To sumptuous tables, gardens of stolen sin;
In one year wasting what scarce twenty win?
And what are these but witches?

Socialist)

Just. Yes, yes; but the law
Casts not an eye on these.
Saw. Why then on me,

Or any lean old beldam? Reverence once
Had wont to wait on age; now an old woman,
Ill-favour'd grown with years, if she be poor,
Must be call'd hag or witch. Such so abused
Are the coarse witches; t' other are the fine,
Spun for the Devil's own wearing.

Sir Ar. And so is thine.

Saw. She, on whose tongue a whirlwind sits to
blow

A man out of himself, from his soft pillow,
To lean his head on rocks and fighting waves,
Is not that scold a witch? The man of law
Whose honey'd hopes the credulous client draw
(As bees by tinkling basins) to swarm to him,
From his own hive, to work the wax in his;
He is no witch, not he!

Sir Ar. But these men-witches

Are not in trading with hell's merchandise,
Like such as you, that for a word, a look,
Denial of a coal of fire, kill men,

Children, and cattle.

Saw. Tell them, sir, that do so:

Am I accus'd for such a one?

Sir Ar. Yes, 't will be sworn.

Saw. Dare any swear I ever tempted maiden With golden hooks flung at her chastity, To come and lose her honour? and being lost, To pay not a denier for 't? Some slaves have done it.1 Men-witches can, without the fangs of law

1 This is wormwood, and Sir Arthur feels it. Our authors have furnished their old woman with language far above the capacity of those poor creatures who were commonly accused of witchcraft, and strangely mconsistent with the mischievous frivolity of her conduct.-GIFFORD.

Drawing once one drop of blood, put counterfeit

pieces

Away for true gold.

Sir Ar. By one thing she speaks,

I know now she's a witch, and dare no longer
Hold conference with the fury.

Just. Let's then away.

Old woman, mend thy life, get home and pray.

[Exeunt Sir ARTHUR and JUSTICE.

Saw. For his confusion.

Enter DOG.

My dear Tom-boy, welcome!

I'm torn in pieces by a pack of curs
Clapp'd all upon me, and for want of thee:
Comfort me.

Dog. Bow, wow, wow!

Saw. I am dried up

With cursing and with madness; and have yet
No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine.
Stand on thy hind-legs up-kiss me, my Tommy,
And rub away some wrinkles on my brow,
By making my old ribs to shrug for joy
Of thy fine tricks.

tickle.

What hast thou done? let's

Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee?
Dog. Yes;

And nipp'd the sucking child.

Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty,

My little pearl! no lady loves her hound,

Monkey, or paroquet, as I do thee.

Dog. The maid has been churning butter nine

hours, but it shall not come.

Saw. Let 'em eat cheese and choke.

Dog. I had rare sport

Among the clowns i' the morris.

Saw. I could dance

Out of my skin to hear thee. But, my curl-pate,

That jade, that foul tongued quean, Nan Ratcliffe,

Who for a little soap lick'd by my sow,

Struck, and almost had lamed it ;-did not I charge

thee

To pinch that scold to th' heart?

Dog. Bow, wow, wow! look here else

Enter ANN RATCLIFFE mad.

Ann. See, see, see! the man i' the moon has built a new windmill, and what running there is from all quarters of the city to learn the art of grinding!

Saw. Ho, ho, ho! I thank thee, my sweet mongrel. Ann. Hoyda! out on the Devil's false hopper! all the golden meal runs into the rich knaves' purses, and the poor have nothing but bran. Hey derry down! are not you mother Sawyer?

Saw. No, I am a lawyer.

Ann. Art thou? I prithee let me scratch thy face; for thy pen has flay'd off a great, many men's skins. You'll have brave doings in the vacation; for knaves and fools are at variance in every village. I'll sue mother Sawyer, and her own sow shall give in evidence against her.

Saw. Touch her. [To the Dog, who rubs against her. Ann. Oh! my ribs are made of a paned hose, and they break.' There's a Lancashire hornpipe in my throat; hark, how it tickles it with doodle, doodle, doodle, doodle! welcome, sergeants! welcome, Devil! hands, hands! hold hands, and dance_around, around, around.[Dancing.

Re-enter Old BANKS, CUDDY, RATCLIFFE, and

Countrymen.

Rat. She's here; alas! my poor wife is here.

Banks. Catch her fast, and have her into some close chamber, do; for she's as many wives are, stark mad.

1 Oh! my ribs are made of a paned hose, and they break.] Paned hose were composed of stripes (panels) of different coloured stuff stitched together, and therefore liable to break, or be seam-rent.—GIFFORD.

Cud. The witch! mother Sawyer, the witch, the devil!

Rat. Oh, my dear wife! help, sirs!

[She is carried off Banks. You see your work, mother Bumby.' Saw. My work? should she and all you here run mad,

Is the work mine?

Cud. No, on my conscience, she would not hurt a devil of two years old.

Re-enter RATCLIFFE.

How now? what's become of her?

Rat. Nothing; she's become nothing, but the miserable trunk of a wretched woman. We were in her hands as reeds in a mighty tempest: spite of our strengths, away she brake; and nothing in her mouth being heard, but "the devil, the witch, the witch, the devil!" she beat out her own brains, and so died.2

i

You see your work, mother Bumby.] Farmer Banks is very familiar with the names of our old plays. Mother Bombie is the title of one of 'Lyly's comedies, of which she is the heroine; as is Gammer Gurton (as he calls the witch just below) of the farcical drama which takes its name from her and her needle.-GIFFORD.

2 If high ecclesiastical authority may be believed, the wits of much higher persons than Nan Ratcliffe had been put in jeopardy by the practices of the Mother Sawyers of the day. In a sermon preached before Queen Elizabeth in 1558, by Bishop Jewel, her majesty was told, "It may please your grace to understand that witches and sorcerers, within these four last years, are marvellously increased within your grace's realm. Your subjects pine away even unto death-their colour fadeth, their speech is benumbed, their senses are bereft; I pray God they never practise farther than upon the subject." That such language could have proceeded from such a man as Bishop Jewel will be incredible only to those who know not the terror which witchcraft had excited in England for whole centuries, or who are unacquainted with the numerous works on sorcery and witchcraft which came from the press during the reigns of Elizabeth and James, many of them drawn up by profound and elaborate scholars. To whichever of these two reigns the disgrace of theorising on this subject may most fairly be ascribed, the infamy of its practical consequences pre-eminently belongs to the Puritans and fanatics of the succeeding age. It was then that the notorious Hopkins, that monster of stupidity and blood, as the late editor of Ford justly terms him, was let loose upon the public, and the land deluged with the blood of harmless creatures, whose greatest crimes were their

Cud. It's any man's case, be he never so wise, to die when his brains go a wool-gathering.

Banks. Masters, be ruled by me; let's all to a justice. Hag, thou hast done this, and thou shalt answer it.

Saw. Banks, I defy thee.

Banks. Get a warrant first to examine her, then ship her to Newgate; here's enough, if all her other villanies were pardon'd, to burn her for a witch. You have a spirit, they say, comes to you in the likeness of a dog; we shall see your cur at one time or other: if we do, unless it be the Devil himself, he shall go howling to the jail in one chain, and thou in another. Dog. Bow, wow, wow, wow!

All. Oh, the dog's here, the dog's here!
Banks. It was the voice of a dog.

Cud. The voice of a dog? so am I a dog: bow, wow, wow! It was I that bark'd so, father, to make coxcombs of these clowns.

Banks. However, we 'll be coxcomb'd no longer: away, therefore, to the justice for a warrant; and then, Gammer Gurton, have at your needle of witcheraft.

Saw. And prick thine own eyes out. Go, peevish fools! [Exeunt BANKS, RAT. and Countrymen. Cud. Ningle, you had like to have spoil'd all with

age, their poverty, or their infirmity. Zachary Grey affirms, that he "had seen a list of those who suffered for witchcraft during the Presbyterian domination of the Long Parliament, amounting to more than three thousand names!" and from the manner in which the transactions of the day are recorded by Whitelocke, the parliamentary commissioner, where the burning of a dozen or a score of witches is mentioned as an ordinary occurrence, exciting less emotion apparently in the writer's mind than the destruction of so many weasels, the statement of Grey would seem to be little, if any thing, exaggerated.-Since this note was written, the subject has passed into the hands of a writer (Scott), of whom it is difficult to say whether power or fecundity is the most remarkable property of his pen. To that volume the reader is referred for any further knowledge which may be required for ascertaining the opinions of our ancestors on the subject of witchcraft and demonology, and of seeing how far those opinions were checked or encouraged by the writers for the stage.

VOL. II.-18