snuch, and anoint your self vid de Gaal
l of a Crow; taak Quicksilver, as dey do call it, and put upon a Quil, and
plaash it under de shoft Pillow you do shit upon; den maak shome Waater
through the Ring of a Wedding, by St. Patrick, and I will shay shome
Ave Maaries for dee, and dou wilt be sound agen, Gra.
Sir Jeff.—Who is this pretends to Skill in Witchcraft?
Sir Edw.—A very learned Man in these Matters, that
comes hither on purpose.
Sir Jeff.—I shall be glad of your better Acquaintance.
Priest.—I vill be very well pleashed to be after
being acquainted vid dee, Joy.
L. Shac.—Have you any more to say? Fellow, speak to me.
Const.—Why, an't please your Worship, Forsooth,
Mother Demdike said, she would be reveng'd on me for not
giving her some Butter-milk; and the next Night, coming
from Rachdale, I saw a great black Hog, and my Horse
threw me, and I lost a Hog that Night; he dy'd, that was as well when he went t
o Bed, as ever he was since he was born.
L. Shac.—'Tis enough; a plain, a manifest Witch! Make a Warrant
for her.
Sir Jeff.—Ay, do.
L. Shac.— Take some of the Thatch of her House, and burn it at
your House, and you shall see she will come streight.
Sir Jeff.— Or to Morrow, about Dawn, piss in a Pot, and cover
it with your right nether Stocking; and the Witch will be tormented in her
Bladder, and come to you roaring before Night.
Doubt.—A most profound Science!
Bell.—And poor old ignorant Wretches must be hang'd for this!
Const.—A Cow of mine is bewitch'd too, and runs about the Close as
if she were mad; and that, I believe, Mother Hargrave bewitcht, because I
deny'd her some Gos———good.
Sir Jeff.—Put her into the Warrant too: 'Tis enough; a
little Thing will serve for Evidence against her.
Sir Edw.—A very little one!
Priest.—Put a Pair of Breeches, or Irish Trowsers,
upon your Cow's Head, Fellow, upon a Friday Morning, and wid a
great Stick maak beat upon her, till she do depart out of de
Close, and she will repair unto de Witch's Door, and she
vill knock upon it vid her Horns, indeed.
Const.—Thank you, good Sir.
Sir Jeff.—Sir, I see you are a learned Man in this Business, and
I honour you.
Priest.—Your Servant, Sir; I will put shome Holy water into your
Cow's Mout, and I vill maak Cure upon her for all daat, indeed.
L. Shac.—Come, has any one else anything to inform?
Const.—Yes, an't please your Worship, here is a Neighbour,
Thomas ô Georges.
Thomas ô Georges.—Why, an't please your Worships, I
was at Mal Spencer's House, where whoo wons i'th' Lone, and whoo has a meeghty
great Cat, a black one, by'r Lady, and whoo kist and whoo clipt Cat; and Ay
sat me dawn a bit (meet a bit) and believe Cat went under her Coats. Quo
Ay, What don yeow doo with that fow Cat? Why, says whoo, whoo soukes me. Soukes
tee? marry, that's wheint, quo Ay; by'r Lady, what can Cat do besides? Why,
says whoo, whoost carry me to Rachdale belive. Whaw, quo Ay, that's pratty!
Why, says whoo, yeost ha one, an yeow win, to carry yeow. By'r Lady, quo
Ay, with aw my Heart, and thank ow too; marry, 'twill save my Tit a
power of Labour. So whoo caw'd a Cat to me, a huge Cat, and we
ridden both to Rachdale streight along.
Bell.—Well said! this was home. I love a Fellow
that will go through stitch.
Sir Jeff.—This is a Witch indeed; put her Name in.
Priest.—This is nawthing; by my Shoul, I will
tell you now, it is nawthing for all daat; a Vitch, if she
be a good Vitch, will ride upon a Grashopper, I tell you,
very well; and yet a Grashopper is but a weak Beast
neither: You do maak Wonder upon dis; but, upon my Shoul, it is naw thing.
Sir Jeff.—Where did you take Cat, say you, together?
Tho. ô Georg.—Why, we took Cat i'th' Lone, meet a Mile off.
Sir Jeff.—So you rid eight Mile upon Cats? Are there any more
Informations?
Const.—No more, an't please your Worship; but when I have
once taken 'em, enough will come in.
L. Shac.—Go then about taking 'em, and bring 'em before
Sir Jeffery, and my self. I'll warrant you, we'll order 'em.
Priest.—I will tell you now, Fellow; Taak de Shoe of a
Horse, and nail it upon your Threshold, de Plaash dou dosht go into
dy Door upon.
Sir Jeff.—And put a Clove of Garlick into the Roof of thy House.
L. Shac.—Fennil is very good in your House against Spirits and
Witches, and Alicium, and the Herb Mullein, and Long-wort, and Moly too, is
very good.
Priest.—Burn shome Brimstone, and maak a sweet Fume of de
Gaall of a black Dog, Joy, and besmear dy Poshts, and dy Valls, and
bee, and cross dy self, and I will touch dee vid Reliques, and dee too, Gra.
Const.—Thank you, good Sir.
Tho. ô Georg.—Thank a.
Sir Edw.—Is not this an excellent Art?
Bell.—'Tis so extravagant, that a man would think they were all
in Dreams that ever writ of it.
Doubt.—I see no manner of Evidence against these poor Creatures.
Bell.—I could laugh at these Fools sufficiently, but that all
the while our Mistresses are in Danger.
Doubt.—Our Time is short; pr'ythee, let's consider what is to be
done.
Isabella.—Well, my Dear, I must open my Heart to thee; I am so
much in Love with Bellfort, that I shall die if I lose him.
Theodosia.—Poor Isabella! dying is something an inconvenient
Business; and yet I should live very uncomfortably without my Spark.
Isab.—Our Time's very short: therefore, pr'ythee, let's,
play the Fool no longer, but come to the Point when we meet 'em.
Theod.—Agreed: But when shall we meet 'em?
Isab.—I warrant thee, before Midnight.
Sir Edw.—Come, let us take one Turn in the Garden, and
by that Time my Dinner will be ready.
Bell.—Madam, for Heaven's sake, consider on what a
short Time my Happiness or Ruin depends.
Isab.—Have a Care; Sir Jeffery and his Lady will be jealous.
Bell.—This is a good Sign. (To himself.)
Theod.—Not a Word; we shall be suspected: At Night we will
design a Conference. (Exeunt.)

Enter Mal Spencer and Clod.

Mal Spencer.—Why so unkind, Clod? You frown, and wonnot kiss me.
Clod.—No, marry; I'll be none of thy Imp, I wott.
Mal Spen.—What dost thou mean, my Love? Pr'ythee, kiss me.
Clod.—Stand off, by'r Lady; an I lift kibbo once, Ist raddle thy
Bones. Thou art a fow Wheane, I tell o that; thou art a fow Witch.
Mal Spen.—I a Witch! a poor, innocent, young Lass, that's
wheint; I am not awd enough for that, Mon.
Clod.—An I believe mine Eyne, by th' Mass, I saw you in
Sir Yedard's Cellar last Neeght with your Haags: Thou art a rank
Witch; Uds flesh, I'll not come near thee.
Mal Spen.—Did you see me? Why, if I be a Witch, I
am the better Fortune for you; you may fare of the best, and be rich.
Clod.—Fare? marry, I'll fare none with thee; I'll not be hang'd,
nor go to the De'el, for thee; not I, by th' Mass: But I will hang thee, on I
con, by'r Lady.
Mal Spen.—Say you so, Rogue? I'll plague you for that.
(She goes out.)
Clod.—What, is whoo gone? 'Tis for no good, marry; I ha' scap'd
a fine Waif, a fow Carrion, by'r Lady: I'll hang the Whean, an there be no
more Witches in Lancashire.
'Flesh, what's 'tiss!
(Mal enters with a Bridle, and puts it on e'er he is aware.)
Mal Spen.—A (a) Horse, a Horse be thou to me,
And carry me where I shall flee.
(She gets upon him, and flies away.)

Enter Demdike, Dickenson, Hargrave, &c., with their Imps, and Madge, who
is to be the new Witch.

M. Demdike.—(b) Within this shatter'd Abby Walls,
This Pit o'er-grown with Brakes and Briers,
Is fit for our dark Works, and here
Our Master dear will soon appear,
And make thee, Mother Madge, a Witch;
Make thee be happy, long-liv'd, rich.
Thou wilt be powerful and wise,
And be reveng'd of thy Enemies!
Madge.—'Tis that I'd have; I thank you, Dame.
M. Demd.—(c) Here, take this Imp, and let him suck;
He'll do what-e'er thou bid'st him: Call
Him Puck-Hairy.
Madge.—Come hither, Puck-Hairy.

Enter an Imp in the Shape of a Black Shock, who comes to her.

M. Demd.—Where is thy Contract written in Blood?
Madge.—'Tis here.
M. Demd.—So; 'tis firm and good.
Where's my Mamillion? Come, my Rogue,
And take thy Dinner.
Dickenson.—Where's my Puggy?
Come to me and take thy Duggy.
Hargrave.—Come, my Rouncy; where art thou?

Enter Mal Spencer leading Clod in a Bridle.

Mal Spencer.—Come, Sirrah, I have switch'd you well;
I'll tie you up now to the Rack.
(She ties him up, and joyns with the other Witches.)
Well met, my Sister; where's my Pucklin?
Come away, my pretty Sucklin.
Clod.—Wauns and Flesh, what con Ay do naw? I am turn'd
into a Horse, a Capo, a meer Titt: 'Flesh! Ayst ne'er be a Mon agen! I marle I
con speak! I conno pray, I wot: a Pox o'th' De'el! Mun Ay live of Oats, and
Beans, and Hay aw my Life, instead of Beef and Pudding? Uds Flesh, I'll
neigh too. (He neighs.)
Oh! whoo has switched and spur'd me plaguily! I am raw all over me:
Whoo has ridden a waunded way about too!
M. Demd.—Ointment for flying here I have,
(d) Of Children's Fat stol'n from the Grave.
(e) The Juice of Smallage, and Night-shade,
Of Poplar Leaves, and Aconite made:
With these
The Aromatick Reed I boil,
With Water-Parsnip, and Cinquefoil,
With store of Soot; and add to that
The reeking Blood of many a Bat.
Dicken.—(f) From the Sea's slimy Ouse a Weed
I fetch'd, to open Locks at need.
(g) With Coats tuck'd up, and with my Hair
All flowing loosely in the Air,
With naked Feet I went among
(h) The poysonous Plants, there Adder's (i) Tongue,
With Aconite and Martagon:
Henbane, Hemlock, Moon-wort too,
(k) Wild Fig-Tree, that o'er Tombs does grow,
The deadly Night-shade, Cypress, Yew,
And Libbards Bane, and ven'mous Dew,
I gather'd for my Charms.
Harg.—(l) And I
Dug up a Mandrake, which did cry.
Three Circles made, and th' Wind was good,
And looking to the West I stood.
Mal Spen.—(m) The Bones of Frogs I got, and th' Blood,
With Screetch-Owl's Eggs and Feathers too.
(n) Here's a Wall-Toad and Wings of Bats,
The Eyes of Owls, the Brains of Cats.

The Devil appears in human Shape, with four Attendants.
M. Demd.—Peace, here's our Master! him salute,
And kiss the Toe of's Cloven-Foot.
(They kiss the Devil's Foot.)
Now our new Sister we present,
The Contract too; sign it with (o) Blood.
(Madge signs it with her Blood.)
Devil.—First, Heav'n you must renounce.
Madge.—I do.
Dev.—Your Baptism thus I wash out too.
The new Name Maudlin you must take,
And all your Gossips must forsake,
And I these new ones for you make.
M. Demd.—A Piece of your Garment now present.
Madge.—Here, take it, Master; I'm content.
(Gives it him.)
M. Demd.—Within this Circle I make here,
Truth to our Master you must swear.
Madge.—I do.
Dev.—You must each Month some murder'd Children pay,
Besides your Yearly Tribute at your Day.
Madge.—I will.
Dev.—Some secret Part I with my Mark must sign,
A lasting Token, that you're wholly mine.
(The Devil takes her Hands between his.)
Madge.—Oh!
M. Demd.—Now do your Homage.
Dev.—Curse Heaven! plague Mankind! go forth, and be a Witch. (The
Musick sounds in the Air.)

SONG.

CHORUS OF THREE PARTS.

Welcome, welcome: Happy be
In this blest Society.

I.

Men and Beasts are in thy Pow'r:
Thou canst save, and canst devour;
Thou canst bless, and curse the Earth;
And cause Plenty, or a Dearth.
Chor.—Welcome, &c.

II.

O'er Nature's Pow'rs thou canst prevail,
Raise Winds, bring Snow, or Rain, or Hail,
Without their Causes; and canst make
The steady Course of Nature shake.
Chor.—Welcome, &c.

III.

Thou canst mount upon the Clouds,
And skim o'er the rugged Floods:
Thou canst dive to th' Sands below,
And through the solid Earth canst go.
Chor.—Welcome, &c.

IV.

Thou'lt open Locks, or through a Chink
Shalt creep, for daintiest Meat and Drink:
Thou may'st sleep on Tops of Trees,
And lye in Flow'rs like Humble Bees.
Chor.—Welcome, &c.

V.

Revenge, Revenge, the sweetest Part
Of all, thou hast by thy Black Art.
On Heav'n thou ne'er shalt fix thy Mind;
For here 'tis Heav'n to plague Mankind.

(They dance with fantastick, unusual Postures.)

Devil.—(p) At your Command, all Nature's Course shall cease,
And all the Elements make War or Peace:
The Sky no more shall its known Laws obey;
Night shall retreat, whilst you prolong the Day.
(q) Thy Charms shall make the Moon and Stars come down,
And in thick Darkness hide the Sun at Noon.
(r) Winds thou shalt raise, and streight their Rage controll.
(s) The Orbs upon their Axis shall not roll.
Hearing thy mighty Charms, the troubled Sky
Shall crack with Thunder, Heav'n not knowing why.
(t) Without one Puff the Waves shall foam and rage;
Then, though all Winds together should engage,
The silent Sea shall not the Tempest feel.
(u) Vallies shall roar, and trembling Mountains reel.
(x) At thy Command Woods from their Seats shall rove;
Stones from their Quarries, and fix'd Oaks remove.
(y) Vast standing Lakes shall flow, and at thy Will,
The most impetuous Torrents shall stand still:
Swift Rivers shall (while wond'ring Banks admire)
Back to their Springs with violent Haste retire.
(z) Thy Charms shall blast full Fruits, and ripen'd Ears:
(a) Ease anxious Minds, and then afflict with Cares:
(b) Give Love where Nature cannot, by thy Skill;
And any living Creature save, or kill:
(c) Raise Ghosts, transform your selves, or what you will.

Enter Tom Shacklehead, with a Gun on his Shoulder.

Demd.—Who's here! who's here!
Tom Shacklehead.—Waunds, what's here! The Witches, by'r Lady:
I'll shoot amongst 'em. Have at ye.
(They all vanish, and Clod neighs.)
What a Devil's here! Clod tied by a Bridle, and neighing!
What a Pox all'st thou? const a tell?
(Tom Shacklehead takes off the Bridle.)
Clod.—Uds Flesh, I am a Mon agen naw! Why, I was a Horse, a
meer Tit; I had lost aw my Speech, and could do nought but neigh; Flesh,
I am a mon agen.
Tom Shac.—What a dickens, is the Fellow wood!
Clod.—Ise ta the Bridle with me; fly from the De'el, and
the Witches, and I'll tell you aw at the Ale-house.
Tom Shac.—What a murrain ails the Hobbel? I mun follow,
and see what's the matter. (Exeunt.)

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Enter Sir Edward Hartfort, Sir Jeffery Shacklehead, Lady Shacklehead, Sir Timot
hy, and Isabella.

Sir Jeffery.—I am sorry I am forced to complain of my Cousin.
Lady Shacklehead.—Sorry? marry, so am not I. I am sorry she is so
pert and ill bred. Truly, Sir Edward, 'tis unsufferable for my Son, who is a Ma
n of Quality and Title, born of such a Family, and so educated, to be so
abused; to have Stones thrown at him, like a Dog.
Sir Jeff.—We must e'en break off the Match, Sir Edward.
Sir Edward.—Sir, I am ashamed of it; I blush and grieve to hear i
t———Daughter, I never thought to see this Day!
Isabel.—Sir, I am so amazed, I know not what to say: I abuse my
Cousin! Sure, he is bewitched.
Sir Timothy.—I think I am, to love you after it. I am sure my
Arm's black and blue, that it is.
Isab.—He jested with me, as I thought, and would have ruffled me,
and kissed me; and I run from him, and, in foolish Play, I quoited a little
Stone or two at him.
Sir Tim.—And why did you call me filthy Face, and ugly Fellow? ha
h, Gentlewoman!
L. Shac.—He ugly! nay, then I have no Eyes: Though I say't, that
should not say't, I have not seen his Fellow—
Isab.—Nor I neither: 'Twas a Jest, a Jest; he told me, he was
handsomer for a Man, than I for a Woman.
Sir Jeff.—Why, look you there, you Blockhead, you Clown, you
Puppy! why do you trouble us with this impertinent Lye?
L. Shac.—Good Words, Sir Jeffery; 'twas not so much amiss;
hah! I'll tell you that.
Sir Edw.—Sure this is some Mistake; you told me, you were
willing to marry.
Isab.—I did not think I should be put to acknowledge it
before this Company: But, Heaven knows, I am not more willing to
live; the Time is now so short, I may confess it.
Sir Edw.—You would not use him, you intend to marry, ill!
Isab.—Love him I am to marry more than Light or
Liberty! I have thus long dissembled it, through Modesty;
but, now I am provoked, I beseech you, Sir, think not
that I'd dishonour you so.
Sir Edw.—Look you, you have made her
weep: I never found her false, or disobedient.
Sir Tim.—Nay, good, dear Cousin,
don't cry; you'll make me cry too; I can't
forbear. I ask your Pardon with all my
Heart; I vow, I do; I was to blame, I must confess.
L. Shac.—Go to, Sir
Timothy; I never could believe one of your Parts would play the Fool so.
Sir Edw.—And you will marry to Morrow?
Isab.—I never
wish'd for any thing so much; you make me blush to say this.
L.
Shac.—Sweet Cousin, forgive me, and Sir Jeffery, and Sir Timothy.


Isab.—Can I be angry at any thing, when I am to be married to Morrow?&
#151;——And, I am sure, I will be, to him I love more than I hate
this Fool. (Aside.)
Sir Jeff.—I could find in my Heart to break your Head, Sir
Timothy; you are a Puppy.
Sir Edw.—Come, let's leave 'em together, to understand one anothe
r better.

Sir Jeff.—Cousin, (Daughter, I should say) I beg your Pardon:
Your Servant.
L. Shac.—Servant, sweet Daughter.
(Exeunt Sir Edward, Sir Jeffery, and Lady.)
Sir Tim.—Dear Cousin, be in good Humour; I could wish my self wel
l beaten for mistaking one that loves me so. I would I might ne'er stir, if I
did not think you had been in earnest———Well, but I vow and
swear, I am mightily beholden to you, that you think me so fine a Person,
and love me so dearly———O, how happy am I, that I shall
have thee to Morrow in these Arms!———By these ten
Bones, I love you more than all the Ladies in London, put them
together———Pr'ythee, speak to
me———O! that Smile kills
me!———Oh! I will hug
thee, and kiss thee, and never
cease to love thee. How I wish the ceremony were already over and we two were o
ne! Let us hope that our marriage will be crowned with happiness and children!
Isab.—Do yo so, Puppy?
(She gives him a Box on the Ear, and pulls him by the Ears.)
Sir Tim.—Help! Help! Murder! Murder!
Isab.—Help! Help! Murder! Murder!
Sir Tim.—What a Devil's to do now? hah! she counterfeits a
Swoon.

Enter Theodosia at one Door, and Sir Jeffery and Lady Shacklehead at the
other.

Theodosia.—How now, my Dear! what's the matter?
Sir Jeff.—What's the Matter?
Sir Tim.—I feel the Matter; she gave me a Cuff, and lugg'd me by
the Ears; and, I think, she is in a Swoon.
Isab.—O the Witch! the Witch came just now into the Room, and
struck Sir Timothy, and lugg'd him, and beat me down.
Sir Tim.—Oh Lord, a Witch! Ay, 'twas a two-legg'd Witch.
Isab.—And, as soon as she had done, she run out at that Door.
Theod.—'Tis very true; I met her and was frighted, and left her
muttering in the next Room.
Sir Tim.—Oh Impudence!
Sir Jeff.—You Puppy, you Coxcomb! will you never leave these Lyes
? Is the Fellow bewitched?
(He Cudgels Sir Tim.)
Lady Shacklehead.—Go, Fool; I am asham'd of you.
Sir Jeff.—Let's see if we can take this Witch.
L. Shac.—Quickly, before she flies away.
(Exeunt Sir Jeff. and Lady.)
Sir Tim.—Well, I have done; I'll ne'er tell Tale more.
Isab.—Be gone, Fool; go.
Sir Tim.—Well, I will endure this; but I am resolved to marry
her to Morrow, and be revenged on her; if she serves me so then, I will cut off
her allowance, 'faith I will.
(Exeunt Sir Tim.)
Isab.—Well, I'll be gone, and get out of the way of 'em.
Theod.—Come on.

Enter Young Hartfort, Drunk.

Young Hartfort.—Madam! Cousin, hold a little; I desire a Word
with you.
Theod.—I must stay.
Isab.—Adieu then.
Y. Hart.—I am drunken well neegh, and now I am not so, hala,
(since we must marry to Morrow.) I pray you now, let us be a little better acqu
ainted to Neeght; I'll make bold to salute you in a civil way.
Theod.—The Fool's Drunk.
Y. Hart.—By the Mass, she kisses rarely; uds lud, she has a
Breath as sweet as a Cow. I have been a Hawking, and have brought you
home a power of Powts in my Bag here; we have had the rarest Sport;
we had been at it still, but that 'tis Neeght.
Theod.—You have been at some other Sport, I see.
Y. Hart.—What, because I am merry? Nay, an I list, I
can be as merry as the best on 'em all.

An onny Mon smait my Sweet-Heart,
Ayst smait him agen, an I con;
Flesh! what care I for a broken Yead;
For onest a Mon's a Mon.

Theod.—I see you can be merry indeed.
Y. Hart.—Ay, that I can; Fa, la, la, fa, la. (He
sings Roger a Coverly.)———I was at it, helter
skelter, in excellent Ale, with Londoners that went a
Hawking, brave Roysters, honest Fellows, that did not believe the Plot.
Theod.—Why? don't you believe the Plot?
Y. Hart.—No, the Chaplain has told me
all; there's no Popish Plot, but there's a
Presbyterian one: he says, none but Fanaticks believe it.
Theod.—An excellent
Chaplain, to make love to his
Patron's Daughter, and
corrupt the Son!

(Aside.)—Why, all the eminent Men of our Church believe it; this Fellow is
none of the Church, but crept into it for a Livelihood, and as soon as they
find him, they'll turn him out of it.
Y. Hart.—Nay, Cousin, I should not have told it; he charged me to
say nothing of it; but you and I are all one, you are to be Bone of my Bone
to Morrow: And I will salute you once more upon that, d'ye see.
Theod.—Hold, hold! not so fast; 'tis not come to that yet.
Y. Hart.—'Twill come to that, and more, to Morrow, fa, la, la; bu
t I'll out at four a Hawking though for all that; d'ye understand me?

Enter Doubty

Theod.—Here's Doubty! I must get rid of this
Fool.———Cousin, I hear your Father coming;
if he sees you in this Condition, he'll be very angry.
Y. Hart.—Thank you kindly, no more to be
said; I'll go and sleep a little———I
see she loves me, fa, la, la, la.
(Exeunt Young Hartfort.)
Doubty.—Dear Madam, this is a happy
Minute thrown upon me unexpectedly, and I must
use it: To Morrow is the fatal Day to ruin me.
Theod.—It shall not ruin me; the Inquisition should not force me
to a Marriage with this Fool.
Doubt.—This is a Step to my Comfort; but when your Father shall
to Morrow hear your Refusal, you know not what his Passion may produce;
restraint of Liberty is the least.
Theod.—He shall not restrain my Liberty of Choice.
Doubt.—Put your self into those Hands that may defend you from hi
s Power: The Hands of him, who loves you more than the most Pious value
Heaven, than Misers Gold, than Clergy-Men love Power, than Lawyers
Strife, than Jesuits Blood and Treachery.
Theod.—If I could find such a Man.
Doubt.—Then look no farther, Madam; I am he: speak
but one Word, and make me the happiest Man on Earth.
Theod.—It comes a little too quick upon me; are
you sure you are the Man you speak of?
Doubt.—By Heaven, and by your self, I am; or
may I be the Scorn of all Mankind, and the most miserable too, without you.
Theod.—Then you shall be the Man.
Doubt.—Heaven! on my Knees I must receive this Blessing; there's
not another I would ask: my Joy's too big for me.
Theod.—No Raptures, for Heaven's sake; here comes my Mother;
adieu. (Exit.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead.

Doubt.—I must compose my self.
Lady Shacklehead.—Sir, your most humble Servant.
Doubt.—Your Ladyship's most humble Servant.
L. Shac.—It is not fit I should lose this Opportunity, to
tell you that, (which perhaps may not be unacceptable to a Person of
your Complexion, who is so much a Gentleman, that I'll swear) I have not seen y
our Equal.
Doubt.—Dear Madam, you confound me with your Praises.
L. Shac.—I vow 'tis true; indeed, I have struggled with my self,
before I thought fit to reveal this: But the Consideration of your great
Accomplishments, does indeed, as it were, ravish, or extort it from me,
as I may so say.
Doubt.—I beseech you, Madam.
L. Shac.—There is a Friend of mine, a Lady (whom the
World has acknowledged to be well-bred, and of Parts too, that I
must say, and almost confess, not in the Bud indeed, but in the
Flower of her Age), whom Time has not yet invaded with his
injuries; in fine, Envy cannot say that she is less than a full ripe Beauty.
Doubt.—That this Creature should bring forth such a Daughter!
L. Shac.—Fair of Complexion, tall, strait, and shaped much above the
Ordinary: in short, this Lady (whom many have languished and sigh'd in vain
for) does of her self, so much admire your Person, and your Parts, that she ext
remely desires to contract a Friendship with you, entire to all Intents and
Purposes.
Doubt.—'Tis impossible she should be in earnest, Madam; but
were she, I cannot marry ever.
L. Shac.—Why, she is marry'd already———Lord, how d
ull he is!———she is the best Friend I have, marry'd to an old
Man, far above her sprightly Years.
Doubt.—What a Mother-in-Law am I like to have!
(Aside.)
L. Shac.—Can you not guess who this is all this while?
Doubt.—Too well. (To himself.)
Not I truly, Madam. (To her.)
L. Shac.—Ha, ha, ha. No! That's strange; ha, ha, ha.
Doubt.—I cannot possibly.
L. Shac.—Ha, ha, ha. I'll swear! ha, ha, ha.
Doubt.—No, I'll swear.
L. Shac.—'Tis very much; you are an ill Guesser, I'll vow; ha,
ha, ha. Oh Lord! Not yet?
Doubt.—Not yet, nor ever can.
L. Shac.—Here's Company; retire. (Exeunt.)

Enter Smerk and Tegue O Divelly.

Smerk.—I am all on fire; what is it that inspires me? I
thought her ugly once, but this Morning I thought her ugly. And thus
to burn in Love already! Sure I was blind, she is a Beauty greater
than my Fancy e'er could form; a Minute's Absence is Death to me.
Priest.—Phaat, Joy, dou art in Meditaation and
Consideraation upon something? if it be a Scruple upon dy
Conscience, I believe I vill maake it out unto dee.
Smerk.—No, Sir, I am only ruminating a
while; I am inflamed with her Affection. O Susan! Susan! Ah me! Ah me!
Priest.—Phaat, dost dou not mind me?
nor put dy Thought upon me? I do desire to know of dy Faather's Child, what he
does differ from de Caatholick Church in? by my fait, it is a braave Church,
and a gaallant Church (de Devil taake me) I vill tell you now, phaare is
dere such a one? Vill you speak unto me now, Joy? hoh!
Smerk.—'Tis a fine Church, a Church of Splendour, and
Riches, and Power; but there are some Things in it———
Priest.—Shome Things! Phaat dosht dou taalk of shome
Things? By my Shoule, I vill not see a better Church in a
Shommer's Day, indeed, dan de Caatholick Church. I tell
you, dere is braave Dignities, and Promotions too; vat
vill I shay unto you? by St. Patrick, but I do believe I vil be a Cardinal befo
re I vill have Death. Dey have had not one Eerish Cardinal a great while
indeed.
Smerk.—What Power is this that urges me so! Oh, Love! Love!
Priest.—Phaat dosht dou shay? dosht dou love Promotions and
Dignities? den I predee now be a Caatholick. What vill I say unto
you more? but I vill tell you, you do shay, dat de Caatholicks
may be shaved; de Caatholicks do shay, dat you vill be after
being damn'd; and phaare is de Solidity now of dat, daat dou vill not turn a go
od Caatholick?
Smerk.—I connot believe there is a Purgatory.
Priest.—No! Phy, I vill tell you what I vill shay unto you, I
have seen many Shoules of Purgatory dat did appear unto me: And by my trot, I d
o know a Shoule when I do shee it: and de Shoules did speak unto me, and did
deshire of me dat I vould pray dem out of that plaashe. And dere Parents,
and Friends, did give me shome Money, and I did pray 'em out. Without
Money indeed, we cannot pray dem out; no, fait.
Smerk.—That may not be so hard; but for
Transubstantiation, I can never believe it.
Priest.—Phaat, dosht not beleeve de
Cooncel of Trent, Joy? dou vilt be damn'd indeed; and de Devil take me, if dou
dosht not believe it. I vill tell you phaat vill I say to you; a Cooncel is
infallible; and I tell you, de Cardinals are infallible too, upon Occasion, and
dey are damn'd Hereticks Dogs, by my Shoulvaation, dat do not believe every
oord dey vill speak indeed.
Smerk.—I feel a Flame within me; oh Love, Love! Whither wilt
thou carry me?
Priest.—Art thou in love, Joy? By my Shoule, dou dosht
commit Fornicaation; I vill tell you it is a venial Sin, and I vill
after be absolving you for it: But if dou dosht commit Marriage, it is mortal,
and dou vilt be damn'd and be, fait and trot. I predee now, vill dou
fornicate, and not marry: For my Shaake now, vilt dou fornicate?
Smerk.—Sure I am bewitch'd.
Priest.—Bewitch'd in Love; Aboo! boo! I'll tell you
now, you must taak de Womand's Shoe dat dou dosht Love sho, and
dou must maak a Jaakes of it, dat is to shay, dou must lay a
Sirreverence and be in it, and it will maak Cure upon dee.
Smerk.—Oh! The Witch! The Witch! Mal Spencer!
I am struck in my Bowels, take her away, there, oh! I have
a thousand Needles in me, take her away, Mal Spencer?
Priest.—Phaare is she, Mal Spencer?
Exorcizo te, Conjuro te in nomine, &c. (He mutters and crosses himself.)
Smerk.—Oh, I have a Million of Needles pricking my Bowels.
Priest.—I vill set up a Hubbub for dee, help! help! Who is dere?
Help, aboo, boo, boo!

Enter Sir Jeffery, and Lady, and Susan.


Smerk.—Oh Needles! Needles! Take away Mal Spencer, take her
away.
Sir Jeffery.—He is bewitch'd; some Witch has gotten his
Image, and is tormenting it.
Priest.—Hold him, and I vill taak some Course vid him;
he is possess'd, or obess'd; I vill touch him vid some Relicks.
Susan.—Oh, good Sir, help him; what shall I do for him?
Lady Shacklehead.—Get some Lead melted (and holding
over his Body) pour it into a Porringer full of Water, and if
there appear any Image upon the Lead, then he is bewitch'd.
Priest.—Peash; I shay, here is shome of St.
Paatrick's own Whisker, and shome of de Snuff he did use
to taak, dat did hang upon his Beard; here is a Tooth of St. Winifred, indeed,
here is a Corn from de Toe of St. Ignatius, and here is de paring of his Nails
too. (He rubs him with these Relicks.)
Smerk.—O worse, worse! take her away.
Priest.—By my Shoul, it is a very strong Devil; I vill try shome
more; here is St. Caaterine de Virgin's Wedding-Ring, here is one of St.
Bridget's Nipples of her Tuggs; by my Shoul, here is shome of de Sweat
of St. Francis, and here is a Piece of St. Lawrence's Grid-Iron; dese
vill make Cure upon any Shickness, if it be not one's lasht Shickness.
Susan.—What will become of me? I have poison'd him, I
shall lose my Lover, and be hang'd into the Bargain.
Smerk.—Oh! I die, I die! oh, oh!
Priest.—By my Shoul, it is a very strong Devil, a
very aable Devil; I vill run and fetch shome Holy-Vater. (Ex. Priest.)
Susan.—Look up, dear Sir, speak to me; ah woe is
me, Mr. Smerk, Mr. Smerk!
Sir Jeff.—This Irishman is a gallant Man about
Witches, he out-does me.
L. Shac.—But I do not know what to think of
his Popish Way, his Words, his Charms, and Holy-Water,
and Relicks; methinks he is guilty of Witchcraft too,
and you should send him to Goal for it.
Smerk.—Oh! oh!

Enter Priest with a Bottle of Holy-Water.

Priest.—Now I varrant you Joy, I vill
do de Devil's Business for him, now I have dis
Holy-vater. (The Bottle flies out of his
Hand.) Phaat is de Matter now? phare is
dis Devil, dat does taak my Holy-Vater
from me? He is afraid of it; I shee my Bottle, but I do not shee de Devil does
taak it. I vill catch it from him. (The Bottle, as he reaches at it, flys from
him.)
Sir Jeff.—This is wonderful!
L. Shac.—Most amazing!
Priest.—Conjuro te malum doemonem, Conjuro te pessimum
spiritum; redde mihi meum (dic Latine) Bottle: phaat vill I do? It
is gone. (It flys quite away.)
L. Shac.—'Tis strange! You see, he does not fear Holy-Water.
Priest.—I vill tell you phaat is de Matter, by my Shoul, he vill
touch de Bottle, because daat is not consecrate; but, by my Fait, he will
not meddle vid de Vater. I will fetch shome I have in a Baashon.
(He runs out and fetches a Bason of Water.
Susan.—He lyes as if he were asleep.
Smerk.—Oh! I beg to have some Ease.
Priest.—I did never meet vid a Devil dat did cosht so much
Labour before. (He throws Water in Smerk's Face.) Exorciso te
Dœmonum, fuge, fuge; Exorciso te, per Melchisedeck, per
Bethlehem Gabor, per omne quod exit in um, seu Grœcum sive Latinum.
Smerk.—I am much better now, and the Witch is gone.
Susan.—Good Sir, retire to your Chamber; I will fetch some
Cordials.
Smerk.—Sweet beautiful Creature, how am I enamour'd with
thee! Thy Beauty dazzles like the Sun in his Meridian.
Sir Jeff.—Beauty! enamoured! Why he seems distracted
still; lead him to his Chamber, and let him rest.
Priest.—Now, Joy, dosht dou shee? I have maade a
Miracle, by my Shoul. Phen vill I shee one of your Church
maake a Miracle, hoh? by my Shoulvaation, dey cannot
maake Miracles out of de Caatholick Church, I tell you now, hoh.

Mother Demdike enters invisible to them, and boxes the Priest.

Phaat is de Matter now? ah, by my Shoul, shomething
does cuff upon my Faash, an bee. Exorciso te in
Nomine, Nomine; by my Shoul, Saatan, I vill
pelt dee vid Holy-Vater indeed; he is angry dat I did maake a Miracle.
(Mother Demdike gets behind him, and kicks and beats him.)
L. Shac.—What is this? I hear the Blows, and see nothing.
Sir Jeff.—So do I; I am frighted and amazed, let's fly.
(Exit Sir Jeff. and La.)
Priest.—Oh, oh, vat is dis for, Joy? oh, all my Holy-Vater is
gone, I must fly.
(He mutters and crosses himself, and the Witch beats him out.)

Enter Bellfort and Isabella.

Bellfort.—All this Day have I watched for this Opportunity,
let me improve it now. Consider, Madam, my extream Love to you, and your
own Hatred to that Fool, for whom you are designed to-morrow.

Isabella.—My Consent is to be had first.
Bell.—Your Father's Resentment of your Refusal may put you out of
all Possibility of making me happy, or providing for your own Content.
Isab.—To marry one against his Consent is a Crime he'll ne'er
forgive.
Bell.—Though his Engagement to Sir Jeffery would make him
refuse his Consent before-hand, he is too reasonable a Man to be
truobled afterwards, at your marrying to a better Estate, and to one that loves
you more than he can tell you: I have not Words for it.
Isab.—Though I must confess you may deserve much better, would
you not imagine I were very forward to receive you upon so short an
Acquaintance?
Bell.—'Would I had a Casement in my Breast. Make me
not, my your Delay, the miserablest Wretch on Earth: (which I
shall ever be without you.) Think quickly, Madam; you have
not Time to consider long. I lay my self at your Feet, to
be for ever made happy or miserable by you.
Isab.—How shall I be sure you'll not
deceive me? These hasty Vows, like angry Words, seldom shew the Heart.
Bell.—By all the Powers of Heaven and Earth.
Isab.—Hold, swear not; I had better
take a Man of Honour at his Word.
Bell.—And may Heaven throw its
Curses on me when I break it. My Chaplain's
in the House, and passes for my Valet de
Chambre. Will you for ever make me happy, Madam?
Isab.—I'll trust your
Honour, and I'll make my self so; I throw my self upon you, use me nobly: now '
tis out.
Bell.—Use ye, as I would use my Soul. My Honour, my Heart, my
Life, my Liberty, and all I have is yours. There's not a Man in all the
World, that I can envy now, or wish to be.
Isab.—Take Care; we shall be spyed: The short Time I have to reso
lve in, will, I hope, make you have a better Opinion of my Modesty, than
otherwise you would have Occasion for.
Bell.—Dearest, sweetest of Creatures! my Joy distracts me, I cann
ot speak to you.
Isab.—For Heaven's Sake, leave me; if you raise a Jealousie in
the House, I am ruin'd. We'll meet soon.
Bell.—Adieu, my Life! my Soul! I am all Obedience.
(Exit Bellfort.)

Enter Theodosia.

Isab.—Oh my Dear, I am happy, all's out that pained me so; my
Lover knows I love him.
Theodosia.—I have confessed to my ghostly Father too, and my
Conscience is at Ease.
Isab.—Mine received the News with more Joy, than he could
put in Words.

Enter Sir Jeffery, Lady, and Sir Timothy.

Theod.—And mine in Rapture; I am the happiest Woman living.
Isab.—I'll not yield to you at all in that.
Theod.—There's no Cause I would not submit to you in, but this,
my Dear.
Isab.—I will hold out in this Cause while I have Breath; I am
happier in my Choice than all the World can make me.
Theod.—Mine is the handsomest, wittiest, most accomplisht
Gentleman———
Isab.—Mine is the beautifullest, sweetest, well-shap'd,
well-bred, wittiest Gentleman———
Sir Timothy.—That must be I, whom she means, for all my Quarrels
with her.
L. Shac.—Peace; we shall hear more.
Theod.—Little think our Fathers how happy we shall be tomorrow.
Sir Jeffery.—What's that? Listen.
Isab.—If no unlucky Accident should hinder us, we shall be far
happier than they can imagine.
Theod.—How we have cheated them all this while!
Isab.—'Slife! they are behind us; stir
not.———We have hidden our Love from them all this while.
L. Shac.—Have you so? but we shall find it now.
(Aside.)
Isab.—Your Brother little thinks I love him so; for I have been
cross and coy to him on Purpose. I shall be the happiest Woman in him I am to h
ave, that ever was.
Theod.—I could wish your Brother lov'd me, as well as mine does
you. For never Woman loved the Man she was to marry, as I do him I am to have t
o-morrow.
Sir Jeff.—That's my best Daughter! thou wert ever a good Child;
nay, blush not, all is out; we heard ye both.
Sir Tim.—Ay, all is out, my pretty dear Dissembler; well, I
protest and vow, I am mightily obliged to you for your great Love to me,
and good Opinion of me.
L. Shac.—I hope to-morrow will be a happy Day for both our Famili
es.

Enter Sir Edward, Bellfort and Doubty, and Musicians.

Oh, Sir Edward, is not that strange I told you? I should not have
believed it, if I had not seen it.
Sir Edward.—And pray give me the same Liberty: But now
we'll have some Musick, that's good against Inchantment. Sing me the Song I com
manded you, and then we'll have a Dance before we go to Bed.

SONG.

Enter Priest.

Priest.—Hoh, 'tis a pretty Shong! but I vill shing a brave
Cronan now, dat is better, I tell you. (He sings.)
Sir Edw.—'Tis very fine; but sing me one Song more in
three Parts, to sweeten our Ears, for all that. (They gape and
strain, but cannot sing, but make an ugly Noise.) Why, what's
the Matter? you gape and make Faces, and do not sing; what's
the Matter? are you mad?
Priest.—Do you play, play, play, I shay. Oh,
they are bewitch'd, I vill shay no more.
Sir Edw.—Play, I say.
Musicians.—I can't; my Arms are on the
sudden stiff as Marble, I cannot move them.
(They hold up their Bows, but cannot play.)
(Exit Priest.)
Sir Edw.—Sure this is Roguery, and Confederacy.
(The Priest comes in with Holy-Water, and flings it upon them so
long till they run out roaring.)

Priest.—Conjuro te, conjuro in nomine, &c.
Sir Edw.—Hold, hold! pry'thee don't duck us all, we are not all b
ewitch'd.
Priest.—I tell you, it ish good for you, an bee, and vill defend
you upon Occasion.
Sir Jeff.—Now you see, Sir, with your own Eyes. Cannot you give
us a Receipt to make Holy-Water?
Priest.—A Resheit? aboo, boo, boo; by my Shoul, he ish a Fool.
I have maade two Hogsheads, gra, and I vill have you vash all de Rooms vid
it, and de Devil vill not come upon de Plaash, by my Shoulvaation.
Bell.—'Tis a little odd; but however I shall not fly from my Beli
ef, that every thing is done by Natural Causes, because I cannot presently
assign those Causes.
Sir Edw.—You are in the right; we know not the powers of Matter.
Doubty.—When any thing unwonted happens, and we see not the
Cause, we call it Unnatural and Miraculous.
Priest.—By my Shoul, you do talke like Heretick-Dogs, and
Aatheists.
Sir Edw.—Let us enquire farther about these Musicians.
Priest.—I vill maake shome Miracles, and I think I vill
be after reconcileing dem indeed—Oh dou damn'd Vitch. (Exit all
but Priest.) Now I doe shee dee, I vill beat upon dee vid my Beads
and Crucifix;
(Mother Dick. rises up, and boxes him; he strikes her with Beads,
and she him with her Staff, and beats him out.)
Oh, oh! shee is a damn'd Protestant Heretick Vitch, daat is de Reason she will
not fly; oh, oh, oh! (Exit Priest.)

Enter Tom Shacklehead, and Clod, in the Field.

Tom Shacklehead.—By'r Lady, 'tis meety strong Ale, Ay am well
neegh drunken, and my Nephew will be stark wood; his Hawks want their
Pidgeons aw this neeght.
Clod.—Why, what wouden yeow bee an Angee? Flesh, Ay, ha getten de
Bridle, by'r Lady, Ayst ma some-body carry mee, and be my Titt too.
Tom Shac.—Thou'rt a strange Fillee! (Horse, I should say;) why
didst thou think thou wast a Titt, when th' Bridle was on thee?
Clod.—Ay marry, I know weel, I am sure, I wot I was a Titt, a
meer Titt.
Tom Shac.—Listen, there's a noise of a Woman in the Air; it
comes towards us.
Clod.—Ay by th' Mass, 'tis Witches.
Witches above.—Here this way; no, that way; make hast,
follow the dame, we shall be too late; 'tis time enough; away, away, away.
Tom Shac.—Waunds and Flesh, it is a flock of Witches; by'r Lady,
they come reeght o're Head, I'st let fly at 'em; hah, by th' Mass I ha
maimed one, here's one has a Wing brocken at least.
(He shoots, M. Spencer shrieks, and falls down.)
Clod.—M. Spencer, by th' Mass.
M. Spen.—O Rogues! I'll be revenged on you, Dogs,
Villains, you have broken my Arm.
Clod.—I was made a Horse, a Titt by thee, by th'
Mass, I'st be revenged o'thee. (He puts the Bridle upon her.)
A Horse, a Horse be thou to me,
And carry me where-e'er I flee.
(He flies away upon her.)
Tom Shac.—O'ds Flesh, what's this! I cannot
believe my Senses; I mun walk home alone, but I'll charge my piece again, by'r
Lady; an the Haggs come agen, I'st have t'other Shoot at 'em. (Exit Tom
Shacklehead.)

The Scene returns to Sir Edward's House.

Enter Bellfort and Doubty.

Bellfort.—My Dear Friend, I am so transported with excess of Joy,
it is become a Pain, I cannot bear it.
Doubt.—Dear Bellfort! I am in the same Case; but (if the Hope
transport us so) what will fulfillment do?
Bell.—My Blood is chill, and shivers when I think on't.
Doubt.—One warm caress of my Mistress would out weigh an Age
of Slavery to come.
Bell.—Rather than be deprived of the happiness I expect, I
would go out and hang myself; I am Impatient 'till they appear.
Doubt.—They are Women of Honour, and will keep their
Words; your Parson's ready, and three or four of our Servants for Witnesses.
Bell.—He is so; 'twill be dispatch'd in half a quarter of an Hour;
all are retired to Bed.

Enter Lady Shacklehead.

Doubt.—Go in; yonder's my Lady Mother-in-Law coming, I must
contrive a way to secure her: in, in.
Bell.—I go.
Doubt.—Death, that this old Fellow should be asleep
already! she comes now to discover what I know too well already.
Lady Shacklehead.—He is there, I'll swear; a
punctual Gentleman, and a Person of much Honour.—Sir, I am come according
to your Appointment; Sir Jeffery is fast.
Doubt.—'Tis before I expected, Madam; I thought to have left
Bellfort asleep, who is a jealous Man, and believes there is an Intrigue
betwixt your Ladyship and me.
L. Shac.—I vow: Hah, ha, ha, ha. Me! no, no; ha, ha, ha.
Doubt.—Retire for a short time, and when I have secured
him, I'll wait on you; but let it be i'th' dark.
L. Shac.—You speak like a discreet and worthy Person;
remember this Room, there's no body lies in it; I will stay there
in the dark for you. (Exit Lady.)
Doubt.—Your most humble Servant. Well, I will go to the Ladies Ch
amber, as if I mistook it for mine, and let them know this is the time.

Enter Tegue O Divelly.

Priest.—Dere is shometimes de pretty Wenches do walke here in de
dark at Night, and by my Shoulvaation if I doe catch one, I vill be after
enjoying her Body: And fait and trot, I have a great need too; it is a
venial Sin, and I do not care.
Doubt.—Death, who is here? stay, Ladies; here's the
damn'd Priest in the way.

Enter Doubty with a Candle.

Isab.—Go you, we'll follow by and by in the dark.
(The Ladies retire, Doubty goes to his Chamber.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead.

Lady Shacklehead.—I hear one trampling, he is come already; sure
Bellfort is asleep; who is there?
Priest.—By my Shoul, it is a Woman's
Speech,———'Tis I; where are you? by my fait, I vill maake as if
I vas in love with her.
L. Shac.—Mr. Doubty.
Priest.—Ay, let me put a sweet kish upon dy Hand, Joy, and now I
vill Shalute by Mout, and I vill Embraash dy Body too indeed.
L. Shac.—'Slife, I am mistaken! this is the Irish Priest; his
Understanding is sure to betray him.
Priest.—I predee now, Joy, be not nishe; I vill maake shome
good sport vid dee indeed.
(Lady pulls her Hand away and flies.)
Hoo now, phaare is dy Hand now? oh,

Enter Mother Dickenson, and puts her Hand into the Priest's. Here it is,
by my Shoul. I vill use dee braavely upon Occasion, I vill tell you,
pridee kish me upon my Faash now; it is a braave kish indeed. (The
Witch kisses him.) By my Shoul dou art very handsome, I do know
it, dough I cannot shee dee. I predee now come vid me, aboo,
aboo; by my shoul, dis is a Gaallant occasion; come, Joy.
(Exit Priest and Witch.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead.

Lady Shacklehead.—What's the meaning of this? He talked to some
Woman, and kissed her too, and is retired into the Chamber I was in.

Enter Isabella and Theodosia.

Isabella.—Every thing is quiet, I hear no noise.
Theodosia.—Nor I; this is the happy time.
L. Shac.—This must be he;———who's there?
Theod.—'Slife! This is my Mother's Voice; retire softly.
Isab.—Oh, Misfortune! What makes her here! we are undone, if
she discovers us.
L. Shac.—Who's there, I say? will you not answer? what can
this mean? 'tis not a Wench, I hope, for Doubty, and then I care not.
(Isabella and Theodosia retire.)

Enter Priest and Witch.

I am impatient 'till he comes; ha, whom have we here? I am sure
this is not he, he does not come that way.
Priest.—By my shoul, Joy, dou seem to me to be a
Gallant peece of Flesh; phoo art dou?
Mother Dickenson.—One that loves you dearly.
Priest.—Phaat vill I doe to shee dy Fash, I
wonder? Oh, here's a Light approaching unto us.
L. Shac.—Who's this with a light? I must fly.
(Exit Lady Shacklehead.)

Enter Susan with a Candle.

Priest.—Now I vill shee dy fash.
Susan.—O Sir, are you there? I am going to Mr. Smerk with this
Caudle, poor Man.
Priest.—O phaat have I done? Oh! de Vitch! de Vitch!
Susan.—Oh! the Witch! the Witch!
(The Witch sinks; she lets fall the Caudle and Candle, and runs
away shrieking.)
Priest.—By my Shoul. I have been here holding a love
Communication vid a Succububs; Oh! phaat vill I do! phaat vill I
do! by my fait and trot, I did thought she had been a braave and gaallant Lady,
an be, oh! oh! oh! (Ex. Priest.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead

Lady Shacklehead.—What Shriek was that? hah! here's nobody; sure
all's clear now!

Enter Isabella and Theodosia.

Isabella.—I heard a Shriek; this is the time to venture; they
are frighted out of the Gallery, and all's clear now.
Theodosia.—Let's venture; we shall have People stirring very
early this Morning to prepare for the Wedding else.
(Isabella and Theodosia creep softly into Bellfort's and
Doubty's Chamber.)
L. Shac.—Ha! who's that? I am terribly afraid:
Heaven! what's this! the Chamber-door open'd, and I saw a
Woman or two go in; I am enrag'd, I'll disturb 'em.
(Isabella, Theodosia, Bellfort, Doubty
disguis'd, Parson and Servants in the Chamber.)
Isab.—You see we are Women of our
Words, and Women of Courage, too that dare
venture upon this dreadful Business.
Bell.—Welcome, more welcome
than all the Treasures of the Sea and Land!
Doubt.—More welcome than a Thousand Angels!
Theod.—Death! we are Undone! one knocks.
(Lady Shacklehead knocks)
Bell.—Curse on 'em; keep the Door fast.
L. Shac.—Gentlemen, open the Door, for Heaven's sake, quickly.
Isab.—Open it, we are ruin'd else; we'll into the Bed, you know
what you have to do (They cover themselves.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead.

Lady Shacklehead.—Gentlemen, the House is alarm'd with
Witches, and I saw two come to this Chamber; and come to give you Notice.
Bell.—Here are none but whom you see.
Doubt.—They come invisibly, then; for we had our Eyes on the
Door.
L. Shac.—Are they not about the Bed somewhere? Let's search.
Bell.—There are no Witches there, I can assure you.
L. Shac.—Look a little; I warrant you.
(Sir Jeffery knocks without.)
Sir Jeff.—Open the Door quickly, quickly! the Witches are there.
L. Shac.—Oh! my Husband! I am ruin'd if he sees me here.
Doubt.—Put out the Candles; lye down before the Door.
(He enters, and stumbles upon the Servant.)
Sir Jeff.—Oh! Oh! I have broken my Knees: this is the Witches
doing: I have lost my Wife, too: lights, lights there!
L. Shac.—I'll not stay here. (She creeps out softly.)
Isab.—Here's no staying for us.
Theod.—Quickly, go by the Wall. (They steal out.)
Sir Jeff.—For Heaven's sake, let's into the Gallery, and call for
Lights.
Bell.—A Curse upon this Fellow, and all ill-luck!
Doubt.—Hell take him! the Ladies are gone too.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Enter Bellfort and Doubty.

Bellfort.—What unfortunate Disappointments have we met with!
Doubty.—All ill-luck has conspired against us this Night.
Bell.—We have been near being discover'd, which would have
ruin'd us.
Doubt.—And we have but this Night to do our Business in;
if we dispatch not this Affair now, all will come out tomorrow.
Bell.—I tremble to think on't; sure the Surprise the
Ladies were in before, has frighted 'em from attempting again.
Doubt.—I rather think that they have met with People in the Galle
ry, that have prevented 'em.
Bell.—Now I reflect, I am apt to think so too; for they seem to
be very hearty in this Matter. Once more go to their Chamber.
Doubt.—Go you in then to ours. (Bellfort goes in.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead.

Lady Shacklehead.—Hold, Mr. Doubty.
Doubt.—A Curse on all damn'd Luck! Is she here? (Aside.) Sweet
Madam, Is it you? I have been watching for Bellfort's sleeping ever since.
L. Shac.—I ventur'd hard; since Sir Jeffery miss'd me out of Bed, I
had much a-do to fasten an Excuse upon him.
Doubt.—I am so afraid of Bellfort's coming, Madam; he was here
but even now: The hazard of your Honour puts me in Agony.
L. Shac.—O dear Sir, put out the Candle, and he can never
discover any thing; besides, we will retire into yon Room.
Doubt.—Death, what shall I do now?
(She puts out the Candle.)
L. Shac.—And since it is dark, and you cannot see my Blushes, I
must tell you, you are a very ill Guesser; for I my self was the Person I
describ'd.
Doubt.—Oh, Madam! you rally me, I will never believe it
while I live; it is impossible.
L. Shac.—I'll swear, 'tis true: Let us withdraw into
that Room, or we shall be discover'd. Oh Heaven, I am undone! my
Husband with a Light: run into your Chamber.
Doubt.—'Tis a happy Deliverance. (Aside) (Ex. Doubt.)
L. Shac.—I'll counterfeit walking in my Sleep.

Enter Sir Jeffery with a Light.

Sir Jeffery.—Where is this Wife of mine? She told
me she fell fast asleep in the Closet at her Prayers, when I
mist her before; and I found her there at my coming back to
my Chamber: But now she is not there, I am sure. Ha! here
she is. Ha! what, is she Blind? she takes no notice of
me; how gingerly she treads!
L. Shac.—Oh! stand
off———who's that
would kill my dear Sir Jeffery? Stand off, I say.
Sir Jeff.—Oh Lord, kill me! where! ha! here's no-body.
L. Shac.—Oh! the
Witch, the Witch! oh she pulls the Cloaths off me. Hold me, Sir Jeffery, hold m
e.
Sir Jeff.—On my Conscience and Soul, she walks in her Sleep!
L. Shac.—Oh, all the Cloaths are off! cover me; oh I am so cold!
Sir Jeff.—Good lack a-day, is it so! my Dear, my Lady.
L. Shac.—Hah, ha! (She opens her Eyes and shrieks.)
Sir Jeff.—Wake, I say, Wake.
L. Shac.—Ah.
Sir Jeff.—'Tis I, my Dear.
L. Shac.—Oh Heaven! Sir Jeffery, where am I?
Sir Jeff.—Here in the Gallery.
L. Shac.—Oh! how came I here?
Sir Jeff.—Why, thou didst walk in thy Sleep; good lack a-day, I
never saw the like.
L. Shac.—In my Sleep, say you? Oh Heaven! I have catcht my
Death. Let's to Bed, and tell me the story there.
Sir Jeff.—Come on. Ha, ha, ha, this is such a Jest! walk
in your Sleep! gods nigs, I shall so laugh at this in the Morning.
L. Shac.—This is a happy Come-off. (Aside.)

Enter Isabella and Theodosia.

Isabella.—If we do not get into this Chamber suddenly,
we are undone: They are up in the Offices already.
Theodosia.—Never have adventures been so often
disappointed, in so short a Time.
Isab.—There's no-body in the Gallery now, we may go.
Theod.—Haste then, and let us fly thither.
(Just as they are entring, Chaplain and Susan enter with a Candle.)
Isab. and Theod.—Ah, what's this?
Susan.—Oh! the Witches, the Witches!
Smerk.—Oh mercy upon us, where is this
Candle?———So let me tell you, 'twas
no Witch; they were the two young Ladies, that
frighted my dear beauteous Love so; and I'll
acquaint their Parents with it, I'll assure you.
Susan.—This is strange! what
could they have to do at this time o'th' Night?
Smerk.—I know not. But I
well know what I have to do. I am
inflam'd, beyond all Measure, with thy heavenly Beauty.
Susan.—Alas! my
Beauty is but moderate; yet none of the worst, I must needs say.
Smerk.—'Tis
Blasphemy to say so; your Eyes are bright like two Twin-Stars; your Face is an
Ocean of Beauty; and your Nose a Rock arising from it, on which my Heart did
split: Nothing but Ruby and Pearl is about thee; I must blazon thee by
Jewels, thy Beauty is of a noble Rank.
Susan.—Good lack, what fine Language is this! well, 'tis a rare t
hing to be a Scholar!
Smerk.—'Tis a Miracle I should not think her handsome before
this Day; she is an Angel! Isabella is a Dowdy to her. You have an
unexhausted Mine of Beauty. Dear Mrs. Susan, cast thy Smiles upon
me, and let me love you forever. Love makes me Eloquent and Allegorical.
Susan.—Sweet Sir, you oblige me very much by your
fine Language; but I vow I understand it not: yet methinks it
goes very prettily.
Smerk.—I will unfold my Heart unto thee; let me approach thy Lip.
Oh fragrant! fragrant! Arabia felix is upon this Lip.
Susan.—Ha! upon my Lip! what's that? I have nothing, I have no
Pimple, nor any thing upon my Lip, not I.
Smerk.—Sweet Innocence!———I will be plain; I am in
flam'd within, and would enjoy thy lovely Body in sweet dalliance.
Susan.—How, Sir! do you pretend to be a Divine, and would commit
this Sin! know, I will preserve my Honour and my Conscience.
Smerk.—Conscience? Why so you shall, as long as our Minds are
united. The Casuists will tell you, it is a Marriage in foro Conscientiae;
and besides, the Church of Rome allows Fornication: And truly it is much
practis'd in our Church too. Let us Retire; come, come.
Susan.—Stand off, I defie you: your Casuists are Knaves,
and you are a Papist; you are a foul voluptuous Swine, and I will
never smile on you more. Farewell.
Smerk.—Hold, hold, dear, beauteous Creature! I am
at thy Mercy: Must I Marry then? speak. Pr'ythee spare me that
and I'll do any thing.
Susan.—Stand off, I scorn thy Love; thou art a piteous Fellow.
Smerk.—Dear Mrs. Susan, hear me; tell me that you love me, and
then I'll marry thee.
Smerk.—I'll see thee hang'd, e'er I'll trust thee, or e'er a Whor
e-master of you all. No, I have been serv'd that trick too often already, I
thank you. (Aside.)
Smerk.—Must I then Marry?

Enter Isabella and Theodosia disguised, with Vizors like Witches.

Isabella.—Yonder's the Chaplain and Susan; but this Disguise
will fright 'em.
Theodosia.—Let's on; we must venture.
Susan.—Oh! the Witches, the Witches!
Smerk.—Oh! fly, fly! (Exit Susan and Chaplain.)

Enter Bellfort and Doubty.

Bellfort.—What Shriek was that?
Doubty.—We have been several times alarm'd with these Noises.
Bell.—Here's nothing but Madness and Confusion in this Family.
Isab.—Heaven! who are these whispering?
Doubt.—Who's this I have hold on? Heaven grant it be not my
Lady.
Theod.—'Tis I, 'tis Theodosia.
Doubt.—'Tis lucky———where is your fair Companion?
Theod.—Here.
Doubt.—And here's my Friend———
Bell.—A thousand Blessings on you.

Enter Priest with a Candle.

Priest.—Phoo are dese?
Bell.—Heaven! what's this? the damn'd Priest? These Disguises
will serve our turn yet: oh, Sir, we are haunted with Witches here, run in
quickly for some Holy-water.
Priest.—I vill, I vill; let me alone. (Exit Priest.)
Bell.—Now in, in quickly.
(Exit Bellfort, Doubty, Isabella and Theodosia.)

Enter Priest with Holy-water.

Priest.—Phaar is dese Vitches? phaar are dey? hah, dey are
Wanisht for fear of me; I vill put dish down in dis plaash for my
Defence; what vill I do now? I have made Fornication vid dis
Vitch or Succubus indeed; when I do go home, I vill be after being absolv'd for
it, and den I vill be as Innocent as de Child unborn, by my Shoul. I have
hang'd my self all round vid Reliques indeed, and de Sprights and de
Vitches cannot hurt me, fait and trot.———

Enter Mother Dickenson.

Mother Dickenson.—My Dear, I come to visit thee again.
Priest.—Phaat is here? de Vitch agen does come to
haunt me, Benedicite———out upon dee, dou damn'd
Vitch! vat dosht dou come upon me for? I defy dee, a plaague taak dee indeed.
M. Dick.—I am no Witch, I am a poor innocent Woman, and a Tenant
of Sir Edward's and one that loves you dearly.
Priest.—Dou plaaguy Vitch, let me come unto my holy-vater, and
I vill pay dee off indeed; hoth, by my Shoulvaation, 'tis all flown
away———Oh, dou damn'd Vitch! I vill hang dee indeed.
M. Dick.—Pr'ythee be kinder, my Dear, and kiss me.
Priest.—Out, out; kiss dee!———a
plaague taak dee, Joy; stand off upon me; by my
shoulvaation, I vill kiss the dog's Face,
shaving dy presence, before I vill be after kishing dee.
M. Dick.—Be not so unkind
to thy own Dear: Thou didst promise me
Marriage, thou know'st, and I come to claim thee for my Husband.
Priest.—Aboo, boo, boo,
Marriage! Vat vill I Marry vid a
Vitch? by my shoul,———Conjuro te; fuge, fuge.
M. Dick.—Do not
think to put me off with your Latin; for do you hear, Sir, you promised me Marr
iage, and I will have you.
Priest.—Oh phaat vill I do? vat vill I do?
M. Dick.—This Morning I will marry you, I'll stay no longer, you
are mine.
Priest.—By my shoul, Joy, I vill tell you, I am a Romish Priest,
and I cannot Marry. What would you have now?
M. Dick.—You shall turn Protestant then, for I will have you.
Priest.—By St. Paatrick, phaat does she say? Oh damn'd Protestant
Vitch! I vill speak shivilly,—Madam, I vill tell dee now, if dou vill
repair unto dine own House, by my Shoulvaation I vill come unto dee
to-morrow, and I vill give dee saatisfaction indeed.—(Aside.)
As soon as shee does get home, fait and trot, I vill bring de
Constable, and hang her indeed.
M. Dick.—I'll not be put off, I'll have you now.
(She lays hold on him.)
Priest.—By my Shoul, I vill not go, I vill hang dee for a Vitch;
and now I do apprehend dee upon daat. Help, help!

Enter Tom Shacklehead and Clod.

I have taaken a Vitch indeed: Help, help!
M. Dick.—I am your Wife.
Priest.—Help, help! I have taaken a Vitch.
Tom Shacklehead.—Ha! what's here? one of the Witches, by th'
Mess.
Priest.—Ay, by my Shoul, Joy; I have taaken her.
Tom Shac.—Nay, by'r Lady, whoo has taken yeow, by yeowr leave.
Clod.—We han taken a Witch too; lay hawd on her.
M. Dick.—Deber, Deber, little Martin, little Martin, where art
thou, little Master? Where art thou, little Master?
Priest.—Dost dou mutter? By my shoule, I vill hang dee, Joy; a pl
aague taak dee, indeed.
M. Dick.—Thou art a Popish Priest, and I will hang thee.
Priest.—I am as Innocent as de Child unborn, I vill taak de
Oades, and bee———
M. Dick.—Marmot, Mamillion, Rouncy, Pukling, little Master, have
you left me all?
Clod.—We han got another Witch, who's strongly guarded and
watched i' th' stable.
Tom Shac.—Come, let us hale her thither: We cou'd not get
into the hawse till naw, we came whoame so late at neeght.
Priest.—Come, let us taake de Vitch away: I vill hang
dee, Joy———a plague taake dee, fait.
M. Dick.—Am I o'er-taken, then?———I am Innocent, I
am Innocent.
Tom Shac.—Let us carry her thither; come along.
Priest.—Pull her away———we will be after hanging
of you, Fait and Trot. (Exit.)

Enter Sir Timothy, and Servant, with a Candle.

Sir Timothy.—I could not rest to-night, for the Joy of being
Married to Day. 'Tis a pretty Rogue!———She's somewhat
Cross———But, I warrant her, she will love me, when
she has learned to know me better.
Servant.—Why would you rise so soon? 'Tis not Day yet.
Sir Tim.—'Tis no matter, I cannot sleep, Man; I am
to be Married, Sirrah.

Ser.—Ay, and therefore you should have slept now,
that you might watch the better at Night: For 'twill be uncivil to sleep much u
pon your Wedding-Night.
Sir Tim.—Uncivil! ay that it will,———very
uncivil: I won't sleep a wink. Call my new Brother-in-Law: Oh here he
is; he can't sleep neither.

Enter Young Hartford, and his Man, with a Candle.

Young Hartford.—Set down the Candle, and go to the
Groom get the Horses ready; I must away to the Powts.
Sir Tim.—Oh Brother, good-morrow to you; what a
Devil's this!———What, Booted! are you taking a Journey upon your
Wedding-Day?
Y. Hart.—No, but I will not lose my Hawking this Morning; I will
come back time enough to be Married Brother.
Sir Tim.—Well, Breeding's a fine Thing!———this is
a strange ill-bred Fellow! what, Hawk upon your Wedding-Day! I have other Game
to fly at———Oh how I long for Night!———Why, my
Sister will think you care not for her.
Y. Hart.—(Aside.) No more———I don't very much!
a pox on Marrying! I love a Hawk, and a Dog, and a Horse, better than all
the Women in the World. (To him.) Why, I can Hawk and Marry too: She
shall see I love her: For I will leave off Hawking before Ten a Clock.

Enter Servant.

Servant.—Sir, I cannot come at the Horses, for the
People have taken a brace of Witches, and they are in the Stable under a strong
Guard, that will let no body come at 'em.
Y. Hart.—Uds Flesh, I shall have my Horses bewitch'd, and lose
500 Pounds worth of Horse-Flesh.
Sir Tim.—No, no, they can do no hurt———when
they are taken, the Devil leaves 'em———Let's go see
'em———(Their Men taking up the Candles, two Spirits fly away wit
h 'em.)
Sir Tim.—Let us stand up close against the Wall.
Y. Hart.—Listen, here are the Witches; what will become of us?

Enter Isabella, Theodosia, Bellfort and Doubty.

Bellfort.—A Thousand Blessings light on thee, my Dear pretty
Witch.
Sir Tim.—O Lord! there's the Devil too Courting of a Witch.
Doubty.—This is the first Night I ever liv'd. thou Dearest, Sweetest
Creature.
Y. Hart.—Oh! sweet, quoth a? that's more than I can say of my
self at this Time.
Isabella.—We will go and be decently prepar'd for the Wedding tha
t's expected.
Theodosia.—Not a Word of Discovery till the last; creep by the
Wall. Ha———who's here!
Isab.—Where?
Y. Hart.—Oh good Devil, don't hurt us; we are your humble
Servants.
Bell.—In, in quickly——— (Exit Bellfort and Doubty.
)
Sir. Tim.—Lights! Lights! Help! Help! Murder! Murder! Oh good
Devil, don't hurt me; I am a Whore-Master.
Y. Hart.—And I am a Drunkard; Help! Help! Murder!
(Exit Ladies.)

Enter Tom Shacklehead with a Candle, and Tegue O Divelly.

Tom Shacklehead.—What's the Matter?
(Thunder softly here.)
Priest.—Phaat is de Matter, Joy?
Sir Tim.—O Nuncle! here have been Devils and Witches: they are
flown away with our Candles, and put us in fear of our Lives. (Thunder and
Lightning.)
Tom Shac.—Here's a great Storm arising———what can
be the Matter! the Haggs are at Wark, by'r Lady; an they come to me, by th'
Mass, I ha gotten my brawd Sward: Ayst mow 'em down, ged faith will I.
Priest.—Be not afraid, I vill taake a Caare, and I will
conjure down this Tempest, fait, an bee. (Thunders.)
Tom Shac.—Flesh, that Thunder-clap shock the Hawse,
Candle burns blue too!
Sir Tim.—Death, it goes out; what will become of us?
Tom Shac.—An the Witches come, by'r Lady, ayst mow
'em down with my brawd Sward, I warrant o'.———I
have Shot one Witch flying to Neeght already.

Enter M. Hargrave, M. Madge, and two Witches more; they Mew,
and split like Cats, and fly at 'em, and scratch 'em.

Y. Hart.—What's this! we are set upon by Cats.
Sir Tim.—They are Witches in the shape of
Cats; what shall we do?
Priest.—Phaat vill I do? Cat, Cat, Cat!
oh, oh. Conjuro vos; fugite, fugite, Cacodemones; Cats, Cats!
(They Scratch all their Faces till the Blood runs about 'em.)
Tom Shac.—Have at ye all. (He cuts at
them.) I ha Maul'd some of 'em, by th' Mass; they
are fled, but I am plaguily scratcht. (The Witches shriek and run away.)
Priest.—Dey were afraid of my
Charmes, and de sign of de Cross did made
dem fly———but dey have
scratcht a great deal upon my Faash, for all daat.
Y. Hart.—Mine is all of gore Bloud.
Sir Tim.—And mine,
too———that these
damn'd Witches should disfigure my Countenance upon my Wedding-Day!
Y. Hart.—O Lard, what a Tempest's this? (Thunder.)

Enter Sir Jeffery with a Light.

Sir

Jeffery.—Heaven! what a Storm is this! The Witches and all their Imps ar
e at Work. Who are these? Hah!—Faces are all Bloody.
Sir Tim.—We have been frighted out of our Wits; we have been
assaulted by Witches in the shape of Cats, and they have scratcht us most
ruefully.
Priest.—But I did fright dem away, by my Shoul.
Sir Jeff.—Why, you are as much maul'd as any one; nay, they are a
t Work.———I never remembred such Thunder and Lightning; bid 'em
ring out all the Bells at the Church.
Priest.—I vill Baptize all your Bells for you, Joy, and den dey
will stop de Tempest indeed, and not before, I tell you; oh Baptized Bells
are braave Things, fait.
Tom Shac.—Flesh, Christen Bells!
Sir Tim.—Yes, I believe, the great Bell at Oxford was
Christen'd Tom.
Y. Hart.—And that Lincoln has a Christen Name, too.
Priest.—I tell dee, Joy, I vill carry de hosht and
shome Reliques Abroad, and we vill get a black Chicken, and
maake one of de Witches throw it into de Aire, and it vill
maake stop upon de Tempest.
Sir Jeff.—Why, all the Authors say,
Sacrificing a black Chicken so, will raise a Tempest.
Tom Shac.—What's here, a Haund! uds Flesh, you see, I have cut of
f a Haund of one of the Haggs.
Sir Jeff.—Let's see, this is a lucky Evidence; keep it and see
what Witch it will fit, and 'tis enough to hang her.
Priest.—The Storm begins to stay; I did shay shome Aves, and
part of de Gospel of St. John, and in fine, fugiat Tempestas, and it does
go away upon it, indeed.
Tom Shac.—We may trace her by her Blood.
Sir Tim.—But hark you, what's the Reason my Hawks wanted
their Pidgeons? uds bud, I shall remember you for it; you think to
live like a Lubber here, and doe Nothing.
Tom Shac.—Peace, I was drunken; Peace, good Sir
Timothy; ayst doe no more so.
Sir Jeff.—Methinks, all on a sudden the Storm is laid.

Enter Servant.

Servant.—Sir, the Constable and the rest of us
have taken the whole flock of Witches: but they fell upon us like Cats first; b
ut we have beaten 'em into Witches, and now we have 'em fast.
Sir Jeff.—So, now their Power's gone, when they are taken; let's
go see 'em.
Y. Hart.—I'll wash my Face and away a Hawking, now the Storm's
over; 'tis broad Day.
Sir Tim.—I will call up Sir Edward's Musick, and wake the two
Brides with a Serenade this Morning.
(Exit Omnes.)

Enter Sir Edward and his Man with a Light.

Sir Edward.—It has been a dreadful Storm, and strangely laid
o'th' sudden! this is a Joyful Day to me: I am now in Hopes to strengthen
and preserve my Family———My poor Daughter has the worst
on't; but she is discreet, and will mould Sir Timothy to what she
pleases: she is good-natur'd, and he loves her, and his Estate's
beyond Exception.———Go call my son to me, bid him rise; 'tis Day
, put out the Candle now. (Exit Servant.) This Son I, out of Duty, must
provide for; for there's a Duty from a Father to make what he begets as happy a
s he can; and yet this Fool makes me as unhappy as he can; but that I call
Philosophy to my aid, I could not bear him.

Enter Young Hartford and Servant.

How now! your Face scratcht! what, were you drunk last Night, and
have been at Cuffs?
Young Hartford.—No; Sir Timothy, I, and Tegue O Divelly, and Tom
Shacklehead were assaulted by Witches in the Shape of Cats; and Tom
Shacklehead has cut off one of the Cats Hands; and all the Witches
are taken, and are in the Stable under a strong Guard.
Sir Edw.—What foolish wild Story is this? you have
been drunk in Ale, that makes such Foggy Dreams.
Y. Hart.—'Sbud, Sir, the Story is true; you'll find it so.
Sir Edw.—How now! what makes you Booted upon your Wedding-Day?
Y. Hart.—Why, I am going a Hawking this Morning; and I'll come
home Time enough to be Marry'd.
Sir Edw.—Thou most incorrigible Ass, whom no Precept or
Example can teach common Sense to! that would have made thee full of
Joy at thy approaching Happiness; it would have fill'd thy Mind,
there could have been no room for any other Object; to have a
good Estate settle upon thee, and to be Marryed to a Woman of that Beauty, and
that Wit and Wisdom, I have not known her Equal, would have transported any
one but such a Clod of Earth as thou art; thou art an Excrement broken from me,
not my Son.
Y. Hart.—Why, Sir, I am transported; but can't one be
transported with Hawking, too? I love it, as I love my Life. Would
you have a Gentleman neglect his Sports?
Sir Edw.—None but the vilest of Men will make their
Sports their Business; their Books, their Freids, their Kindred
and their Country should concern 'em: such Drones serve not the ends of their C
reation, and should be lopt off from the rest of Men.
Y. Hart.—A Man had better dye than leave his Sport. Tell me of
Books? I think, there's nothing in 'em, for my Part; and for Musick, I had
as lief sit in the Stocks, as hear your fine Songs. I love a Bagpipe well
enough; but, there's no Musick like a deep-mouth'd Hound.
Sir Edw.—Thou most excessive Block-head! thou art enough to embit
ter all my Sweets; thou art a Wen belonging to me, and I shall do well to cut
thee off: but do you hear, Fool, go and dress your self, and wait upon your
Bride, or by Heaven, I will disinherit you. This is the Critical Day, on
which your Happiness or Misery depends; think on that.
(Exit Sir Edward.)
Y. Hart.—Was ever so devilish a Father, to make one neglect
one's Sport, because he's no Sport's-Man himself; A Pox on Marrying!
could not I Hawk and Marry too? well, I am resolv'd I'll steal out
after I am Marry'd.

Enter Sir Timothy and Musick.

Sir Timothy.—Come on. Place your selves just by her
Chamber, and Play———and Sing that Song I love so well.

SONG.

My Dear, my Sweet, and most delicious Bride,
Awake, and see thine own Dear waiting at the Door; &c.
Surely she cannot sleep for thinking of me, poor Rougue.
Isab.—(Above.) Who's this disturbs my Rest! is it
thou? I thought 'twas some Impertinent Coxcomb or other; dost
thou hear, carry away that scurvy Face from me, as soon as
possibly thou canst.
Sir Tim.—Well, you have a pleasant way with
you; you'll never leave your pretty humours, I see that.
Isab.—Ha! Thou hast been scratching with
Wenches! Was not thy Face ugly enough, but thou must
disfigure it more than Nature has done? one would
have thought that had don't enough.
Sir Tim.—'Faith, thou are a pretty
Wag, thou'lt never leave thy Roguery. Wenches!
why, 'twas done by Witches, who, in the shape
of Cats, had like to have kill'd us. Your
Brother, my Uncle, and the Irish Man, are all as bad as I.
Isab.—Pr'ythee begon, and mend thy Face; I cannot bear it.
Sir Tim.—Ay, ay; it's no
matter: I'll come into thy Chamber: I
must be familiar with you———
Isab.—And I will be
free with you; you are a Nauseous Fool, and you shall never come into my Chambe
r. S'life, would you begin your Reign before you are Marry'd? no, I'll
domineer now,———begon.
(Exit Isabella.)
Sir Tim.—Nay, 'faith, I'll not leave you so, you little cross
Rogue you; open the Door there, let me in, let me in, I say.
(Theodosia come out in a Witch's Habit and a Vizor.)
Thcod.—Who's that? Thou art my Love; come into my Arms.
Sir Tim.—Oh the Witch! the Witch! help, help!
(He runs out, Theodosia retires.)

Enter Sir Jeffery, Lady Shacklehead, Tegue O Divelly, Tom Shacklehead, Clod,
and Sir Jeffery's Clerk.

Sir Jeffery.—So, now thou art come, my Dear, I'll dispatch the Wi
tches; they are all taken, and guarded in the Stable: Clod, bid 'em bring 'em
all hither.
Lady Shacklehead.—That's well. Are they caught? let 'em come
before us, we will order 'em.

Sir Jeff.—I would do nothing without thee, my Dear.
Priest.—Here, Laady, take shome (a) Conjur'd shalt, and
put upon de and Palme, and shome Holy-wax daat I did bring for dish
Occasion, and de Vitches vill not hurt dy Laadyship.
L. Shac.—Thank you, Sir.
Priest.—I did give dy Husband shome before, Joy, but
I vill speak a word unto you all; let every one (b) spit three times upon d
eir Boshomes, and Cross demselves; it is braave upon dis Occasion.
Sir Jeff.—It shall be done. (They all do it.)
Priest.—Daat is very well now. Let no Vitch (c) touch no
part about you, and let 'em come vid deir Arshes before deir Faashes, phen dey
come to Confession or Examinnation. We have Eye-biting Vitches in Eerland,
daat kill vid deir Countenance.
Sir Jeff.—This is a very Learned and Wise Man!
L. Shac.—He is a great Man indeed; we are nothing to him.
Priest.—You vill shee now, now I will speak unto dem; here
dey come; I shay, bring deir Arshes before before deir Faashes.

They Enter with the Witches.

Tom Shacklehead.—Bring 'em backward, thus.
Sir Jeff.—You Clod, and you Tom Shacklehead, have sworn
sufficiently against the Witch Spencer, and so has that Country Fellow.
M. Spen.—I am an Innocent Woman, and they have broken
my Arm with a Shot, Rogues, Villains, Murderers!
Priest.—Dey are angry, daat is a certain shign of a
Vitch; and dey cannot cry, daat is anoder shign; look to 'em, dey do not put sp
ittle upon deir Faashes to maake beliefe daat do weep: Yet Bodin dosh shay,
(d) daat a Vitch can cry three drops vid her right Eye, I tell you.
Sir Jeff.—Have you searcht 'em all as I bid you, Woman?
Woman.—Yes, an't please your Worship, and they have all great (
e) Biggs and Teats in many Parts, except Mother Madge, and hers are but
small ones.

L. Shac.—It is enough; make their Mittimus, and send 'em
all to Goal.
Witches.—I am Innocent, I am Innocent. Save my Life, I
am no Witch. I am Innocent, save my Life.
Priest.—Phen dey do shay dey are Innocent, and desire
to shave deir Lives, 'tis a certain shign of a Vitch, fait and trot.
Woman.—Besides, this Woman, Margaret Demdike by Name, threaten'd
to be revenged of me, and my Cow has been suckt dry ever since, and my Child
has had Fits.
M. Demd.—She lies, she lies; I am Innocent.
Tom Shac.—This is she that had (f) a Haund cut off; it
fits her to a hair.
Sir Jeff.—'Tis enough, 'tis enough.
M. Harg.—Must I be hang'd, for having my Hand cut off? I
am Innocent, I am Innocent.
Constab.—Did not you say to my Wife, you would be
reveng'd on me? and has not she been struck with Pain in her
Rump-bone ever since? and did not my Sow cast her farrow last Night?
M. Harg.—You should send your Brother to Gaol, for cutting my Han
d off.
Tom Shac.—What, for cutting a Cat's Hand off? you were a Cat,
when I cut it off.
Thos.ô Georges.—An't please your Worship, this Woman,
Gammer Dickinson, who threped and threped, and aw to becaw'd me last
Night i'th' Lone, and who said she would be reveng'd on me; and this Morning at
four a Clock Butter would not come, nor the Ale warck a bit, whoo has
bewitcht it.
Sir Jeff.—I have heard enough; send 'em all to Gaol.
L. Shac.—You must never give a Witch any Milk, Butter,
Cheese, or any thing that comes from the Cows.
Priest.—Now, dou damn'd Vitch, I vill be after sheeing dee hang'd
indeed; I did taake her, by my shoul.———
M. Dick.—I am a poor Innocent Woman, I am abused, and I am his
Wife, an't please your Worship: He had knowlodge of me in a Room in the
Gallery, and did promise me Marriage.
Sir Jeff.—Ha! What's this?
Priest.—By my shoulvaation, I am Innocent as de Child
unborn; I speak it before Heaven, I did never maake Fornicaation in my Life,
51;——(Aside.) Vid my Nostrils; dere is mental Reservaation. I am too
subtile for dem indeed, gra.———(To them.) It is Malice upon me.
L. Shac.—There is something in this Story, but I dare not speak
of it. (Aside.)
Sir Jeff.—I do believe you, Mr. O Divelly.
M. Dick.—Besides, he is a Popish Priest.
Priest.—Aboo, boo, boo, a Priest! I vill taake de Oades, fait
and trot; I did never taake Holy Orders since I was
bore,———(Aside.) In Jamaica. Dere is anoder Mental Reservaation
too; and it is lawful.
Constab.—Indeed, Sir, I have been told, he is a Popish Priest,
and has been at Rome.
Priest.—I speak it in de Preshence of all de Shaints, daat I
did never shee Rome, in all my Life,———(Aside.) Vid de Eyes of a
Lyon. Dere was anoder, by my shoul.
Sir Jeff.—Take away the Witches; there is their Mittimus, carry
'em all to Lancaster.
Witches.—I am Innocent, I am Innocent.
Constab.—Come on, you Haggs; now your Master the Devil has left y
ou. (Exit Constable and Witches.)
Sir Jeff.—Sir, you must excuse me; I must give you the Oaths
upon this Information.
Priest.—And by my shoul, Joy, I vill taake dem, and twenty
or thirty more Oades, if dou dosht please indeed, I vill taake 'em all,
to serve dee, fait and trot.
Sir Jeff.—Come into the Hall, there's the Statute Book.
L. Shac.—I will go in, and see if the Brides be ready.

Enter Sir Edward, Bellfort and Doubty.

Sir Edward.—Gentlemen, this Day I am to do the great Duty of a Fa
ther, in providing for the Settlement of my Children; this Day we will
dedicate to Mirth; I hope you will partake with me in my Joy.
Bellfort.—I should have had a greater share in any Joy
that could affect so worthy a Man, had not your Daughter been the
only Person I ever saw, whom I could have fixt my Love upon: But
I am unhappy, that I had not the Honour to know you, till it was too late.
Sir Edw.—This had been a great Honour to me, and my Daughter; and I
am sorry I did not know it sooner, and assure you, it is some Trouble upon me.
Doubty.—How like a Gentleman he takes it! but I have an Ass,
nay, two, to deal with. (Aside.)

Enter Lady Shacklehead, Isabella, and Theodosia.

Lady Shacklehead.—Good morrow, Brother; our brace of Brides
are ready; where are the lusty Bridegrooms?
Sir Edw.—Heaven grant this may prove a happy Day.
L. Shac.—Mr. Doubty, was ever such an unlucky Night as we
have had?
Doubt.—'Tis happy to me, who was assur'd of the Love of
one I love much more than all the Joys on Earth.
L. Shac.—Now you make me blush; I swear, it is a little too much.

Bell.—Ladies, I wish you much Joy of this Day.
Doubt.—Much Happiness to you.

Enter Sir Jeffery, and Tegue O Divelly.

Sir Jeffery.—Brother, good Morrow to you; this is a happy Day;
our Families will soon be one: I have sent all the Witches to the Gaol.
Sir Edw.—Had you Evidence enough?
Sir Jeff.—Ay, too much; this Gentleman was accused for being a Pa
pist, and a Priest; and I have given him the Oaths, and my Certificate, and,
on my Conscience, he is a very good Protestant.
Priest.—It is no matter, I did taake de Oades, and I am a very go
od Protestant upon Occasion, fait.
Sir Edw.—Say you so? between you and I, how many Sacraments are
there?
Priest.—How many? by my shoul, dere are sheven; how many would
dere be, tink you, Hoh?—by my shoul, I have a dispensaation, indeed; I
am too cunning for 'em, fait, I am. (Aside.)
Sir Edw.—So, here are the Bridegrooms.

Enter Sir Timothy, Young Hartfort and Servant.

Sir Timothy.—Oh, my dear pretty Bride, let me kiss thy Hand;
how joyful am I, that I shall have my Dear within these Arms! ah! now the
little Rogue can smile upon me.
Young Hartfort.—Cousin, good-morrow to you, I am glad to
see you; how do you do this Morning?
Theod.—Never better.
Y. Hart.—God be thanked; I am very glad on't.
Sir Edw.—Is not the Parson come yet?
Servant.—Yes, Sir; he is very busy at his Breakfast in
the Buttery: And as soon as he has finisht his Pipe and his
Tankard———he will wait on you: he has
Marry'd one Couple already, the Chaplain and Mrs. Susan.
Sir Edw.—How!
Ser.—'Tis true.
Sir Edw.—I am sorry for't; that
Chaplain is a Rascal—I have found him
out, and will turn him away———

Enter another Servant.

Servant.—Sir, here are some
of your Tenants and Country-men come to
be merry with you, and have brought
thier Piper, and desire to Dance before you.

Enter several Tenants, and Country-Fellows.

Tenants.—We are come
to wish your Worship, my Young Master and Lady, Joy of this happy Day.
Sir Edw.—You are
kindly welcome, Neighbours;
this is a Happiness indeed, to see my Friends, and all my loving Neighbours thu
s about me!
All.—Heavens bless your good Worship.
Sir Edw.—These honest Men are the Strength and Sinews of our
Country; such Men as these are uncorrupted, and while they stand to us, we fear
no Papists, nor French Invasion; this Day we will be merry together.
Clod.—Ayst make bold to Daunce for Joy.
Sir Edw.—Pr'ythee do——— (Clod Dances.) Go, bid
the Parson come in; we will dispatch this business here before you all.
Isab.—Hold! there needs no Parson.
Sir Edw.—What say you?
Sir Jeff.—How!
Isab.—We are marry'd already, and desire your Blessing.
Sir Edw.—It is impossible.
(Bellfort, Doubty, Isabella and Theodosia kneel.)
L. Shac.—Heaven! what's this I see?
Sir Jeff.—Thieves! Robbers! Murderers of my Honour!
I'll hang that Fellow.
Sir Edw.—What Pageantry is this? explain your self.
Sir Tim.—What a Devil do they mean now?
Bell.—The Truth is, Sir, we are marry'd; we found you Fathers wer
e too far engag'd to break off: Love forced us to this way, and nothing else
can be a fit Excuse.
Doubt.—We have designed this ever since last Summer; and any
other but a private Way had certainly prevented it. Let Excess of Love
excuse our Fault. Sir Jeffery, I will exceed what Settlement was made
upon your Daughter.
Bell.—And I will, Sir, do the same Right to yours.
Sir Jeff.—Flesh and Heart!———I'll murder her.
Doubt.—Hold, Sir; she is mine now; I beseech you, moderate your
Passion.
L. Shac.—Oh vile Creature! I'll tear her Eyes out.
Doubt.—Forbear, good Madam: What cannot be redrest, must be past
by———
L. Shac.—Thou worst of Thieves, thou knowest I can ne'er pass it
by.
Sir Jeff.—Sir Edward, you may do what you will; but I'll go in
and meditate Revenge.
L. Shac.—And I——— (Exit Sir Jeffery and Lady.)
Sir Tim.—Hold, hold me! I am bloody-minded, and shall commit Murder
else; my Honour, my Honour! I must kill him; hold me fast, or I shall kill
him.
Y. Hart.—For my Part, Cousin, I wish you Joy; for I am
resolved to hunt, and hawk, and course, as long as I live.———
Sir Tim.—Cruel Woman! I did not think you would have serv'd me so;
I shall run mad, and hang my self, and walk.
Priest.—Now phaat is de folledity of all
dish?———phy, all ish paasht, and phat
vill you say now? You must take shome Consolaation
unto you——— Dou must make love vid
dy Moder's Maid-sharvants; and daat is all one, by my shoul.
Sir Edw.—Hold, Gentlemen; who marry'd you?
Bell.—This Gentleman; who is, under his gray Coat, my Parson.
Sir Edw.—'Tis something unhospitable.———
Bell.—I hope, Sir, you'll not have Cause to repent it; had there
been any other Way for me to have escap'd perpetual Misery, I had not taken
this.
Sir Edw.—But you, Sir have most injur'd me.
Doubt.—I beg a Thousand Pardons; tho' I must have perisht, if I h
ad not done it.
Theod.—It is no Injury, Sir; I never could have lov'd your son;
we must have been unhappy.
Isab.—And I had been miserable with Sir Timothy.
Y. Hart.—To say Truth, I did not much care for her neither; I
had rather not marry.
Sir Edw.—Eternal Blockhead! I will have other Means to
preserve my Name. Gentlemen, you are Men of ample Fortunes and
worthy Families———Sir, I wish you Happiness
with my Daughter; take her.
Bell.—You have given me more than my own
Father did, than Life and Fortune.
Isab.—You are the best of Fathers, and of Men.
Sir Edw.—I will endeavour to appease Sir Jeffery and my Lady.
Doubt.—You are generous beyond Expression, Sir.

Enter Chaplain and Susan.

Chaplain.—Sir, I hope, your Worship will pardon me; I am marry'd
to Mrs. Susan.
Sir Edw.—You are a Villain, that has made Love to my Daughter,
and corrupted my Son.
Chap.—Have they told all? I am ruin'd. Good Sir, continue me
your Chaplain, and I will Do and Preach whatever you command me.
Sir Edw.—I'll not have a Divine with so flexible a
Conscience; there shall be no such Vipers in my Family; I will
take Care you never shall have Orders. But she has serv'd me
well, and I will give her a Farm of 40 1. per annum to plow: Go, Sir, it was an
Office you were born to.
Priest.—Did I not bid dee Fornicaate? and dou didst marry, Joy;
if dou hadst not maade Marriage, I vould have maade dee a Caatolick, and
preferred dee to Shaint Omers; Dey should have bred dee for one of deir
Witnesses, fait.

Enter a Messenger.

Messenger.—I must beg your Pardon, Sir; I have a Warrant
against this Kelly, alias Tegue O Divelly———he is
accus'd for being in the Plot.
Sir Edw.—My House is no Refuge for Traytors, Sir.
Priest.—Aboo, boo, boo! by my shoulvaation, dere
is no Plot, and I vill not go vid you. Dou art a damn'd
Fanaatick, if dou dosht shay dere is a Plot. Dou art a Presbyterian Dogg.
Mess.—No Striving; come along with me.
Priest.—Phaat vill I do? I am innocent as de Child dat is to be
born; and if dey vill hang me, I vill be a shaint indeed. My hanging Speech
was made for me long ago by de Jesuits, and I have it ready, and I vill
live and dy by it, by my shoul.
Mess.—Gentlemen, I charge you, in the King's Name, assist me.
Sir Edw.—Come, Gentlemen, I wish you both the Happiness you
deserve.
How shallow is our Foresight and our Prudence!
Be ne'er so wise, design whate'er we will,
There is a Fate that over-rules us still.

EPILOGUE.

By Mrs. Barry and Tegue.

Mrs. Barry.—A Skilful Mistress uses wondrous Art,
To keep a peevish crazy Lover's Heart.
His awkward Limbs, forgetful of Delights,
Must be urg'd on by Tricks and painful Nights:
Which the poor Creature is content to bear,
Fine Manteau's and new Petticoats to wear.
And, Sirs, your sickly Appetites to raise,
The starving Players try a thousand ways;
You had a Spanish Fryer of Intrigue,
And now we have presented you a Tegue;
Which with much Cost from Ireland we have got:
If he be dull, e'en hang him for the Plot.
Tegue.—Now have a Care, for, by my Shoul's Shoulvaation,
Dish vill offend a Partp in de Naation.
Mrs. Barry.—They that are angry must be very Beasts;
For all Religions laugh at foolish Priests.
Tegue.—By Creesh, I swear, de Poet has undone me;
Some simple Tory vill maake beat upon me.
Mrs. Barry.—Good Protestants, I hope you will not see
A Martyr made of our poor Tony Leigh.
Our Popes and Fryars on one Side offend,
And yet, alas! the City's not our Friend:
The City neither like us, nor our Wit;
They say their Wives learn ogling in the Pit:
They're from the Boxes taught to make Advances,
To answer stolen Sighs and naughty Glances
We virtuous Ladies some new Ways must seek,
For all conspire our Playing Trade to break.
If the bold Poet freely shews his Vein,
In every Place the snarling Fops complain;
Of your gross Follies if you will not hear,
With inoffensive Nonsense you must bear.
You, like the Husband, never shall receive
Half the Delight the sportful Wife can give.
A Poet dares not whip this foolish Age;
You cannot bear the Physick of the Stage.






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