Banks. Say'st thou me so? Hag, out of my ground. Saw. Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon? Now thy bones aches, thy joints cramps, And convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews. [Exit. Saw. Strike, do: and wither'd may that hand and arm Whose blows have lam'd me, drop from the rotten trunk. Abuse me! beát me! call me hag and witch! What is the name, where, and by what art learn'd? May the thing call'd Familiar be purchased? I am shunn'd And hated like a sickness: made a scorn To all degrees and sexes. I have heard old beldams Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what, That have appear'd; and suck'd, some say, their blood. Blasphemous speeches, oaths, detested oaths, To be a witch as to be counted one. She gets a Familiar which serves her in the likeness of a Black Dog. MOTHER SAWYER. Familiar. Saw. I am dried up With cursing and with madness; and have yet Stand Stand on thy hind-legs up. Kiss me, my Tommy; By making my old ribs to shrug for joy Of thy fine tricks. What hast thou done? Let's tickle. Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee? Famil. Yes, and nipt the sucking-child. Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty, My little pearl. No lady loves her hound, Monkey, or parakeet, as I do thee. Famil. The maid has been churning butter nine hours, but it shall not come. Saw. Let 'm eat cheese and choak. Famil. I had rare sport Among the clowns in the morrice. Saw. I could dance Out of my skin to hear thee. That jade, that foul-tongued But, my curl-pate, Who, for a little soap lick'd by my sow, Struck, and had almost lamed it: did not I charge thee To pinch that quean to the heart ? * * Her Familiar absents himself: she invokes him. * Sarv. Not see me in three days? I'm lost without my Tomalin; prithee come; Revenge to me is sweeter far than life: Thou art my raven, on whose coal-black wings Revenge comes flying to me: Oh, my best love, I am on fire (even in the midst of ice) Raking my blood up, till my shrunk knees feel Thy curl'd head leaning on them. darling, Come then, my If in the air thou hover'st, fall upon me Appear thou now so to me. Art thou i'the sea? Like a swift powder-mine beneath the world, Though I lay ruin'd in it. Not yet come? I must then fall to my old prayer: sanctibiceter nomen tuum. He comes in White. Saw. Why dost thou thus appear to me in white, As if thou wert the ghost of my dear love? Fumil. I am dogged, list not to tell thee, yet to torment thee, My whiteness puts thee in mind of thy winding sheet. Saw. Am I near death? Famil. Be blasted with the news. Whiteness is day's footboy, a fore-runner to light, which shews thy old rivel'd face: villainies are stript naked, the witch must be beaten out of her Saw. Why to mine eyes art thou a flag of truce? 60 Mother Sawyer differs from the hags of Middleton or Shakspeare. She is the plain traditional old woman Witch of our ancestors; poor, deformed, and ignorant; the terror of villages, herself amenable to a justice. That should be a hardy sheriff, with the power of the county at his heels, that would lay hands on the Weird Sisters. They are of another jurisdiction. But upon the common and received opinion the author (or authors) have engrafted strong fancy. There is something frightfully earnest in her invocations to the Familiar. THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY; OR THE HONEST MAN'S REVENGE. BY CYRIL TOURNEUR. D'Amville (the Atheist) with the aid of his wicked instrument, Borachio, murders his Brother, Montferrers, for his Estate. After the deed is done, Borachio and he talk together of the circumstances which attended the murder. D'Am. Here's a sweet comedy, begins with O dolentis, and concludes with ha, ha, he. Bor. Ha, ha, he. D'Am. O my echo! I could stand reverberating this sweet musical air of joy, till I had perished my sound lungs with violent laughter. Lovely nightraven, thou hast seized a carcase? Bor. Put him out on's pain. I lay so fitly underneath the bank from whence he fell, that ere his faultering tongue could utter double O, I knocked out his brains with this fair ruby; and had another stone just of this form and bigness ready, that I laid in the broken scull upon the ground for his pillow, against the which they thought he fell and perished. D'Am. Upon this ground I'll build my manor house, And this shall be chiefest corner stone. circumstance Bor. This crown'd the most judicious murder, that The induction to the accomplishment seem'd forced, Or done o' purpose, but by accident. [Here they reckon up the several circumstances. Bor. Then darkness did Protect the execution of the work D'Am. Here was a murder bravely carried through Bor. And those that saw the passage of it, made Of sublunary creatures, when theirselves [Thunder and Lightning. What! dost start at thunder? Credit my belief, 'tis a mere effect of nature, an exhalation hot and dry, involved within a watry vapour in the middle region of the air, whose coldness congealing that thick moisture to a cloud, the angry exhalation shut within a prison of contrary quality, strives to be free; and with the violent eruption through the grossness of that cloud, makes this noise we hear. Bor. 'Tis a fearful noise. D'Am. 'Tis a brave noise; and, methinks, graces our accomplished project, as a peal of ordnance does a triumph. It speaks encouragement. Now nature shews thee how it favored our perform ance to forbear this noise when we set forth, because it should not terrify my brother's going home, which would have dashed our purpose: to forbear this lightning in our passage, lest it should ha' warned him of the pitfall. Then propitious nature winked at our proceedings; now, it doth express how that forbearance favor'd our success. * * * * Drowned |