White spirits, black spirits, grey spirits, red spirits, Devil-toad, devil-ram, devil-cat, and devil-dam, Why Hoppo and Stadlin, Hellwain and Puckle! Stad. Here, sweating at the vessel.

Hec. Boil it well.

Hop. It gallops now.

Hec. Are the flames blue enough,

Or shall I use a little seeten1 more?

Stad. The nips of fairies

Hec. Tend it carefully.

upon

maids' white hips

Are not more perfect azure.

Send Stadlin to me with a brazen dish,

That I may fall to work upon

these serpents,

And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour.
Why, when?

Stad. Here's Stadlin and the dish.

Hec. Here take this unbaptized brat:

Boil it well-preserve the fat :

You know 'tis precious to transfer
Our 'nointed flesh into the air,

In moonlight nights, o'er steeple tops,

Mountains, and pine trees, that like pricks, or stops,
Seem to our height: high towers, and roofs of princes,
Like wrinkles in the earth: whole provinces

Appear to our sight then even like

A russet-mole upon some lady's cheek.

When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing,

Dance, kiss, and coll, use everything:

What young man can we wish to pleasure us,

But we enjoy him in an incubus ?

Thou know'st it, Stadlin?

Stad. Usually that's done.

Hec. Away, in.

Go feed the vessel for the second hour.

Stad. Where be the magical herbs?

Hec. They're down his throat2,

His mouth cramm'd full; his ears and nostrils stuft.

I thrust in Eleaselinum, lately

Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot.

You may see that, he looks so black i' th' mouth.
Then Sium, Acharum, Vulgaro too,

Seething.

2 The dead child's.

Dentaphillon, the blood of a flitter-mouse,
Solanum somnificum et oleum.

Stad. Then there's all, Hecate.

Hec. Is the heart of wax

Stuck full of magic needles?

Stad. 'Tis done, Hecate.

Hec. And is the farmer's picture, and his wife's,
Laid down to the fire yet?

Stad. They are a-roasting both too.

Hec. Good;

Then their marrows are a-melting subtilly,
And three months' sickness sucks up life in 'em.
They denied me often flour, barm, and milk,
Goose-grease and tar, when I ne'er hurt their churnings,
Their brew-locks nor their batches, nor forespoke
Any of their breedings. Now I'll be meet with 'em.
Seven of their young pigs I have bewitch'd already
Of the last litter, nine ducklings, thirteen goslings, and
a hog

Fell lame last Sunday, after even-song too.

And mark how their sheep prosper; or what soup
Each milch-kine gives to the pail: I'll send these snakes
Shall milk 'em all beforehand: the dew'd-skirted dairy

wenches

Shall stroke dry dugs for this, and go home cursing:
I'll mar their sillabubs, and swarthy feastings
Under cows' bellies, with the parish youths.

SEBASTIAN consults the Witch for a Charm to be revenged on his successful Rival.

Hec. Urchins, elves, hags, satires, pans, fawns, silence.
Kit with the candlestick; tritons, centaurs, dwarfs, imps.
The spoon, the mare, the man i' th' oak, the hellwain, the
fire-drake, the puckle. A. ab hur. hus.

Seb. Heaven knows with what unwillingness and hate
I enter this damn'd place: but such extremes
Of wrongs in love fight 'gainst religion's knowledge,
That were I led by this disease to deaths

As numberless as creatures that must die,

I could not shun the way.-I know what 'tis
To pity mad men now: they're wretched things
That ever were created, if they be

Of woman's making and her faithless vows.

L

I fear they're now a kissing: what's o'clock ? 'Tis now but supper-time: but night will come, And all new-married couples make short suppers. Whate'er thou art, I have no spare time to fear thee; My horrors are so strong and great already That thou seem'st nothing. Up and laze not: Hadst thou my business, thou couldst ne'er sit so; "Twould firk thee into air a thousand mile, Beyond thy ointments: I would I were read So much in thy black power, as mine own griefs. I'm in great need of help: wilt give me any? Hec. Thy boldness takes me bravely; we are all sworn To sweat for such a spirit: see; I regard thee,

I rise, and bid thee welcome. What's thy wish now? Seb. O, my heart swells with 't. I must take breath first. Hec. Is 't to confound some enemy on the seas?

It may be done to-night. Stadlin's within;
She raises all your sudden ruinous storms
That shipwreck barks; and tears up growing oaks;
Flies over houses, and takes Anno Domini
Out of a rich man's chimney (a sweet place for 't,
He would be hang'd ere he would set his own years
there;
They must be chamber'd in a five pound picture,
green silk curtain drawn before the eyes on 't,
His rotten diseased years)! Or dost thou envy
The fat prosperity of any neighbour?

A

I'll call forth Hoppo, and her incantation
Can straight destroy the young of all his cattle:
Blast vineyards, orchards, meadows; or in one night
Transport his dung, hay, corn, by reeks, whole stacks,
Into thine own ground.

Seb. This would come most richly now

To many a country grazier: But my envy

Lies not so low as cattle, corn, or wines:

'Twill trouble your best powers to give me ease.

Hec. Is it to starve up generation?

To strike a barrenness in man or woman?

Seb. Hah!

Hec. Hah! Did you feel me there? I knew your grief. Seb. Can there be such things done?

Hec. Are these the skins

Of serpents? these of snakes?

Seb. I see they are.
Hec. So sure into what house these are convey'd
Knit with these charms, and retentive knots,
Neither the man begets, nor woman breeds,
No, nor performs the least desire of wedlock,
Being then a mutual duty; I could give thee
Chiroconita, Adincantida,

Archimadon, Marmaritin, Calicia,

Which I could sort to villanous barren ends;
But this leads the same way: More I could instance:
As the same needles thrust into their pillows
That sow and sock up dead men in their sheets:
A privy grissel of a man that hangs

After sunset. Good, excellent: yet all 's there, sir.
Seb. You could not do a man that special kindness

To part them utterly, now? Could you do that? Hec. No: time must do't: we cannot disjoin wedlock; 'Tis of Heaven's fastening: well may we raise jars, Jealousies, strifes, and heart-burning disagreements, Like a thick scurf o'er life, as did our master Upon that patient miracle1; but the work itself Our power cannot disjoin.

Seb. I depart happy

In what I have then, being constrain❜d to this:
And grant, you greater powers that dispose men,
That I may never need this hag again.

[Exit.

Hec. I know he loves me not, nor there's no hope on 't; 'Tis for the love of mischief I do this:

And that we are sworn to the first oath we take.

HECATE, STADLIN, HOPPO, with the other Witches, preparing for their
midnight journey through the air. FIRESTONE, HECATE's son.
Hec. The moon's a gallant: see how brisk she rides.
Stad. Here's a rich evening, Hecate.

Hec. Ay, is 't not, wenches,

To take a journey of five thousand mile ?

Hop. Ours will be more to-night.

Hec. O, 'twill be precious.

Heard you the owl yet?

Stad. Briefly in the copse,

As we came through now. Hec. 'Tis high time for us then.

Job.

Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times
As we came through the woods, and drank her fill.
Old Puckle saw her.

Hec. You are fortunate still:

The very screech-owl lights upon your shoulder,
And woos you like a pigeon. Are you furnish'd?
Have you your ointments?

Stad. All.

Hec. Prepare to flight then:
I'll overtake you swiftly.

Stad. Hie thee, Hecate:

We shall be up betimes.

Hec. I'll reach you quickly.

[The other Witches mount. Fire. They are all going a-birding to-night. They talk or fowls in the air, that fly by day: I am sure, they'll be a company of foul sluts there to-night. If we have not mortality offer'd', I'll be hanged; for they are able to putrefy it, to infect a whole region. She spies me now.

Hec. What, Firestone, our sweet son ?

Fire. A little sweeter than some of you; or a dunghill were too good for me.

Hec. How much hast here ?

Fire. Nineteen, and all brave plump ones; besides six lizards, and three serpentine eggs.

Hec. Dear and sweet boy: what herbs hast thou ?
Fire. I have some Marmartin and Mandragon.

Hec. Marmaritin and Mandragora thou wouldst say.

Fire. Here's Pannax too: I thank thee, my pan aches I am With kneeling down to cut 'em.

Hec. And Selago,

Hedge hyssop too: how near he goes my cuttings!
Were they all cropt by moonlight?

Fire. Every blade of 'em, or I am a moon-calf, mother.
Hec. Hie thee home with 'em.

[sure

Look well to the house to-night: I am for aloft. Fire. Aloft, quoth you? I would you would break your neck once, that I might have all quickly. Hark, hark, mother; they are above the steeple already, flying over your head with a noise of musicians. Hec. They are indeed. Help me, help me; I'm too late else. 1 Probably the true reading is after't.