Hec. And Selago, Hedge hysop too: how near he goes my cuttings! Were they all cropt by moon-light? Fire. Every blade of 'em, or I am a moon-calf, mother. 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. Song in the Air. [A Spirit like a Cat descends. [Above.]There's one come down to fetch his dues ; A kiss, a coll, a sip of blood: And why thou stay'st so long, I muse, I muse, Since the air's so sweet and good. Hec. O, art thou come? What news, what news? Spirit. All goes still to our delight: Either come, or else Refuse, refuse. Hec. Now I am furnish'd for the flight. Fire. Hark, hark, the Cat sings a brave treble in her own language. Hec. [Going up.] Now I go, now I fly, Malkin my sweet Spirit and I. Oh what a dainty pleasure 'tis To ride in the air When the moon shines fair, And sing, and dance, and toy, and kiss! Over woods, high rocks, and mountains, We fly by night 'mongst troops of Spirits. Fire. Well, mother, I thank your kindness; you must be Gamboling in the air, and leave me to walk here like a fool and a mortal. [Act iii., Sc. 3.1] A Duchess consults the Witch about inflicting a sudden Death. Hec. What death is't you desire for Almachildes? Hec. Then I've fitted you. Here lie the gifts of both; sudden and subtle : Duch. In what time prithee? Hec. Perhaps in a moon's progress. Out upon pictures, if they be so tedious ! Give me things with some life. Hec. Then seek no farther. Duch. This must be done with speed, despatch'd this night, If it be possible. Hec. I have it for you: Here's that will do't stay but perfection's time, And that's not five hours hence. Duch. Canst thou do this? Hec. Can I? Duch. I mean, so closely? Hec. So closely do you mean too? Duch. So artfully, so cunningly? Hec. Worse and worse. Doubts and incredulities, They make me mad. Let scrupulous creatures know: Cum volui, ripis ipsis mirantibus, amnes [The entire Scene.] Stantia concutio cantu freta; nubila pello, Can you doubt me then, daughter; Than can make mountains tremble, miles of woods walk: Of the entomb'd to burst out from their marbles; Nay, draw yon Moon to my involv'd designs? Fire. I know as well as can be when my mother's mad, and our Great cat angry; for one spits French then, and the other spits Latin. Duch. I did not doubt you, mother. Hec. No! what, did you? My power's so firm, it is not to be question'd. Duch. Forgive what's past; and now I know th' offensiveness That vexes art, I'll shun the occasion ever. Hec. Leave all to me and my five sisters, daughter. It shall be convey'd in at howlet-time. Take you no care. My spirits know their moments: Raven or screech-owl never fly by the door But they call in (I thank 'em) and they lose not by't. They shall have semina cum sanguine, Their gorge cramm'd full, if they come once to our house : Fire. They fare but too well when they come hither they ate up as much the other night as would have made me a good conscionable pudding. Hec. Give me some lizard's brain, quickly, Firestone. Where's grannam Stadlin, and all the rest of the sisters? (The other Witches appear.) Hec. Give me Marmaritin; some Bear-breech: when? And fetch three ounces of the red-hair'd girl I kill'd last midnight. Fire. Whereabout, sweet mother? Hec. Hip; hip, or flank. Where's the Acopus ? Fire. You shall have Acopus, forsooth. Hec. Stir, stir, about; whilst I begin the charm. A Charm Song about a Vessel. Hec. Black spirits and white, red spirits and grey; Fire-drake, Puckey, make it lucky; Round, around, around, about, about; First Witch. The juice of toad; the oil of adder. Hec. Put in, there's all, and rid the stench. Fire. Nay, here's three ounces of the red-hair'd wench. All. Round, around, around, &c. Hec. So, so, enough: into the vessel with it. There; 't hath the true perfection: I am so light1 At any mischief, there's no villany But is a tune methinks. Fire. A tune! 'tis to the tune of damnation then, I warrant you, And that song hath a villanous burthen. Hec. Come, my sweet sisters, let the air strike our tune; Whilst we show reverence to yon peeping moon. [The Witches dance, et Exeunt. [Act v., Sc. 2.2] Though some resemblance may be traced between the Charms in Macbeth and the Incantations in this Play, which is supposed to have preceded it, this coincidence will not detract much from the originality of Shakspeare. His Witches are distinguished from the Witches of Middleton by essential differences. These are creatures to whom man or woman plotting some dire mischief might resort for occasional consultation. Those originate deeds of blood, and begin bad impulses to men. From the moment that their eyes first meet with Macbeth's, he is spellbound. That meeting sways his destiny. He can never break the fascination. These Witches can hurt the body: those have power over the soul.-Hecate in Middleton has a Son, a low buffoon: the hags of Shakspeare have neither child of their own, nor seem to be descended from any parent. They are foul Anomalies, of whom we know not whence they are sprung, nor whether they have beginning or ending. As they are without human passions, so they seem to be without human relations. They come with thunder and lightning, and vanish to airy music. This is all we know of them.-Except Hecate, they have no names; which heightens their mysteriousness. Their names, and some of the properties, which Middleton 1 Light-hearted. [The entire Scene. For other extracts from Middleton alone see pages 413, 420, 557, 565, 567 and 568; in partnership see note on page 114.] has given to his Hags, excite smiles. The Weird Sisters are serious things. Their presence cannot co-exist with mirth. But in a lesser degree, the Witches of Middleton are fine creations. Their power too is, in some measure, over the mind. They raise jars, jealousies, strifes, like a thick scurf o'er life. THE WITCH OF EDMONTON. A TRAGI-COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1658: FIRST PERFORMED PROBABLY MOTHER SAWYER (before she turns Witch) alone. 'Cause I am poor, deform'd, and ignorant, For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues Make me to credit it.1 BANKS, a Farmer, enters. Banks. Out, out upon thee, Witch. Saw. Dost call me Witch? Banks. I do, Witch, I do: And worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. What makest thou upon my ground? Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me. Banks. Down with them when I bid thee, quickly; I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else. Saw. You won't? churl, cut-throat, miser: there they be. Would they stuck cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff Banks. Say'st thou me so? Hag, out of my ground. This Soliloquy anticipates all that Addison has said in the conclusion of the 117th Spectator. VOL. IV.-10 |