Date first published: 1634.

Date first performed: 1634.

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Master Arthur: A gentleman. Nephew of Old Seely, rescued by Generous from his mortgaging of his estate to a usurer. Becomes Generous’ heir, replacing Whetstone.

Master (Thomas) Shakstone: gentleman

Master Bantam: Gentleman. His name hints at pugnacity: antagonist of Whetstone

Members of the Generous household:

Whetstone, nephew to Mrs Generous, a bastard and a coxcomb fool: the play’s clown.

Master Generous: a character of him is given. Hospitable – a high value in an age that complained of the decline of hospitality. A ‘good old gentleman’, who has been married to Mistress Generous for 20+ years. Sceptical about witchcraft: eventually feels that he has been punished for his incredulity.

Mistress (‘Nan’ - Ann) Generous, his wife, and the chief witch

Robin (Robert), their manservant (lover of Mall)

Members of the bewitched Seely household:

Old Seely: ‘head’ of the enchanted Seely – the name hints at ‘silly’ household

Joan Seely, his wife

Gregory Seely, their son

Winny Seely, their daughter

Lawrence, the servant (Lawrence’s name is chosen to recollect a famous seducer, subject of a lost ballad, ‘Lusty Lawrence’ – ironic in view of his situation)

Parnell, the maid, who marries Lawrence

Doughty – short-fused, but intervenes positively with Arthur to separate the chaotic Seely household. An old bachelor, falls for Mall Spencer. Godfather to the Boy who witnesses the coven, becomes the witchfinder. The name suggests authorial approval, doughty=courageous.

Witches and familiars: historically documented persons marked * [full names given in square brackets]

(Mistress Generous, as above)

Mother (or Granny) [Margaret] Johnson* Also referred to as Peg, Meg. Her vampiric familiar is Mamilion

Goody [Frances] Dickison*

Naunt [Jennet] Hargrave*.

Maud, with her familiar, Puckling

Doll, Tib, Nab, Jug – names of the other witches mentioned

Mall [Mary] Spencer*: the youngest of the witches. Apart from Robin’s vigorous liaison with her, Lawrence is her old sweetheart (and hence her intervention in his marriage, making him impotent vis-à-vis Parnell), Whetstone fancies her, and Doughty himself falls for her too.

A soldier (takes over at the enchanted mill, cuts off the hand of a cat-spirit (Mrs Generous))

A Miller (apparently named Gretty)

Boy* (historically, Edmund Robinson, who invented the whole story to deflect punishment, cf ‘My father is a fell man’ )

Another Boy – a shape shifting devil

In the mock masque of the true fathers of the Gentlemen: A Pedant, A Tailor, and a Gallant.

Musicians, including a Lancashire bagpiper

Country Lasses

Villagers for the wedding feast and the Skimmington ride

THE LATE LANCASHIRE WITCHES:

A SCENE BY SCENE BREAKDOWN

Act 1

Scene 1 (Heywood) The gentlemen are returning from a spoiled hare-coursing: both supernatural (Arthur) and more rational explanations are made. A ‘Muse’ is the hiding place of a hare. They enter into dialogue with Whetstone, who doesn’t hide his illegitimacy: he is a ‘by-blow’ of his father (later revealed to have been a gallant). The insults about ‘entering by the window’ concern Whetstone having come into the world the wrong way. Latin tags include ‘As in praesenti’ – an ancient joke enabling you to call someone an ass, and ‘Lying is not my thing’, shortened to an insult about being a liar. Mr Generous, Whetstone’s Uncle, is carefully introduced as a sympathetic character.

The second scene (Brome) displays the Seely household. At the end of the play we learn how Seely brought the witch’s curse down on his household. The effect of the curse has been to invert all order – the father submits to the rule of his son, mother to the daughter, while the whole family lives in awe of their servants. Doughty functions here as the voice of indignant common sense. Note the allusion to the witches in Macbeth. A ‘white girl’ means a favourite, ‘with a wanion’ means, ‘with a vengeance’. The scene can be assigned to Brome because he was fascinated by inversion (world upside down) comedy, as in his The Antipodes.

Displays in scene 1 the witches, and their familiars. At the end of the text, the song for the witches, encouraging their spirits to suck their blood, is given. ‘A wily Wat’ – Wat is the traditional name for a hare.

In scene 2 Arthur thanks Generous for his assistance in reclaiming his mortgage, and descends into hyperbolic compliments. Whetstone is used to voice some traditional lore about hares. Left alone, Generous hears from Robin about his wife’s unaccompanied rides out (Generous resists finding this freedom a cause for jealousy, but orders that she be refused the gelding in future). Robin makes a joke which comes true later in the action: she does ride him, and then, he subsequently (having learned how to use the magic bridle) rides her. The dialogue about the wines of the Mitre tavern is clearly a Caroline version of ‘product placement’ – ‘Ipsitate’ is a remote version of ‘Hippocrene’ – the best of wines. The arrival of the Soldier and the Miller sets up the sub-action of the enchanted mill.

Scene 3 shows a boy, historically the child who, to save himself a beating from a violent father, and subsequently operating at his father’s direction, denounced the women as witches (Edmund Robinson). The boy in the play has been gathering ‘bullies’ – wild plums. ‘Enter an invisible spirit’ - The convention of invisibility was that an actor wore a grey cloak: F Adson must have been the performer’s name.

Scene 4 sets off the quarrel between Bantam and Whetstone, which culminates in Whetstone’s triumph over all three gentlemen.

Scene 5 shows the boy whip the leash of greyhounds, who transform themselves into Goody Dickison and a devil in the shape of a boy. The shape-shifting devil then becomes a horse, on which Goody Dickison abducts the boy.

Scene 6 shows Robin and Mall Spencer. He has been sent to get wine, she detains him, and will supernaturally enable him to fetch wine all the same. We learn of her spirited way with the housework, and then witness her save effort by making the milk pail come to her. They exit mounted together on a (satanic) horse.

ACT 3 opens with the bridal banquet of Lawrence and Parnell. Breaking the bride cake over the bride’s head seems to have been some early version of confetti (in this case, the cake turns to bran). The bells ‘ring backwards’ at the wedding – a ‘dong-ding’ alarm call. The festivities are ruined by the spirit, which transforms the cake, then ‘does some action’ over the dishes of food – clearly, some gestures of spell-casting. The mutton turns into a dish of horns, live birds are found in a pie, the sallets (salads) become ‘Jewes ears, mushrooms and puckfists’ (kinds of fungus), the custards turn into ‘cowsheards’ (cow’s dung). A temporary restoration of order in the Seely household suggests to Arthur that the ‘Hags’, in turning the meal into a ‘deceptio visus’, an illusion, had to give up their charm over the household members.

In scene 2, Robin has been to London and back overnight. Generous voices his usual scepticism, before Robin produces the legal papers the drawer at the Mitre in London found and has sent on to Generous. Robin is left to soliloquise bawdily about his hard riding – 300 miles to London and back has done for his backside, Mall for his ‘back’ (his virility). Mistress Generous interrupts: when he will not saddle the gelding for her, she bridles and mounts him.

At scene 3, dialogue between the gentlemen reveals that Doughty, the old bachelor, has fallen for Mall, and now doubts witchcraft. During the dancing, something happens to Mall’s nose as Doughty kisses her (note the witch turning about). The lifting of the spell upon the Seely household now produces unreasonable submissiveness in the children. The dramatists now allow the company musicians to join in the fun. First the music turns from one tune into many, then it is inaudible. During this action, Mall gives to Lawrence the ‘point’ – points were used to fasten a man’s ‘codpiece’ to the doublet, or as other laced fastenings. While he has this about his person, it will ‘truss up (his) trinkets’ (Mall’s joke means ‘secure your valuables stop your genitals working’). Mall’s charm is very traditional magic – knot-tying to prevent sex. Arthur subsequently calls it a ‘ligatory point’ (passage cited in OED, something that binds). The musicians having fallen silent, Mall substitutes a bagpiper, who vanishes at the end of the scene. A disappointed Doughty (who clearly thought he was onto a sure thing with Mall) now reverts to belief in witchcraft – which he seems not to do while under Mall’s immediate charm (cf Generous and his wife). The former charm on the Seely household resumes.

ACT 4 carries on from 3 ii. Mistress Generous has ridden Robin to the coven. Robin resolves to peep in at a crack. Goody Dickison is there with the Boy. The main action involves the witches pulling on ropes, which cause the items spirited away from the wedding feast to descend to the witches (though the boy testifies that the food, now become the devils, has therefore lost all its savour – a traditional motif). The witches dance and sing, during which the boy escapes. The witches cannot pursue him, and in the confusion of their hasty parting, Robin pronounces a reverse spell upon Mistress Generous, bridling and mounting her. He will leave her in his master’s stable, ensorcelled into the form of a mare.

Scene 2 has Generous soliloquising about distrust. Note as a sociological side note that he speaks of observing the ‘gentile’ (ie, gentlemanly, aristocratic) fashion of not sharing a bed with his wife, particularly not in the summer. Robin enters, ready to confound his master. Generous is sent to the stable, where Mistress Generous is still under the spell of the magic bridle. She appears when he takes it off the mare: Generous is staggered, and interrogates his wife about her state ‘Art thou a witch?’ ‘I am such a lost creature’. She confesses to her pact with the devil, and seems penitent. The scene is typical Heywood, analogous to the scene in A Woman killed with Kindness where Frankford discovers the adultery of the wife he has loved and trusted.

Scene 2: Doughty is launching his purge of the witches. A skimmington ride is announced. The Lawrence-Parnell marriage has been a debacle, and Parnell is very vocal in her dissatisfaction. In a skimmington ride, persons dressed as (or effigies of) a quarrelling couple are seated back to back on a horse, the husband facing the horse’s tail. The dialogue about Lawrence makes the contemporary reference to ‘lusty Lawrence’, titular hero of a bawdy lost ballad, who allegedly managed to get 17 girls pregnant in one year. The unhappy couple enter, with Parnell referring to Lawrence as ‘Gaffer Downought’ (‘Old Man Do-nought’). Doughty, knowing Lawrence’s reputation for virility, recognises this is the result of witchcraft ‘a plain Maleficium versus hanc’ (malefice against a specific thing, ‘hanc’ is latin for ‘this’). The skimmington descends into an affray, with Lawrence and Parnell assailing their mockers. The Gentlemen help quell the rustics. Doughty now announces that ‘I will now a witch hunting’.

Scene 3 shows Mistress Generous’ shocking reversion to witchcraft ‘once and ever a witch thou knowst’. ‘Some passionate words mixed with forced tears Did so enchant his eyes and ears…’ Whetstone now claims of his aunt her promise to help him ‘put a trick upon these gentlemen’. She arranges this quickly. Note her ‘This night we’ll celebrate to sport ‘Tis all for mirth, we mean no hurt’ - at the climax of her morally deplorable backsliding into witchcraft, the chief witch announces that her next activity will all be ‘to no great harm’.

Scene 4 is the mock-masque, in which the bastard Whetstone purportedly shows to Bantam, Shakstone and Arthur who their real fathers are – a schoolteacher, a tailor and Robin: his own father is at least a real gentlemanly gallant.

Scene 1 opens with Doughty, who has spent 2 days making inquiries. The boy turns out to be his godson, and the boy’s story has now elaborated itself into a battle with the devil in the shape of another boy. The boy-witness has been entranced or ill since this ordeal. Doughty is determined on a purge ‘though we leave not three untainted women in the parish, we’ll do it … we will so swing them in twopenny halters’. He could not ‘find whom to mistrust (the usage means suspect) for a Witch till now this boy, this happy boy informs me’.

Scene 2 has the witches assail the soldier at the mill. He refers to his sword as ‘Morglay’, after the legendary sword of the same name, and with it will fight ‘a Gib’ (cat-spirit) as big as Ascapart (a legendary giant). In fighting back, he maims one of the witches.

In scene 3 Arthur expresses his resentment at Robin taking place in the denunciation of him as a bastard: but Generous confirms that Robin ‘slept within my chamber, 12 miles off’ on the night. Generous now walks to the mill, hears about the soldier’s ordeal, and finds the severed hand of his wife.

Scene 4 has Mistress Generous cornered as being still one of the witches: her husband arrives with her severed hand. Generous will deliver her ‘Into the hand of justice’.

Scene 5 has Bantam and Shakstone talking about the prevalence of witches (for which Lapland was famous – practitioners there of shamanistic magic). Bantam wonders ‘Can any but fools be drawn into a Covenant with the greatest enemy of mankind?’ The spell on Lawrence has been lifted when the newly weds came to ‘mistrust’ (suspect) ‘that pestilent Codpiece-point’. The spell is also shown to have lifted from the Seely family – Old Seely now remembers how he ‘crossed a wayward woman’ three months ago. It is emphasised that ‘Witches apprehended under hands of lawful authority, do lose their power’. Doughty enters ‘I have catched a whole Kennel of witches’. Generous enters, and discards Whetstone as his heir; the other witches are brought in by the constable: Doughty remarks ‘we want but a good fire to entertain them’ (in England, convicted witches were hanged, but Doughty clearly approves of the tougher continental methods - it is also a ‘hospitality’ joke). The witches try to cast a spell, which fails: Doughty remarks that ‘this little Demigorgon constable’ can stave off the devil: the point is that merely secular authority is enough, the Lancashire witches do not require priestly Catholic exorcism to counteract their spells. ‘Demigorgon’ makes the constable into a semi-demon himself, to stress the terror of the law even in the form of a (diminutive?) constable. The boy is made to accuse the women publicly Parnell tries to scratch Mall (as in Ann Radcliff trying to scratch the face of Elizabeth Sawyer). Granny Johnson now breaks ranks with the other witches, who are refusing to confess, and calls on her familiar. Doughty elicits from her (‘I’ll dandle (cajole, be kind to) a witch a little’) a confession that Mamilion was her familiar, that she has been a witch for six years, along with the salacious details of her sexual encounters with her familiar.

The important Epilogue to the play relates to the actual circumstances: the accused women are not yet sentenced. ‘We represent as much As they have done’ is the claim made, and that the Judges and Justices sitting on the case cannot be brought on stage. ‘There we leave them, as their devils did’. In fact the case was referred to King Charles. It was by then apparent that the father of Edward Robinson had been directing his son’s story as an extortioner, and the case collapsed. But several of the accused had died in prison.

It seems to me that among the aspects worth consideration in the play are:

The play in performance was witnessed by Nathaniel Tomkins, at the Globe in 1634:

Tomkins seems to have expected some genuine discussion of witchcraft, in a moral play. His testifies to the success of the play as written, however.

The play was re-cycled quite extensively in Thomas Shadwell’s The Lancashire Witches and Teague O’Divelly the Irish Priest (1682), a wild farrago staged under the influence of the ‘Popish Plot’. The play is ‘about’ the 1612 Lancashire Witches, bulked out with bits from Heywood and Brome, with gross anti-Catholic farce.

The best discussion of this play is in Purkiss, Briggs also gives useful material. Margaret Murray, in her deservedly ill-famed The God of the Witches (she believed that coven witchcraft occurred) uses material from Margaret Johnson’s confession without ever mentioning that the whole case was proved fraudulent!

Edmund Robinson, the 10 year old son of a stonemason, played truant instead of bringing home his father’s cattle. To escape a whipping, he came up with a story (text provided from Briggs, Pale Hecate’s Team) about finding two greyhounds, their transformation when he whipped them, and Frances Dickinson taking him to a Sabbath, attended by 60 witches. His father took up the story, and suggested names to the boy, who was taken round the local parish churches to see if he could identify faces from the gathering. John Webster, author of a sceptical discussion of witchcraft The Displaying of Supposed Witchcraft (1677) seems to have seen and quizzed the boy, but was largely kept from him by the boy’s adult minders. 20 people were accused. All the accused denied all knowledge of any activities, but Margaret Johnson, NOT named or accused, came forward and volunteered her confession (text provided from Briggs, preserved as ‘The Confession of Margaret Johnson Widow before Richard Shuttleworth, BM Ms. 36,674). She did not name any of the others or any living people as fellow witches.17 were convicted: at her trial Mary Spencer could not hear the evidence against her, so loud was the uproar in court (with a high wind outside too). The local JP’s, unhappy about the conduct of the trial, and doubtless mindful of the outcome of the 1612 case (Royal disapproval of executions) asked the Privy Council to investigate. The Bishop of Chester finally got the boy to admit that the story had been made up, and to the role played by his father. Frances Dickenson had also testified that Robinson senior had promised her husband that he would have her declared innocent in return for 40 shillings (£2). King Charles may have questioned one of the accused. In the meantime the King’s physician William Harvey (discoverer of the circulation of the blood) led the team which found ‘nothing unnatural’ on the bodies of Jennet Hargraves, Frances Dickenson or Mall Spencer, and adequate natural explanations for ‘two things which might be called teats’ on Margaret Johnson. The case collapsed: but 10 of the accused were still in prison in 1636, probably because they could not pay their prison fees.

Lancashire was, with Essex, the scene of the worst witch persecutions. It was also a county which had remained strongly Catholic: the exorcist John Darrell had operated in the County, and published an account of his activities, which drew forth the reply by S. Harsnet, the Declaration of Certain Egregious Popish Impostures (used by WS for devil names in King Lear).

The great witch trial of 1612-3 ended with 10 people being executed. It is possible that two of these really thought of themselves as witches (Mother Chattox and Mother Demdike). The case was reported by Thomas Potts, The Wonderful Discovery of Witches in the County of Lancashire (1613). But King James investigated the case against the others, and decided that the presiding justices had executed people on the flimsiest of evidence.

Edmund Robinson seems to have picked up some of the stories about 1612: as Briggs and Purkiss demonstrate, he also made up his tale using many folkloristic motifs.

It is always possible that the 1612 case was dramatised in a lost play; while Heywood may have based Mrs Generous on Alice Nutter, one of the accused, who was the wife of a rich yeoman.

THE PROLOGVE.

Corrantoes sailing, and no foot post late

Possessing us with Newes of forraine State,

No accidents abroad worthy Relation

Arriving here, we are forc'd from our owne Nation

To ground the Scene that's now in agitation.

The Project unto many here well knowne;

Those Witches the fat Iaylor brought to Towne,

An Argument so thin, persons so low

Can neither yeeld much matter, nor great show.

Expect no more than can from such be rais'd,

So may the Scene passe pardon'd, though not prais'd.

SCENE I.

Enter Master Arthur, Mr. Shakstone, Mr. Bantam (as from hunting.)

Was ever sport of expectation,

Thus crost in th' height?

Tush these are accidents, all game is subject to.

So you may call them

Chances, or crosses, or what else you please,

But for my part, Ile hold them prodigies,

As things transcending Nature.

O you speake this,

Because a Hare hath crost you.

A Hare? a Witch, or rather a Divell I think.

For tell me Gentlemen, was't possible

In such a faire course, and no covert neere,

We in pursuit, and she in constant view,

Our eyes not wandring but all bent that way,

The Dogs in chase, she ready to be ceas'd,

And at the instant, when I durst have layd

My life to gage, my Dog had pincht her, then

To vanish into nothing!

Somewhat strange, but not as you inforce it,

Make it plaine

That I am in an error, sure I am

That I about me have no borrow'd eyes.

They are mine owne, and Matches.

She might find some Muse as then not visible to us,

And escape that way.

Perhaps some Foxe had earth'd there,

And though it be not common, for I seldome

Have knowne or heard the like, there squat her selfe,

And so her scape appeare but Naturall,

Which you proclaime a Wonder.

Well well Gentlemen, be you of your own faith, but what I see

And is to me apparent, being in sence,

My wits about me, no way tost nor troubled,

To that will I give credit.

Come, come, all men

Were never of one minde, nor I of yours.

To leave this argument, are you resolv'd

Where we shall dine to day?

Yes where we purpos'd.

Banth.

That was with Master Generous.

True, the same.

And where a loving welcome is presum'd,

Whose liberall Table's never unprepar'd,

Nor he of guests unfurnisht, of his meanes,

There's none can beare it with a braver port,

And keepe his state unshaken, one who sels not

Nor covets he to purchase, holds his owne

Without oppressing others, alwayes prest

To indeere to him any knowne Gentleman

In whom he finds good parts.

A Character not common in this age.

I cannot wind him up

Unto the least part of his noble worth.

Tis far above my strength.

See who comes yonder,

A fourth, to make us a full Messe of guests

At Master Generous’ Table.

Tush let him passe,

He is not worth our luring, a meere Coxcombe,

It is a way to call our wits in question,

To have him seene amongst us.

He hath spy'd us, there is no way to evade him.

That's my griefe; a most notorious lyar, out upon him.

Let's set the best face on't.

What Gentlemen? all mine old acquaintance?

A whole triplicity of friends together? nay then

'Tis three to one we shall not soone part Company.

Sweet Mr. Whetstone.

Dainty Mr. Whetstone.

Delicate Master Whetstone.

You say right, Mr. Whetstone I have bin, Mr. Whetstone I am, and Mr. Whetstone

I shall be, and those that know me, know withall that I have not my name for

nothing, I am hee whom all the brave Blades of the Country use to whet their

wits upon; sweet Mr. Shakton, dainty Mr. Bantham, and dainty Mr. Arthur,

and how, and how, what all lustick, all froligozone? I know, you are going to

my Uncles to dinner, and so am I too,

What shall we all make one randevous there,

You need not doubt of your welcome.

No doubt at all kind Mr. Whetstone; but we have not seene you of late, you are

growne a great stranger amongst us, I desire sometimes to give you a visit; I

pray where do you lye?

Where doe I lye? why sometimes in one place, and then againe in another, I

love to shift lodgings; but most constantly, wheresoere I dine or sup, there

doe I lye?

I never heard that word proceed from him I durst call truth till now.

But where so ever I lye 'tis no matter for that,

I pray you say, and say truth, are not you three now

Going to dinner to my Uncles?

I thinke you are a Witch Master Whetstone.

How? A Witch Gentlemen? I hope you doe not meane to abuse me, though at this

time (if report be true there are too many of them here in our Country) but I

am sure I look like no such ugly Creature.

It seemes then you are of opinion that there are Witches, for mine own part, I

can hardly be induc'd to think there is any such kinde of people.

No such kinde of people! I pray you tell me Gentlemen, did never any one

of you know my Mother?

Why was your Mother a Witch?

I doe not say as Witches goe now a dayes, for they for the most part are ugly

old Beldams, but she was a lusty young Lasse, and by her owne report, by her

beauty and faire lookes bewitcht my Father.

It seemes then your Mother was rather a yong wanton wench, than an old

wither'd witch.

You say right, and know withall I come of two ancient Families, for as I am a

Whetstone by the Mother-side, so I am a By-blow by the Fathers.

It appeares then by your discourse, that you came in at the window.

I would have you thinke I scorne like my Granams Cat to leape over the Hatch.

He hath confest himselfe to be a Bastard.

And I beleeve't as a notorious truth.

Howsoever I was begot, here you see I am,

And if my Parents went to it without feare or wit,

What can I helpe it.

Very probable, for as he was got without feare,

So it is apparent he was borne without wit.

Gentlemen, it seemes you have some private businesse amongst your selves,

which I am not willing to interrupt, I know not how the day goes with you, but

for mine owne part, my stomacke is now much upon 12. You know what houre

my Uncle keeeps, and I love ever to bee set before the first grace, I am

going before, speake, shall I acquaint him with your comming after?

We meane this day to see what fare he keepes.

And you know it is his custome to fare well,

And in that respect I think I may be his kinsman,

And so farewell Gentlemen, Ile be your fore-runner,

To give him notice of your visite.

And so intyre us to you.

Sweet Mr. Whetstone.

Kind Mr. Byblow.

I see you are perfect both in my name & sirname; I have bin ever bound unto

you, for which I will at this time be your Noverint, and give him notice that you Universi will bee with him per præsentes, and that I take to be presently.

Farewell As in præsenti.

It seemes hee's peece of a Scholler.

What because he hath read a little Scriveners Latine, hee never proceeded

farther in his Accidence than to Mentiri non est meum; and that was such a

hard Lesson to learne, that he stucke at mentiri; and cu'd never reach to non

est meum since, a meere Ignaro, and not worth acknowledgement.

Are these then the best parts he can boast of?

As you see him now, so shall you finde him ever: all in one strain,

there is one only thing which I wonder he left out.

And what might that be:

Of the same affinity with the rest.

At every second word, he his commonly boasting

either of his Aunt or his Uncle.

You name him in good time, see where he comes.

Gentlemen, Welcome, t'is a word I use,

From me expect no further complement:

Nor do I name it often at one meeting,

Once spoke (to those that understand me best,

And know I alwaies purpose as I speake)

Hath ever yet suffiz'd: so let it you;

Nor doe I love that common phrase of guests,

As we make bold, or we are troublesome,

Wee take you unprovided, and the like;

I know you understanding Gentlemen,

And knowing me, cannot persuade your selves

With me you shall be troublesome or bold,

But still provided for my worthy friends,

Amongst whom you are lifted.

Noble sir, you generously instruct us, and to expresse

We can be your apt schollers: in a word

Wee come to dine with you.

And Gentlemen, such plainnesse doth best please me, I had notice

Of so much by my kinsman, and to show

How lovingly I tooke it, instantly

Rose from my chayre to meet you at the gate.

And be my selfe your usher; nor shall you finde

Being set to meat, that i'le excuse your fare,

Or say, I am sorry it falls out so poore;

And had I knowne your coming wee'd have had

Such things and such, nor blame my Cooke, to say

This dish or that hath not bin sauc'st with care:

Words, fitting best a common Hostesse mouth,

When ther's perhaps some just cause of dislike

But not the table of a Gentleman;

Nor is it my wives custome; in a word, take what you find, & so

Sir without flattery

You may be call'd the sole surviving son

Of long since banisht Hospitality.

In that you please me not: But Gentlemen

I hope to be beholden unto you all,

Which if I proove, Ile be a gratefull debtor.

Wherein good sir.

I ever studied plainenesse, and truth withall.

I pray expresse your selfe.

In few I shall. I know this youth to whom my wife is Aunt

Is (as you needs must finde him) weake and shallow:

Dull, as his name, and what for kindred sake

We note not, or at least, are loath to see,

Is unto such well-knowing Gentlemen

Most grossely visible: If for my sake

You will but seeme to winke at these his wants,

At least at table before us his friends,

I shall receive it as a courtesie

Not soone to be forgot.

Presume it sir.

Now when you please pray Enter Gentlemen.

Would these my friends prepare the way before,

To be resolved of one thing before dinner

Would something adde unto mine appetite,

Shall I intreat you so much.

O sir you may command us.

I'th meane time

Prepare your stomackes with a bowle of Sacke.

My Cellar can affoord it; now Mr. Arthur

Pray freely speake your thoughts.

I come not sir

To presse a promise from you, tak't not so,

Rather to prompt your memory in a motion

Made to you not long since.

Wast not about

A Manor, the best part of your estate,

Morgag'd to one slips no advantages

Which you would have redeem'd.

True sir the same.

And as I rhinke, I promist at that time

To become bound with you, or if the usurer

(A base, yet the best title I can give him)

Perhaps should question that security,

To have the money ready. Wast not so?

It was to that purpose wee discourst.

Provided, to have the Writings in my custody.

Else how should I secure mine owne estate.

To denie that, I should appeare toth' World

Stupid, and of no braine.

Your monie's ready,

And I remaine a man oblig'd to you.

Beyond all utterance.

Make then your word good

By speaking it no further, onely this,

It seemes your Uncle you trusted in so far

Hath failed your expectation.

Sir he hath, not that he is unwilling or unable.

But at this time unfit to be solicited,

For to the Countries wonder, and my sorrow,

Hee is much to be pitied.

Why I intreat you.

Because hee's late become the sole discourse

Of all the countrey; for of a man respected

For his discretion and knowne gravitie,

As master of a govern'd Family,

The house (as if the ridge were fixt below,

And groundsils lifted up to make the roofe)

All now turn'd topsie turvy.

Gener.

Strange, but how?

In such a retrograde & preposterous way

As seldome hath hin heard of. I thinke never.

Can you discourse the manner?

The good man, in all obedience kneels vnto his son,

Hee with an austere brow commands his father.

The wife presumes not in the daughters sight

Without a prepared courtesie. The girle, shee

Expects it as a dutie; chides her mother

Who quakes and trembles at each word she speaks,

And what's as strange, the Maid she domineers

O're her yong mistris, who is aw'd by her.

The son to whom the Father creeps and bends,

Stands in as much feare of the groome his man.

All in such rare disorder, that in some

As it breeds pitty, and in others wonder;

So in the most part laughter.

How thinke you might this come.

T'is thought by Witchcraft.

They that thinke so dreame,

For my beliefe is, no such thing can be,

A madnesse you may call it: Dinner stayes;

That done, the best part of the afternoone

Wee'le spend about your businesse.

Nay but understand me neighbor Doughty.

Good master Seely I do understand you, and over and over understand you so

much, that I could e'ene blush at your fondnesse; and had I a sonne to serve

mee so, I would conure a divell out of him.

Alas he is my childe.

No, you are his childe to live in feare of him, indeed they say old men become

children againe, but before I would become my child’s childe, and make my foot

my head, I would stand upon my head, and kick my heels at the skies.

You do not know what an only son is, O see, he comes now if you can appease

his anger toward me, you shall doe an act of timely charity.

It is an office that I am but weakly versd in,

To plead to a sonne in the fathers behalfe,

Blesse me what lookes the devilish young Rascall

Frights the poore man withall!

I wonder at your confidence, and how you dare appeare before me.

A brave beginning.

O sonne be patient.

It is right reverend councell, I thanke you for it, I shall study

patience shall I, while you practice waies to begger mee, shall I?

Dough.

Very handsome.

If ever I trangresse in the like againe---

I have taken your word too often sir and neither can nor will forbeare you

longer.

What not your Father Mr. Gregory?

Whats that to you sir?

Pray tell me then sir, how many yeares has hee to serve you.

What do you bring your spokesman now, your advocat,

What fee goes out of my estate now, for his Oratory?

Come I must tell you, you forget your selfe,

And in this foule unnaturall strife wherein

You trample on your father. You are falne

Below humanitie. Y'are so beneath

The title of a sonne, you cannot clayme

To be a man, and let me tell you were you mine

Thou shouldst not eat but on thy knees before me.

O this is not the way.

This is to raise Impatience into fury.

I do not seek his quiet for my ease,

I can beare all his chidings and his threats,

And take them well, very exceeding well,

And finde they do me good on my owne part,

Indeed they do reclaim me from those errors

That might impeach his fortunes, but I feare

Th'unquiet strife within him hurts himselfe,

And wastes or weakens Nature, by the breach

Of moderate sleepe and dyet, and I can

No lesse than grieve to finde my weaknesses

To be the cause of his affliction,

And see the danger of his health and being.

Alas poore man? Can you stand open ey'd

Or dry ey'd either at this now in a Father?

Why, if it grieve you, you may look of ont,

I have seen more than this twice twenty times,

And have as often bin deceiv'd by his dissimulations

I can see nothing mended.

He is a happy sire that has brought vp his son to this.

All shall be mended son content your selfe,

But this time forget but this last fault.

Yes, for a new one to morrow.

Pray Mr. Gregory forget it, you see how

Submissive your poore penitent is, forget it,

Forget it, put it out o'your head, knocke it

Out of your braines. I protest, if my Father,

Nay if my fathers dogge should have sayd

As much to me, I should have embrac't him.

What was the trespasse? It c'ud not be so hainous.

Wel Sir, you now shall be a Iudge for all your jeering.

Was it a fatherly part thinke you having a sonne

To offer to enter in bonds for his nephew, so to indanger

My estate to redeeme his mortgage.

But I did it not sonne?

I know it very well, but your dotage had done it,

If my care had not prevented it.

Is that the businesse: why if he had done it, had hee not

bin sufficiently secur'd in having the mortgage made over to himselfe.

He does nothing but practice waies to undo himselfe, and me: a very

spendthrift, a prodigall sire, hee was at the Ale but tother day, and spent a

foure-penny club.

'Tis gone and past sonne.

Can you hold your peace sir? And not long ago at the

Wine he spent his teaster, and two pence to the piper,

That was brave was it not?

Truely we were civily merry. But I have left it.

Your civility have you not? For no longer agoe than last holiday evening he

gam'd away eight double ring'd tokens on a rubbers at bowles with the Curate,

and some of his idle companions.

Fie Mr. Gregory Seely is this seemely in a sonne.

You'le have a rod for the childe your father shortly I feare.

Alasse did hee make it cry? Give me a stroke and Ile beat him,

Blesse me, they make me almost as mad as themselves.

'Twere good you would meddle with your own matters sir.

Sonne, sonne.

Sir, Sir, as I am not beholden to you for house or Land, for it has stood in

the name of my ancestry the Seelyes above two hundred yeares, so will I look

you leave all as you found it.

Enter Lawrence.

What is the matter con yeow tell?

O Lawrence, welcom, Thou wilt make al wel I am sure.

Yie whick way con yeow tell, but what the foule evill doone yee, heres sick an

a din.

Art thou his man fellow ha? that talkest thus to him?

Yie sir, and what ma' yoew o'that, he mainteynes me to rule him, and i'le

deu't, or ma'the heart weary o'the weambe on him.

This is quite upside downe, the sonne controlls the father, and the man

overcrowes his masters coxcombe, sure they are all bewitch'd.

'Twas but so, truely Lawrence; the peevish old man vex't me, for which I did

my duty, in telling him his owne, and

Doughty here maintaines him against me.

I forbodden yeow to meddle with the old carle, and let me alone with him, yet

yeow still be at him, hee serv'd yeow but weell to bast ye for't, ant he were

stronk enough, but an I faw foule with yee an I swaddle yee not savorly may my

girts brast.

Prethee good Lawrence be gentle and do not fright thy Master so.

Yie, at your command anon.

Enough good Lawrence, you have said enough.

How trow yeou that? A fine World when a man cannot be whyet at heame for busie

brain'd neighpors.

I know not what to say to any thing here,

This cannot be but witchcraft.

I cannot indure it nor I will not indure it.

Hey day! the daughter upon the mother too.

One of us two, chuse you which, must leave the house, wee are not to live

together I see that, but I will know, if there be Law in Lancashire for't,

which is fit first to depart the house or the World, the mother or the

daughter.

Daughter I say.

Do you say the daughter, for that word I say the mother, unlesse you can prove

me the eldest, as my discretion almost warrant it, I say the mother shall out

of the house or take such courses in it as shall sort with such a house and

such a daughter.

Daughter I say, I wil take any course so thou wilt leave thy passion; indeed

it hurts thee childe, I'le sing and be merry, weare as fine clothes, and as

delicate dressings as thou wilt have me, so thou wilt pacifie thy selfe, and

be at peace with me.

O will you so, in so doing I may chance to looke upon you. Is this a fit

habite for a handsome young Gentlewomans mother, as I hope to be a Lady, you

look like one o'the Scottish wayward sisters, O my hart has got the hickup,

and all lookes greene about me; a merry song now mother, and thou shalt be my white

girle.

Ha, ha, ha! she's overcome with joy at my conversion.

She is most evidently bewitcht.

There was a deft Lad and a Lasse fell in love,

with a fa la la, fa la la, Langtidowne dilly;

With kissing and toying this Maiden did prove,

with a fa la la, fa la la, Langtidowne dilly;

So wide i' th wast, and her Belly so high,

That unto her mother the Maiden did cry,

O Langtidowne dilly, O Langtidowne dilly,

fa la la Langtidowne, Langtidowne dilly.

Thus wodden yeou doone and I were dead, but while I live yoeu fadge not on it,

is this aw the warke yeou con fine?

Now comes the Mayd to fet her Mistresses to work.

Win.

Nay pri'thee sweet Parnell, I was but chiding the old wife for her unhandsomnesse, and would have been at my work presently, she tels me now she will weare fine things, and I shall dresse her head as I list.

Here's a house well govern'd?

Dresse me no dressings, lessen I dresse yeou beth, and learne a new

lesson with a wainon right now; han I bin a servant here this halfe dozen o'

yeares, and con I fee yeou idler then my selve!

Nay prithee sweet Parnell content, & hark thee---

I have knowne this, and till very lately, as well govern'd a Family as the

Country yeilds, and now what a nest of severall humors it is growne, and all

divellish ones, sure all the Witches in the Country, have their hands in this

home-spun medley; and there be no few 'tis thought.

Yie, yie, ye shall ye shall, another time, but not naw I thonke yeou, yeou

shall as soone pisse and paddle in't, as flap me in the mouth with an awd

Petticoat, or a new paire o shoine, to be whyet, I cannot be whyet, nor I wonnot be whyet, to see sicky doings I.

Hold thy prattle Parnell, aw's com'd about as weene a had it, wotst thou what

Parnell? wotst thou what? o deare, wotst thou what?

What's the fond wexen waild trow I.

We han bin in love these three yeares, and ever wee had not enough, now is it

com'd about that our love shall be at an end for ever, and a day, for wee mun

wed may hunny, we mun wed.

What the Deowl ayles the lymmer lowne, bin thy braines broke lowse trow I.

Sick a waddin was there never i' Loncoshire as ween couple at on Monday

newst.

Par.

Awa awaw, sayn yeou this sickerly, or done you but jaum me?

I jaum thee not nor flam thee not, 'tis all as true as booke, here's both our

Masters have consented and concloyded, and our Mistresses mun yeild toyt, to

put aw house and lond and aw they have into our hands.

Awa, awaw.

And we mun marry and be master and dame of aw.

Awa, awaw.

And theyn be our Sijourners, because they are weary of the world, to live in

frendiblenesse, and see what will come on't.

Awa, awaw, agone.

Seel. & Greg.

Nay 'tis true Parnell, here's both our hands on't, and give you joy.

Joan. & Win.

And ours too, and 'twill be fine Ifackins.

Whaw, whaw, whaw, whaw!

Here's a mad businesse towards.

I will bespeake the Guests.

And I the meat:

I'le dresse the dinner, though I drip my sweat.

My care shall sumptuous parrelments provide.

And my best art shall trickly trim the Bride.

Whaw, whaw, whaw, whaw.

Ile get choyce musick for the merriment.

Dough.

And I will waite with wonder the event.

Whaw, whaw, whaw, whaw.

Scæna, I.

Hoe! well met, well met.

What new devise, what dainty straine

More for our mirth now then our gaine,

Shall we in practice put.

Nay dame,

Before we play another game,

We must a little laugh and thanke.

Our feat familiars for the pranck

They playd us last.

Mawd.

Or they will misse

Us in our next plot, if for this

They find not their reward.

'Tis right.

Therefore sing Mawd, and call each spright.

Come away, and take thy duggy,

Come Mawsy, come Puckling,

Come my Mamilion like a Puggy,

And come my puckling take thy teat,

Your travels have deserv'd your meat.

Now upon the Churles ground

On which we're met, lets dance a round;

That Cockle, Darnell, Poppia wild,

May choake his graine, and fill the field.

Now spirits fly about the taske,

That we projected in our Maske.

Now let us laugh to thinke upon

The feat which we have so lately done,

In the distraction we have set

In Seelyes house; which shall beget

Wonder and sorrow 'mongst our foes,

Whilst we make laughter of their woes.

Ha, ha, ha!

I can but laugh now to foresee,

The fruits of their perplexity.

Of Seely's family?

Meg.

Ay, ay, ay, the Father to the Sonne doth cry,

The Sonne rebukes the Father old;

The Daughter at the mother Scold,

The wife the husband check and chide,

But that's no wonder, through the wide

World 'tis common.

But to be short,

The wedding must bring on the sport

Betwixt the hare-brayn'd man and mayd,

Master and dame that over-sway'd.

Ha, ha, ha!

Meg.

Enough, enough,

Our sides are charm'd, or else this stuffe

Would laughter-cracke them; let's away

About the Jig: we dance to day,

To spoyle the Hunters’ sport.

I that, be now the subject of our chat.

Then list yee well, the Hunters are

This day by vow to kill a Hare,

Or else the sport they will forsweare;

And hang their Dogs up.

Stay, but where

Must the long threatned hare be found?

Gill.

They'l search in yonder Meadow ground.

There will I be, and like a wily Wat,

Vntill they put me up; ile squat.

I and my puckling will a brace

Of Greyhounds be, fit for the race;

And linger where we may be tane

Up for the course in the by-lane;

Then will we lead their Dogs a course,

And every man and every horse;

Untill they breake their necks, and say---

The Divell on Dun is rid this way. Ha. ha, ha, ha.

All the doubt can be but this,

That if by chance of me they misse,

And start another Hare.

Gil.

Then we'll not run

But finde some way how to be gone.

I shal know thee Peg, by thy grissel'd gut,

And I you Gilian by your gaunt thin gut.

But where will Mawd bestow her selfe to day?

O'th' Steeple top; Ile sit & see you play.

Gener.

At meeting, and at parting Gentlemen,

I onely make use of that generall word,

So frequent at all feasts, and that but once; y'are welcome.

You are so, all of you, and I intreat you

Take notice of that speciall businesse,

Betwixt this Gentleman my friend, and I.

About the Morgage, to which writings drawne,

Your hands are witnesse.

Bant. & Shak.

We acknowledge it.

My hand is there too, for a man cannot set to his Marke, but it may be call'd

his hand; I am a Gentleman both wayes, and it hath been held that it is the

part of a Gentleman, to write a scurvie hand.

You write Sir like your selfe.

Pray take no notice of his ignorance,

You know what I foretold you.

'Tis confest, but for that word by you so seldome spoke

By us so freely on your part perform'd,

We hold us much ingag'd.

I pray, no complement,

It is a thing I doe not use my selfe,

Nor doe I love 't in others.

For my part, could I at once dissolve my selfe to words

And after turne them into matter; such

And of that strength, as to attract the attention

Of all the curious, and most itching eares

Of this our Crittick age; it cou'd not make

A theame amounting to your noble worth:

You seeme to me to super-arrogate,

Supplying the defects of all your kindred

To innoble your own name: I now have done Sir.

Hey day, this Gentleman speakes likes a Country

Parson that had tooke his text out of Ovid’s Metamorphosis.

Sir, you Hyperbolize;

And I coo'd chide you for't, but whil'st you connive

At this my Kinsman, I shall winke at you;

'Twil prove an equall match.

Arth.

Your name proclaimes

To be such as it speakes, you, Generous.

Still in that straine!

Sir, sir, whilst you persever to be good

I must continue gratefull.

Gentlemen, the greatest part of this day you see is spent

In reading deeds, conveyances, and bonds,

With sealing and subscribing; will you now

Take part of a bad Supper.

Arth.

We are like travellers

And where such bayt, they doe not use to Inne.

Our love and service to you.

The first I accept,

The Last I entertaine not, farewell Gentlemen.

We'l try if we can finde in our way home

When Hares come from their coverts, to reliffe,

A course or too.

Say you so Gentlemen, nay then I am for your company still, 'tis sayd Hares

are like Hermophrodites, one while Male, and another Female, and that which

begets this yeare, brings young ones the next; which some think to be the

reason that witches take their shapes so oft: Nay if I lye Pliny lyes too,

but come, now I have light upon you, I cannot so lightly leave you farewell

Uncle.

Cozen I wish you would consort your selfe,

With such men ever, and make them your President,

For a more Gentile carriage.

Arth.

Good Master Generous---

Robin.

Sir.

Goe call your Mistresse hither.

My Mistresse Sir, I doe call her Mistresse, as I doe call you Master, but if

you would have me call my Mistresse to my Master, I may call lowd enough

before she can heare me.

Gener.

Why she's not deafe I hope, I am sure since Dinner She had her hearing

perfect.

Rob.

And so she may have at Supper too for ought I know, but I can assure you she

is not now within my call.

Gener.

Sirrah you trifle, give me the Key oth' Stable, I will goe see my Gelding;

i'th' meane time Goe seeke her out, say she shall finde me there.

Rob.

To tell you true sir, I shall neither finde my Mistresse here, nor you your

Gelding there.

Gener.

Ha! how comes that to passe?

Rob.

Whilst you were busie about your writings, she came and commanded me to saddle

your Beast, and sayd she would ride abroad to take the ayre.

Gener.

Which of your fellowes did she take along to wayte on her?

Rob.

None sir.

Gener.

None! hath she us'd it often?

Rob.

Oftner I am sure then she goes to Church, and leave out Wednesdayes and

Fridayes.

Gener.

And still alone?

Rob.

If you call that alone, when no body rides in her company.

Gen.

But what times hath she sorted for these journeyes?

Rob.

Commonly when you are abroad, and sometimes when you are full of businesse at

home.

Gener.

To ride out often and alone, what sayth she When she takes horse, and at her

backe returne?

Rob.

Onely conjures me that I shall keepe it from you, then clappes me in the

fist with some small piece of silver, and then a

Fish cannot be more silent then I.

Gen.

I know her a good woman and well bred,

Of an unquestion'd carriage, well reputed

Amongst her neighbors, reckon'd with the best

And ore me most indulgent; though in many

Such things might breed a doubt and jealousie,

Yet I hatch no such phrensie. Yet to prevent

The smallest jarre that might betwixt us happen;

Give her no notice that I know thus much.

Besides I charge thee, when she craves him next

He be deny'd; if she be vext or mov'd

Doe not thou feare, Ile interpose my selfe

Betwixt thee and her anger, as you tender

Your duty and my service, see this done.

Rob.

Now you have exprest your minde, I know what I have to doe; first, not to tell

her what I have told you &, next to keep her side-saddle from comming upon

your Gueldings backe; but howsoever it is like to hinder me of many a round

tester.

Gener.

As oft as thou deny'st her, so oft clayme That teaster from me, 't shall be

roundly payd.

Rob.

You say well in that sir, I dare take your word, you are an honest Gentleman,

and my Master; and now take mine as I am your true servant, before she shall

backe your Guelding again in your absence, while I have the charge of

his keeping; she shall ride me, or Ile ride her.

Gen.

So much for that. Sirrah my Butler tels me

My Seller is drunke dry, I meane those Bottles

Of Sack and Claret, are all empty growne

And I have guests to morrow, my choyse friends.

Take the gray Nag i'th' stable, and those Bottles

Fill at Lancaster,

There where you use to fetch it.

Rob.

Good newes for me, I shall sir.

Gen.

O Robin, it comes short of that pure liquor

We drunke last Terme in London at the Myter

In Fleet-street, thou remembrest it; me thought

It was the very spirit of the Grape,

Meere quintessence of Wine.

Rob.

Yes sir, I so remember it, that most certaine it is I never shal forget it, my

mouth waters ever since when I but think on't, whilst you were at supper

above, the drawer had me down into the Cellar below, I know the way in againe

if I see't, but at that time to finde the way out againe, I had the help of

more eies than mine owne: is the taste of that Ipsitate stil in your pallat

sir?

Gener.

What then? But vaine are wishes, take those bottles And see them fil'd where I

command you sir.

Rob.

I shall: never c'ud I have met with such a faire opportunitie: for iust

in the mid way lies my sweet-heart, as lovely a lasse as any is in Lancashire,

and kisses as sweetly: i'le see her going or comming, i'le have one smouch at

thy lips, and bee with thee to bring Mal Spencer.

Gen.

Go hasten your return, what he hath told me

Touching my wife is somewhat strange, no matter

Bee't as it will, it shall not trouble me.

Shee hath not lyen so long so neere my side,

That now I should be jealous.

Sold.

You seeme sir a Gentleman of quality, and no doubt but in your youth have

beene acquainted with affaires military, in your very lookes there appeares

bounty, and in your person humanity. Please you to vouchsafe the tender of

some small courtesie to help to beare a souldier into his countrey.

Gen.

Though I could tax you friend, & justly too

For begging 'gainst the Statute in that name,

Yet I have ever bin of that compassion,

Where I see want, rather to pittie it

Than to use power. Where hast thou serv'd?

Sold.

With the Russian against the Polack, a heavy war, and hath brought me to this

hard fate. I was tooke prisoner by the Pole, & after some few weeks of

durance, got both my freedom and passe. I have it about me to show, please you

to vouchsafe the perusall.

Gener.

It shall not need. What Countreyman.

Sold.

Yorkeshire sir. Many a sharp battell by land, and many a sharpe storme

at sea, many a long mile, and many a short meale, I have travel'd and suffer'd

ere I c'ud reach thus far, I beseech you sir take my poore & wretched case

into your worships noble consideration.

Genr.

Perhaps thou lov'st this wandring life To be an idle loitering begger, than

To eat of thine owne labour.

Sold.

I sir! Loitering I defie sir, I hate lazinesse as I do leprosie: It is the

next way to breed the scurvie, put mee to hedge, ditch, plow, thresh, dig,

delve, any thing: your worship shal find that I love nothing lesse than

loitering.

Gener.

Friend thou speakest well.

Miller.

Your Mill quoth he, if ever you take me in your mill againe, i'le give you

leave to cast my flesh to the dogges, and grinde my flesh to pouder, betwixt

the Milstones. Cats do you call them, for their hugenesse they might bee cat a

mountaines, and for their clawes, I thinke I have it here in red and white to

shew, I pray looke here sir, a murreine take them, ile be sworne they have

scratcht, where I am sure it itcht not.

Gener.

How cam'st thou in this pickle?

Miller.

Yoiu see sir, and what you see, I have felt, & am come to give you to

understand i'le not indure such another night if you would give mee your mill

for nothing, they say we Millers are theeves: but I c'ud as soone bee hangd as

steale one piece of a nap all the night long, good Landlord provide your

selfe of a new tenant, the noise of such catterwawling, & such scratching

and clawing, before I would indure againe, i'le bee tyed to the saile when the

winde blowes sharpest, and they flie swiftest, till I be torne into as many

fitters as I have toes and fingers.

Sold.

I was a Miller my selfe before I was a souldier. What one of my own trade

should be so poorely spirited frighted with cats?

Sir trust me with the Mill that he forsakes.

Here is a blade that hangs upon this belt

That spight of all these Rats, Cats, Wezells, Witches

Or Dogges, or Divels, Shall so coniure them

I'le quiet my possession.

Gener.

Well spoke Souldier.

I like thy resolution. Fellow, you then

Have given the Mill quite over.

Mil.

Over and over, here I utterly renounce it; nor would I stay in it longer, if

you would give me your whole estate; nay if I say it, you may take my word

Landlord.

Sold.

I pray sir dare you trust your mill with me.

Gener.

I dare, but I am loth, my reasons these.

For many moneths, scarce any one hath lien there

But have bin strangely frighted in his sleepe,

Or from his warme bed drawne into the floore,

Or clawd and scratcht, as thou seest this poore man,

So much, that it stood long untenanted,

Till he late undertooke it, now thine eies

Witnesse how he hath sped.

Sold.

Give me the keies, ile stand it all danger.

Gener.

'Tis a match: deliver them.

Mil.

Mary withall my heart, and I am glad, I am so rid of em.

Boy.

Now I have gathered Bullies, and fild my bellie pretty well, i'le goe see some

sport. There are gentlemen coursing in the medow hard by; and 'tis a game that

I love better than going to Schoole ten to one.

What have we here a brace of Greyhounds broke loose from their masters: it

must needs be so, for they have both their Collers and slippes about their

neckes. Now I looke better upon them, me thinks I should know them, and so I

do: these are Mr. Robinson’s dogges, that dwels some two miles off, i'le take

them up, & lead them home to their master; it may be somthing in my way, for

he is as liberall a gentleman, as any is in our countrie, Come Hector, come.

Now if I c'ud but start a Hare by the way, kill her, and carry her home to my

supper, I should thinke I had made a better afternooon’s worke of it than gathering of bullies. Come poore curres along with me.

Arth.

My Dog as yours.

Shak.

For what?

Arth.

A piece.

Shak.

'Tis done.

Bant.

I say the pide dog shall outstrip the browne.

Whe.

And ile take the brown dogs part against the pide

Bant.

Yes when hee's at his lap youle take his part.

Arth.

Bantam forbeare him prethee.

Bant.

He talks so like an Asse I have not patience to indure his non sence.

Whet.

The browne dogge for two peeces.

Bant.

Of what?

Whet.

Of what you dare; name them from the last

Farthings with the double rings, to the late

Coy'nd peeces which they say are all counterfeit.

Bant.

Well sir, I take you: will you cover these, give them into the hands of either

of those two gentlemen.

Whet.

What needs that? doe you thinke my word and my money is not all one?

Bant.

And weigh alike: both many graines too light.

Shak.

Enough of that, I presume Mr. Whetstone, you are not ignorant what belongs to

the sport of hunting.

Whet.

I thinke I have reason, for I have bin at the death of more Hares.

Bant.

More then you shed the last fall of the leafe.

Whet.

More then any man here I am sure. I should be loath at these yeares to be

ignorant of hairing or whoring. I knew a hare close hunted, clime a tree.

Bant.

To finde out birds’ nests

Whet.

Another leap into a river, nothing appearing above water, save onely the

tip of her nose to take breath.

Shak.

Nay that's verie likely, for no man can fish with an angle but his Line must

be made of hare.

Whet.

You say right, I knew another, who to escape the Dogges hath taken a house,

and leapt in at a window.

Bant.

It is thought you came into the World that way.

Whet.

How meane you that?

Bant.

Because you are a bastard.

Whet.

Bastard! O base.

Bant.

And thou art base all over.

Arth.

Needs must I now condemne your indiscretion,

To set your wit against his.

Whet.

Bastard? that shall be tried; well Gentlemen concerning Hare-hunting you might

have hard more, if he had had the grace to have said lesse, but for the word

Bastard, if I do not tell my Uncle, I and my Aunt too, either when I would

speake ought or goe of the skore for any thing, let me never be trusted,

they are older than I, and what know I, but they might bee by when I was

begot; but if thou Bantam do'st not heare of this with both thine eares, if

thou hast them still, and not lost them by scribling, instead of Whet-stone

call me Grinde-stone, and for By-blow, Bulfinch. Gentlemen, for two of you

your companie is faire and honest; but for you Bantam, remember and take

notice also, that I am a bastard, and so much i'le testifie to my Aunt and

Uncle.

Arth.

What have you done, 'twill grieve the good old Gentleman, to heare him

baffled thus.

Bant.

I was in a cold sweat ready to faint

The time he staid amongst us.

Shak.

But come, now the Hare is found and started.

She shall have Law, so to our sport.

Enter Boy with the Greyhounds.

A Hare, a Hare, halloe, halloe, the Divell take these curres, will they not

stir, halloe, halloe, there, there, there, what are they growne so lither and

so lazie? Are Mr. Robinson’s dogges turn'd tykes with a wanion? the Hare is yet

in sight, halloe, halloe, mary hang you for a couple of mungrils (if you were

worth hanging, & have you serv'd me thus? nay then ile serve you with the

like sauce, you shall to the next bush, there will I tie you, and use you like

a couple of curs as you are, & though not lash you, yet lash you whilest my switch will hold, nay since you have left your speed, ile see if I can put spirit into you, and put you in remembrance what halloe, halloe meanes.

the dogs, going in.

Now blesse me heaven, one of the Greyhounds turn'd into a woman, the other

into a boy! The lad I never saw before, but her I know well; it is my gammer

Dickison.

G. Dick.

Sirah, you have serv'd me well to swindge me thus. You yong rogue, you have

us'd me like a dog.

When you had put your self into a dogs skin, I pray how c'ud I help it; but

gammer are not you a Witch? if you bee, I beg upon my knees you will not hurt

me.

Dickis.

Stand up my boie, for thou shalt have no harme, Be silent, speake of

nothing thou hast seene. And here's a shilling for thee.

Boy.

Ile have none of your money gammer, because you are a Witch: and now she is

out of her foure leg'd shape, ile see if with my two legs I can out-run her.

Dickis.

Nay sirra, though you be yong, and I old, you are not so nimble, nor I so

lame, but I can overtake you.

Boy.

But Gammer what do you meane to do with me

Now you have me?

Dickis.

To hugge thee, stroke thee, and embrace thee thus,

And teach thee twentie thousand prety things.

So thou tell no tales; and boy this night

Thou must along with me to a brave feast.

Boy.

Not I gammer indeed la, I dare not stay ont late,

My father is a fell man, and if I bee out long, will both

chide and beat me.

Dickis.

Not sirra, then perforce thou shalt along,

This bridle helps me still at need,

And shall provide us of a steed.

Now sirra, take your shape and be

Prepar'd to hurrie him and me.

Now looke and tell mee wher's the lad become.

Boy.

The boy is vanisht, and I can see nothing in his stead

But a white horse readie sadled and bridled.

Dickis.

And that’s the horse we must bestride,

On which both thou and I must ride,

Thou boy before and I behinde,

The earth we tread not, but the winde,

For we must progresse through the aire,

And I will bring thee to such fare

As thou ne're saw'st, up and away,

For now no longer we can stay,

Boy.

Help, help.

Thanks my sweet Mall for thy courteous entertainment, thy creame, thy

cheese-cakes, and every good thing, this, this, & this for all.

Mal.

But why in such hast good Robin?

Robin.

I confesse my stay with thee is sweet to mee, but I must spur Cutt the faster

for't, to be at home in the morning, I have yet to Lancaster to ride to night,

and this my bandileer of bottles, to fill to night, and then halfe a score

mile to ride by currie-combe time, i'the morning, or the old man chides Mal.

Mal.

Hee shall not chide thee, feare it not.

Robin.

Pray Bacchus I may please him with his wine, which will be the hardest thing

to do; for since hee was last at London and tasted the Divinitie of the Miter,

scarce any liquour in Lancashire will go downe with him, sure, sure he will

never be a Puritane, he holds so well with the Miter.

Mal.

Well Robert, I find your love by your haste from me, ile undertake you

shal be at Lancaster, & twise as far, & yet at home time enough, and be rul'd

by me.

Rob.

Thou art a witty rogue, and thinkst to make me believe any thing, because I

saw thee make thy broome sweepe the house without hands t'other day.

Mal.

You shall see more than that presently, because you shall beleeve me; you know

the house is all a bed here: and I dare not be mist in the morning. Besides, I

must be at the wedding of Lawrence and Parnell to morrow.

Rob.

I your old sweetheart Lawrence? Old love will not be forgotten

Mal.

I care not for the losse of him, but if I fit him not hang me: but to the

point, if I goe with you to night, and help you to as good wine as your master

desires, and you keepe your time with him, you will give me a pinte for my

company.

Rob.

Thy belly full wench.

Mal.

I'le but take up my milk payle and leave it in the field, till our comming

backe in the morning, and wee'll away.

Rob.

Goe fetch it quickly then.

Mal.

No Robert, rather than leave your company so long, it shall come to me.

Rob.

I would but see that.

The Payle goes.

Mal.

Looke yonder, what do you thinke on't.

Rob.

Light, it comes; and I do thinke there is so much of the Divell in't as will

turne all the milke shall come in't these seven yeares, and make it

burne too, till it stinke worse than the Proverbe of the Bishop’s foot.

Mal.

Looke you sir, heere I have it, will you get up and away.

Rob.

My horse is gone, nay prithee Mal. thou hast set him away, leave thy Roguerie.

Mal.

Looke againe.

Rob.

There stands a blacke long-sided jade: mine was a truss'd gray.

Mal.

Yours was too short to carrie double such a journey. Get up I say, you shall

have your owne againe i'th morning.

Rob.

Nay but, nay but.

Mal.

Nay, and you stand butting now, i'le leave you to look your horse. Payle on

afore to the field, and staie till I come.

Rob.

Come away then, hey for Lancaster: stand up.

SCENA, I.

Enter old Seely and Joane his Wife.

Seely.

Come away wife, come away, and let us be ready to breake the Cake over the

Brides head at her entrance; we will have the honour of it, we that have

playd the Steward and Cooke at home, though we lost Church by't, and saw not

Parson Knit-knot doe his office, but wee shall see all the house rites

perform'd; and.---oh what a day of jollity and tranquility is here towards?

Joane.

You are so frolick and so cranck now, upon the truce is taken amongst us,

because our wrangling shall not wrong the Wedding, but take heed (you were

best) how ye behave your selfe, lest a day to come may pay for all.

Seel.

I feare nothing, and I hope to dye in this humor.

Joan.

Oh how hot am I! rather then I would dresse such another dinner this twelve

moneth, I would wish Wedding quite out of this yeares Almanack.

Seel.

Ile fetch a Cup of Sack Wife---

Joan.

How brag he is of his liberty, but the holyday carries it.

Seel.

Here, here sweet-heart, they are long me thinks a comming, the Bels have rung

out this halfe houre, harke now the wind brings the sound of them sweetly

againe.

Joan.

They ring backwards me thinks.

Seel.

I’fack they doe, sure the greatest fire in the Parish is in our Kitchin, and

there's no harme done yet, no 'tis some merry conceit of the

stretch-ropes the Ringers, now they have done, and now the Wedding comes,

hearke, the Fidlers and all, now have I liv'd to see a day come, take our

stand, and be ready for the Bride-cake, which we will so cracke and crumble

upon her crowne: o they come, they come.

All.

Ioy, health; and children to the married paire.

Lawr. & Parn.

We thanke you all.

Lawr.

So pray come in and fare.

Parn.

As well as we and taste of every care:

Lawr.

With bonny Bridegroome and his lovely mate.

Arth.

This begins bravely.

Doug.

They agree better then the Bels eene now, 'slid they rung tunably till we were

all out of the Church, and then they clatter'd as the divell had beene in the

Bellfry: on in the name of Wedlocke, Fidlers on.

Lawr.

On with your melody.

Bant.

Enter the Gates with joy,

And as you enter play the sack of Troy.

Joan.

Welcome Bride Parnell.

Seel.

Bridegroome Lawrence eke,

In you before, for we this cake must breake.

Over the Bride---

Forgi' me---what's become

O' th' Cake wife!

Joan.

It flipt out of my hand, and is falne into crums I think.

Dought.

Crums? the divell of crum is here, but bran, nothing but bran, what

prodigie is this?

Parn.

Is my best Brides Cake come to this! o wea warth it.

Whet.

How daintily the Brides haire is powder'd with it.

Arth.

My haire stands an end to see it.

Bant.

And mine.

Shak.

I was never so amaz'd!

Dough.

What can it meane?

Greg.

Pax, I think not on't, 'tis but some of my Father and Mother’s roguery, this is

a Law-day with 'em, to doe what they list.

Whet.

I never feare any thing, so long as my Aunt has but bidden me thinke of her

and she'll warrant me.

Dough.

Well Gentlemen, let's follow the rest in, and feare nothing yet, the house

smels well of good cheere.

Seel.

Gentlemen, will it please you draw neere, the guests are now all come, and the

house almost full, meat's taken up.

Dough.

We were now comming.

Seel.

But sonne Gregory, Nephew Arthur, and the rest of the young Gentlemen, I shall

take it for a favor if you will (it is an office which very good Gentlemen doe

in this Country) accompane the Bridegroome in serving the meat.

With all our hearts.

Seely.

Nay neighbor Doughty, your yeares shall excuse you.

Dough.

Peugh, I am not so old but I can carry more meate then I can eate, if the

young rascals coo'd carry their drinke as well, the Country would be

quieter---

Knock within, as at dresser.

Seel.

Well fare your hearts,---the dresser calls in Gentlemen,

'Tis a busie time, yet will I review the Bill of fare, for this dayes

dinner---(Reades) for 40. people of the best quality, 4. messes of meat; viz.

a leg of Mutton in plum-broth, a dish of Marrow-bones a Capon in white-broth,

a Surloyne of beefe, a Pig, a Goose, a Turkie, and two Pyes: for the second

course, to every messe 4. Chickens in a dish, a couple of Rabbets, Custard,

Flawn, Florentines, and stewd pruines,---all very good Country fare, and for

my credit,---

to the dishes as they enter.

The service enters, O well sayd Musicke, play up the meat to the Table till

all be serv'd in, Ile see it passe in answer to my bill.

Dough.

Hold up your head Mr. Bridegroome.

Lawr.

On afore Fidlers, my doubler cewles in my honds.

Seely.

Inprimus, a leg of Mutton in plum-broth,---how now Mr. Bridegroome, what carry

you?

Lawr.

'Twere hot eene now, but now it's caw'd as a steane.

Seel.

A stone, 'tis horne man.

Lawr.

Aw---

Seely.

It was Mutton, but now 'tis the horns on't.

Lawr.

Aw where's my Bride---

Dough.

'Zookes, I brought as good a Surloyne of Beefe from the Dresser as Knife coo'd

be put to, and see---Ile stay i' this house no longer.

Arth.

And if this were not a Capon in white broth, I am one i' the Coope.

Shak.

All, all's transform'd, looke you what I have!

Bant.

And I.

Whet.

And I! Yet I feare nothing thank my Aunt.

Greg.

I had a Pie that is not open'd yet, Ile see what's in that--- live Birds as

true as I live, look where they flye!

Dough.

Witches, live Witches, the house is full of witches, if we love our lives

let's out on't.

Joan.

O husband, O guests, O sonne, O Gentlemen, such a chance in a Kitchin was

never heard of, all the meat is flowne out o' the chimney top I thinke, and

nothing instead of it, but Snakes, Batts, Frogs, Beetles, Hornets, and

Humble-bees; all the Sallets are turn'd to Iewes-eares, Mushromes, and

Puckfists; and all the Custards into Cowsheards!

Dought.

What shall we doe, dare we stay any longer?

Arth.

Dare we! why not, I defie all Witches, and all their workes; their power on

our meat, cannot reach our persons.

Whet.

I say so too, and so my Aunt ever told me, so long I will feare nothing; be

not afrayd Mr. Doughty.

Dough.

Zookes, I feare nothing living that I can see more then you, and that's

nothing at all, but to thinke of these invisible mischiefes, troubles me I

confesse.

Arth.

Sir I will not goe about to over-rule your reason, but

but for my part I will not out of a house on a Bridall day, till I see

the last man borne.

Dough.

Zookes thou art so brave a fellow that I will stick to thee, and if we come

off handsomely, I am an old Batchelour thou know'st, and must have an heyre, I

like thy spirit, where's the Bride? where's the Bridegroome? where's the

Musicke? where be the Lasses? ha' you any wine i' the house, though we make

no dinner, lets try if we can make an afternoone.

Joan.

Nay sir if you please to stay, now that the many are frighted away, I have

some good cold meates, and halfe a dozen bottles of Wine.

Seel.

And I will bid you welcome.

Dough.

Say you me so, but will not your sonne be angry, and your daughter chide you.

Greg.

Feare not you that sir, for look you I obey my Father.

Win.

And I my Mother.

Joan.

And we are all at this instant as well and as sensible of our former errors,

as you can wish us to be.

Dough.

Na, if the Witches have but rob'd of your meat, and restor'd your reason, here

has beene no hurt done to day, but this is strange, and as great a wonder as

the rest to me.

Arth.

It seemes though these Hags had power to make the Wedding cheere a Deceptio

visus, the former store has scap'd 'em.

Dough.

I am glad on't, but the divell good 'hem with my Surloyne, I thought to have

set that by mine owne Trencher--- But you have cold meat you say?

Joan.

Yes Sir.

Dought.

And Wine you say?

Joane.

Yes sir.

Dought.

I hope the Country wenches and the Fidlers are not gone.

Win.

They are all here, and one the merriest Wench; that makes all the rest so

laugh and tickle.

Seel.

Gentlemen will you in?

All.

Agreed on all parts.

Dought,

If not a Wedding we will make a Wake on't, and away with the Witch; I feare

nothing now you have your wits againe: but look you, hold 'em while you have

'em.

Gener.

I confesse thou hast done a Wonder in fetching me so good Wine, but my good

Servant Robert, goe not about to put a Myracle upon me, I will rather beleeve

that Lancaster affords this Wine, which I thought impossible till I tasted it,

then that thou coo'dst in one night fetch it from London.

Rob.

I have known when you have held mee for an honest fellow, and would have

beleev'd me.

Gener.

Th'art a Knave to wish me to beleeve this, forgi'me, I would have sworne if

thou had'st stayd but time answerable for the journey (to his that flew to

Paris and back to London in a day) it had been the same Wine, but it can never

fall within the compasse of a Christians beleefe, that thou cou'dst ride above

three hundred miles in 8. houres: You were no longer out, and upon one

Horse too, and in the Night too!

Rob.

And carry a Wench behind me too, and did something else too, but I must not

speak of her lest I be divell-torne.

Gen.

And fill thy bottles too, and come home halfe drunke too, for so thou art,

thou wouldst never a had such a fancy else!

Rob.

I am sorry I have sayd so much, and not let Lancaster have the credit o' the

Wine.

Gen.

O are you so! and why have you abus'd me and your selfe then all this while,

to glorifie the Myter in Fleet-street?

Rob.

I could say sir, that you might have the better opinion of the Wine, for there

are a great many pallats in the Kingdome that can relish no Wine, unlesse it

be of such a Taverne, and drawne by such a Drawer---

Gen.

I sayd, and I say againe, if I were within ten mile of London, I durst sweare

that this was Myter Wine, and drawn by honest Jacke Paine.

Rob.

Nay then sir I swore, and I sweare againe, honest Jack Paine drew it.

Gener.

Ha, ha, ha, if I coo'd beleeve there were such a thing as Witchcraft, I should

thinke this slave were bewitch'd now with an opinion.

Rob.

Much good doe you sir, your Wine and your mirth, and my place for your next

Groome, I desire not to stay to be laught out of my opinion.

Gen.

Nay be not angry Robin, we must not part so, and how does my honest

Drawer? ha, ha, ha; and what newes at London, Robin? ha, ha, ha; but your stay

was so short I think you coo'd heare none, and such your haste home that you

coo'd make none: is't not so Robin? ha, ha, ha, what a strange fancy has

good Wine begot in his head?

Rob.

Now will I push him over and over with a peece of paper: Yes sir, I have

brought you something from London.

Gen.

Come on, now let me heare.

Rob.

Your honest Drawer sir, considering that you consider'd him well for his good

wine---

Gen.

What shall we heare now?

Rob.

Was very carefull to keepe or convay this paper to you, which it seemes you

dropt in the roome there.

Gener.

Blesse me! this paper belongs to me indeed, 'tis an acquittance, and all I

have to show for the payment of one hundred pound, I tooke great care for't,

and coo'd not imagine where or how I might loose it, but why may not this bee

a tricke? this Knave may finde it when I lost it, and conceale it till now

to come over me withall. I will not trouble my thoughts with it further at

this time, well Robin looke to your businesse, and have a care of my Guelding.

Robin.

Yes Sir. I think I have netled him now, but not as I was netled last night,

three hundred Miles a Night upon a Rawbon'd Divell, as in my heart it was a

Divell, and then a Wench that shar'd more o' my backe then the sayd

Divell did o my Bum, this is ranke riding my Masters: but why had I such an

itch to tell my Master of it, and that he should beleeve it; I doe now wish

that I had not told, and that hee will not beleeve it, for I dare not tell him

the meanes: 'Sfoot my Wench and her friends the Fiends, will teare me to

pieces if I discover her; a notable rogue, she's at theWedding now, for as

good a Mayd as the best o'em---O my Mistresse.

Enter Mrs. Generous, with a Bridle.

Mrs.

Robin.

Rob.

Aye, Mistresse.

Mrs.

Quickly good Robin, the gray Guelding.

Rob.

What other horse you please Mistresse.

Mrs.

And why not that?

Rob.

Truly Mistresse pray pardon me, I must be plaine with you, I dare not deliver

him you; my master has tane notice of the ill case you have brought him home

in divers times.

Mrs.

O is it so, and must he be made acquainted with my actions by you, and must I

then be controll'd by him, and now by you; you are a sawcy Groome.

Rob.

You may say your pleasure.

Mrs.

No sir, Ile doe my pleasure.

Rob.

Aw.

Mrs.

Horse, horse, see thou be,

And where I point thee carry me.

Arth.

Was there ever such a medley of mirth, madnesse, and drunkennesse,

shuffled together.

Shak.

Thy Unckle and Aunt, old Mr. Seely and his wife, doe nothing but kisse and

play together like Monkeyes.

Arth.

Yes, they doe over-love one another now.

Bant.

And young Gregory and his sister doe as much overdoe their obedience now to

their Parents.

Arth.

And their Parents as much over-doat upon them, they are all as farre beyond

their wits now in loving one another, as they were wide of them before in

crossing.

Shak.

Yet this is the better madnesse.

Bant.

But the married couple that are both so daintily whitled, that now they are

both mad to be a bed before Suppertime, and by and by he will, and she wo'

not; streight she will and he wo' not, the next minute they both forget they

are married, and defie one another.

Arth.

My sides eene ake with laughter.

Shak.

But the best sport of all is, the old Batchelour Master Doughty, that was so cautious, & fear'd every thing to be witchcraft, is now wound up to such a confidence that there is no such thing, that hee dares the Divell doe his worst, and will not out o'the house by all persuasion, and all for the love of the husband-mans daughter within, Mal Spencer.

Arth.

There I am in some danger, he put me into halfe a beliefe I shall be his

heire, pray love shee be not a witch to charme his love from mee. Of what

condition is that wench do'st thou know her?

Sha.

A little, but Whetstone knowes her better.

Arth.

Hang him rogue, he'le belye her, and speak better than she deserves, for he's

is love with her too. I saw old Doughty give him a box o'the eare for kissing

her, and hee turnd about as he did by thee yesterday, and swore his Aunt

should know it.

Bant.

Who would ha'thought that impudent rogue would have come among us after such a

baffle.

Sha.

He told me, hee had complain'd to his Aunt on us, and that she would speak

with us.

Arth.

Wee will all to her to patch vp the businesse, for the respect I beare her

husband, noble Generous.

Bant.

Here he comes.

Enter Whetstone.

Arth.

Hearke you Mr. Byblow do you know the lasse within? What do you call her, Mal

Spencer?

Whet.

Sir, what I know i'le keepe to my selfe, a good civile merry harmlesse rogue

she is, and comes to my Aunt often, and thats all I know by her.

Arth.

You doe well to keepe it to your selfe sir.

Whet.

And you may do well to question her if you dare. For the testy old coxcombe

that will not let her goe out of his hand.

Sha.

Take heed, he's at your heels.

Dough.

Come away Wenches, where are you Gentlemen? Play Fidlers: lets have a dance,

ha my little rogue.

Zookes what ayles thy nose.

Mal.

My nose! Nothing sir.---turnes about---Yet mee thought a flie toucht it. Did

you see any thing?

Dou.

No, no, yet I would almost ha'sworn, I would not have sprite or goblin blast

thy face, for all their kingdome. But hangt there is no such thing: Fidlers

will you play?

Selengers Round.

Gentlemen will you dance?

All.

With all our hearts.

Arth.

But stay where’s this houshold?

This Family of love? Let's have them into the revels.

Dou.

Hold a little then.

Sha.

Here they come all

In a True-love knot.

Enter Seely, Joane, Greg, Win.

Greg.

O Father twentie times a day is too little to aske you blessing.

See.

Goe too you are a rascall: and you houswife teach your daughter better

manners: i'le ship you all for New England els.

Bant.

The knot's untied, and this is another change.

Joane.

Yes I will teach her manners, or put her out to spin two penny tow: so you

deare husband will but take mee into favor: i'le talke with you dame when the

strangers are gone.

Greg.

Deare Father.

Win.

Deare Mother.

Deare Father and Mother pardon us but this time.

See., Ioa.

Never, and therefore hold your peace.

Dough.

Nay thats unreasonable.

Greg., Win.

Oh!--- Weepe.

See.

But for your sake i'le forbeare them, and beare with any thing this day.

Arth.

Doe you note this? Now they are all worse than ever they were, in a contrary

vaine: What thinke you of Witchcraft now?

Don.

They are all naturall fooles man, I finde it now. Art thou mad to dreame of

Witchcraft?

Arth.

He's as much chang'd and bewitcht as they I feare.

Dough.

Hey day! Here comes the payre of boyld Lovers in Sorrell sops.

Enter Lawrence and Parnell.

Lawr.

Nay deare hunny, nay hunny, but eance, eance.

Par.

Na, na, I han' swarne, I han' swarne, not a bit afore bed, and look yeou it's

but now dauncing time.

Dough.

Come away Bridegroome, wee'll stay your stomack with a daunce. Now masters

play a good: come my Lasse wee'l shew them how 'tis.

As they beginne to daunce, they play, another tune, then fall into many.

Whether now, hoe?

Dou.

Hey day! why you rogues.

Whet.

What do's the Divell ride o'your Fiddlestickes.

Dou.

You drunken rogues, hold, hold, I say, and begin againe soberly the beginning

of the World

Ha, ha, ha, How's this?

Bant.

Every one a severall tune

Dou.

This is something towards it. I bad them play the beginning o'the World,

and they play, I know not what.

Arth.

No 'tis running o'the country severall waies. But what do you thinke on't.

Thinke! I thinke they are drunke Prithee doe not thou thinke of Witchcraft;

for my part, I shall as soone thinke this maid one, as that theres any in

Lancashire.

Mal.

Ha, ha ha.

Dough.

Why do'st thou laugh?

Mal.

To thinke this Bridegroome should once ha'bin mine, but he shall rue it, ile

hold him this point on't, and that’s all I care for him.

Dough.

A witty Rogue.

Whet.

I tell you sir, they say shee made a payle follow her t'other day up two payre

of stayres.

Dough.

You lying Rascall.

Arth.

O sir forget your anger.

Mat.

Looke you Mr. Bridegroome, what my care provides for you

Lawrence.

What, a point?

Mal.

Yes put it in your pocket it may stand you instead anon,when all your points

be tane away, to trusse up your trinkits, I meane your slopes withall.

Lawr.

Mal for awd acquaintance I will ma'thy point a point of preferment. It shan

bee the Foreman of a haell Jewrie o'points, and right here will I weare

it.

Par.

Wy'a, wy'a, awd leove wo no be forgetten, but ay's never be jealous the mare

for that.

Arth.

Play fidlers any thing.

Dou.

Ay, and let’s see your faces, that you play fairely with us.

Musitians shew themselves above.

Fid.

We do sir, as loud as we can possibly.

Sha.

Play out that we may heare you.

Fid.

So we do sir, as loud as we can possibly.

Dough.

Doe you heare any thing?

All.

Nothing not we sir.

Dough.

'Tis so, the rogues are brib'd to crosse me,

And their Fiddles shall suffer, I will breake em as small as the

Bride cake was to day.

Arth.

Looke you sir, they'l save you a labour, they are doing it themselves.

Whet.

Oh brave Fidlers, there was never better scuffling for the Tudberry Bull.

Mal.

This is mother Iohnson and Gooddy Dickison’s roguerie, I finde it, but I cannot

helpe it, yet I will have musicke: sir there’s a Piper without, would be glad

to earne money.

Whet.

She has spoke to purpose, & whether this were witchcraft or not: I have heard

my Aunt say twentie times, that no Witchcraft can take hold of a Lancashire

Bag-pipe, for itselfe is able to charme the Divell, ile fetch him.

Dough.

Well said, a good boy now; come bride and bridegroome, leave your

kissing and fooling, and prepare to come into the daunce. Wee'le have a

Horne-pipe, and then a posset and

to bed when you please. Welcome Piper, blow till thy bagge cracke agen, a

lusty Horne-pipe, and all into the daunce, nay young and old.

the piper.

All.

Bravely performd.

Dou.

Stay, wheres my lasse?

Vanisht, she and the Piper both vanisht, no bodie knowes how.

Now do I plainly perceive again, here has bin nothing but witcherie all this

day; therfore into your posset, & agree among your selves as you can, ile out

o'the house. And Gentlemen, if you love me or your selves, follow me.

Ar., Bant., Sha., Whet.

Ay, ay, Away, away.

See.

Now good son, wife, and daughter, let me intreat you be not angry.

Win.

O you are a trim mother are you not?

Joa.

Indeed childe, ile do so no more.

Greg.

Now sir, i'le talke with you, your champions are al gon.

Lawr.

Weell sir, and what wun yeou deow than?

Par.

Whay, whay, whats here to doe? Come awaw, and whickly, and see us into our

Brayd Chember, & delicatly ludgd togeder, or wee'l whap you out o'dores ith

morne to sijourne in the common, come away.

Wee follow yee.

Scæna, I.

Know you this gingling bridle, if you see't agen? I wanted but a paire of

gingling spurs to make you mend your pace, and put you into a sweat.

Robin.

Yes, I have reason to know it after my

hard journey, they say there be light women, but for your owne part, though

you be merry. Yet I may be sorry for your heavinesse.

Mrs. Gener.

I see thou art not quite tyr'd by shaking of thy selfe, 'tis a signe that as

thou hast brought mee hither, so thou art able to beare mee backe, and so you

are like good Robert. You will not let me have your masters gelding, you will

not. Wel sir, as you like this journey, so deny him to me hereafter.

Rob.

You say well mistresse, you have jaded me (a pox take you for a jade.) Now I

bethinke my selfe how damnably did I ride last night, and how divellishly have

I bin rid now.

Mrs.

Doe you grumble you groome? Now the bridl's of, I turne thee to grazing,

gramercy my good horse, I have no better provender for thee at this time, thou

hadst best like Æsops Asse to feed upon Thistles, of which this place will

affoord thee plenty. I am bid to a better banquet, which done, ile take thee

up from grasse, spur cutt, and make a short cutt home. Farewell.

Robin.

A pox upon your tayle.

All.

The Lady of the feast is come, welcome, welcome.

Mrs.

Is all the cheare that was prepared to grace the wedding feast, yet come?

part of it's here.

The other we must pull for. But whats hee?

Mrs.

My horse, my horse, ha, ha, ha.

All.

Ha, ha, ha.

Rob.

My horse, my horse, I would I were now some country Major, and in authority,

to see if I would not venter to rowze your Satanicall sisterhood: Horse,

horse, see thou be, & where I point thee, cary me: is that the trick on't? the

divel himselfe shall be her carrier next if I can shun her: & yet my Mr. will

not beleeve theres any witches: theres no running away; for I neither know

how nor whether, besides to my thinking, theres a deepe ditch, & a hye

quick-set about mee, how shall I passe the time? What place is this? it looks

like an old barne: ile peep in at some cranny or other, and try if I can see

what they are doing. Such a bevy of beldames did I never behold; and cramming,

like so many Cormorants: Marry choke you with a mischiefe.

Gooddy Dickison.

Whoope, whurre, heres a sturre, never a cat, never a curre, but that we must

have this demurre.

Mal.

A second course.

Mrs. Gen.

Pull, and pull hard

For all that hath lately bin prepar'd

For the great wedding feast.

Mal.

As chiefe.

Of Doughtyes Surloine of rost Beefe.

All.

Ha, ha, ha.

Meg.

'Tis come, 'tis come.

Mawd.

Where hath it all this while beene?

Meg.

Some

Delay hath kept it, now 'tis here,

For bottles next of wine and beere,

The Merchants cellers they shall pay for't.

Well,

What sod or rost meat more, pray tell.

Good Dickinson.

Pul for the Poultry, Foule, & Fish,

For emptie shall not be a dish.

Robin.

A pox take them, must only they feed upon hot meat, and I upon nothing but

cold sallads

Mrs. Gener.

This meat is tedious, now some Farie,

Fetch what belongs unto the Dairie.

Mal.

Thats Butter, Milk, Whey, Curds and Cheese,

Wee nothing by the bargaine leese.

All.

Ha, ha, ha.

Goody Dickison.

Boy, there’s meat for you.

Boy.

Thanke you.

Gooddy Dickis.

And drinke too.

Meg.

What Beast was by thee hither rid?

Mawd.

A Badger nab.

Meg.

And I bestrid

A Porcupine that never prickt.

Mal.

The dull sides of a Beare I kickt.

I know how you rid Lady Nan,

Mrs. Gen,

Ha, ha, ha, upon the knave my man.

Rob.

A murrein take you, I am sure my hoofes payd for't.

Boy.

Meat lie there, for thou hast no taste, and drinke there, for thou hast no

relish, for in neither of them is there either salt or savour.

All.

Pull for the posset, pull.

Robin.

The brides posset on my life, nay if they come to their spoone meat once, I

hope theil breake up their feast presently.

Mrs. Gen.

So those that are our waiters nere,

Take hence this Wedding cheere.

We will be lively all, and make this barn our hall.

Gooddy Dick.

You our Familiers, come.

In speech let all be dumbe,

And to close up our Feast,

To welcome every gest

A merry round let's daunce.

Meg.

Some Musicke then ith aire

Whilest thus by paire and paire,

We nimbly foot it; strike.

Mal.

We are obeyd.

Sprite.

And we hels ministers shall lend our aid.

Dance and Song together. In the time of which the Boy speakes.

Boy.

Now whilest they are in their jollitie, and do not mind me, ile steale away,

and shift for my selfe, though I lose my life for't.

Meg.

Enough, enough, now part,

To see the brides vext heart,

The bridegroomes too and all,

That vomit up their gall

For lacke o'th wedding chere.

Gooddy Dickison.

But stay, wheres the Boy, looke out, if he escape us, we are all betrayed.

Meg.

No following further, yonder horsemen come,

In vaine is our pursuit, let's breake up court.

Gooddy Dickison.

Where shall we next met?

Mawd.

At Mill.

Meg.

But when?

Mrs.

At Night.

Meg.

To horse, to horse.

Where's my Mamilian.

And my Incubus.

My Tyger to bestri'd.

My Puggie.

My horse.

Away, away,

The night we have Feasted, now comes on the day.

Come sirrah, stoope your head like a tame jade,

Whil'st I put on your Bridle.

Rob.

I pray Mistresse ride me as you would be rid.

That's at full speed,

Nay, then Ile try Conclusions.

Mare Mare, see thou be,

And where I point thee carry me.

Gen.

I see what Man is loath to entertaine,

Offers it selfe to him most frequently,

And that which we most covet to embrace,

Doth seldome court us, and proves most averse;

For I, that never coo'd conceive a thought

Of this my woman worthy a rebuke,

(As one that in her youth bore her so fairely

That she was taken for a seeming Saint)

To render me such just occasion,

That I should now distrust her in her age;

Distrust! I cannot, that would bring me in

The poore aspersion of fond jealousie;

Which even from our first meeting I abhorr'd.

The Gentile fashion sometimes we observe

To sunder beds; but most in these hot monthes

June, July August, so we did last night.

Now I (as ever tender of her health)

And therefore rising early as I use,

Entring her Chamber to bestow on her

A custom'd Visite; finde the Pillow swell'd,

Vnbruis'd with any weight, the sheets unruffled,

The Curtaines neither drawne, nor bed layd down;

Which showes, she slept not in my house to night.

Should there be any contract betwixt her

And this my Groome, to abuse my honest trust

I should not take it well, but for all this

Yet cannot I be jealous. Robin---

Gen.

Is my horse safe, lusty, and in good plight?

What, feeds he well?

Rob.

Yes sir, he's broad buttock'd and full flanck'd, he doth not bate an ace of

his flesh.

Gen.

When was he rid last?

Rob.

Not sir since you backt him.

Gen.

Sirrah, take heed I finde you not a Knave,

Have you not lent him to your Mistresse late?

So late as this last Night?

Rob.

Who I sir, may I dye sir, if you finde me in a lye sir.

Gener.

Then I shall finde him where I left him last.

Robin.

No doubt Sir.

Gener.

Give me the Key o'th Stable.

Robin.

There Sir.

Gen.

Sirrah, your Mistresse was abroad all night,

Nor is she yet come home, if there I finde him not,

I shall finde thee, what to this present houre

I never did suspect; and I must tell theee

Will not be to thy profit.

Rob.

Well sir, finde what you can, him you shall finde, and what you finde

else; it may be for that, instead of Gramercy horse, you may say Gramercy

Robin; you will beleeve there are no Witches! had I not been late brideled, I

coo'd have sayd more, but I hope she is ty'd to the racke that will confesse

something, and though not so much as I know, yet no more then I dare

justifie---

Have you found your Gelding sir?

Gen.

Yes, I have.

Rob.

I hope not spurr'd, nor put into a sweat, you may see by his plump belly and

sleeke legs he hath not bin sore travail'd.

Gener.

Y'are a sawcy Groome to receive horses

Into my Stable, and not aske me leave.

Is't for my profit to buy Hay and Oates

For every strangers jades?

Rob.

I hope sir you finde none feeding there but your owne, if there be any you

suspect, they have nothing to champe on, but the Bridle.

Gener.

Sirrah, whose jade is that ty'd to the Racke?

Rob.

The Mare you meane sir?

Gener.

Yes, that old Mare.

Rob.

Old doe you call her? You shall finde the marke still in her mouth, when the

Bridle is out of it? I can assure you 'tis your owne Beast.

Gen.

A beast thou art to tell me so, hath the wine

Not yet left working? not the Myter wine?

That made thee to beleeve Witchcraft?

Prithee perswade me,

To be a drunken Sot like to thy selfe;

And not to know mine owne.

Rob.

Ile not perswade you to any thing, you will beleeve nothing but what you see,

I say the Beast is your owne, and you have most right to keepe her, shee hath

cost you more the currying, then all the Combs in your Stable are worth. You

have paid for her Provender this twentie yeares and upwards, and furnisht her

with all the Caparisons that she hath worne, of my Knowledge, and because she

hath been ridden hard the last Night, doe you renounce her now?

Gener.

Sirrah, I feare some stolne jade of your owne

That you would have me keepe.

Rob.

I am sure I found her no jade the last time I rid her, she carried me the best

part of a hundred Miles in lesse then a quarter of an houre.

Gener.

The divell she did!

Robin.

Yes so I say, either the divell or she did; an't please you walke in and take

off her Bridle, and then tell me who hath more right to her, you or I.

Gen.

Well Robert, for this once Ile play the Groome, And doe your office for you.

Rob.

I pray doe Sir, but take heed lest when the Bridle is out of her mouth, she

put it not into yours; if she doe, you are a gone man: if she but say

once---Horse, horse, see thou be. Be you rid (if you please) for me.

Gen.

My blood is turn'd to Ice, and my all vitals

Have ceas'd their working! dull stupidity

Surpriseth me at once, and hath arrested

That vigorous agitation; Which till now

Exprest a life within me: I me thinks

Am a meere Marble statue, and no man;

Vnweave my age O time, to my first thread;

Let me loose fiftie yeares in ignorance spent:

That being made an infant once againe,

I may begin to know, what? or where am I

To be thus lost in wonder.

Mrs. Gen.

Sir.

Gen.

Amazement still pursues me, how am I chang'd

Or brought ere I can understand my selfe,

Into this new World.

Rob.

You will beleeve no Witches?

Gen.

This makes me beleeve all, I any thing;

And that my selfe am nothing: prithee Robin

Lay me to my selfe open, what art thou,

Or this new transform'd Creature?

Rob.

I am Robin, and this your wife, my Mrs.

Gen.

Tell me the Earth

Shall leave it's seat, and mount to kisse the Moone;

Or that the Moone enamour'd of the Earth,

Shall leave her spheare, to stoope to us thus low.

What? what's this in my hand, that at an instant

Can from a foure leg'd Creature, make a thing

So like a wife?

Rob.

A Bridle, a jugling Bridle Sir.

Gen.

A Bridle, hence inchantment,

A Viper were more safe within my hand

Then this charm'd Engine

Rob.

Take heed Sir what you do, if you cast it hence, and she catch it up, we that

are here now, may be rid as far as the Indies within these few houres,

Mistresse down of your Mares bones, or your Mary-bones whether you please, and

confesse your selfe to be what you are; and that's in plaine English a Witch,

a grand notorious Witch.

Gen.

A Witch! my wife a Witch!

Rob.

So it appeares by the storie.

Gener.

The more I strive to unwinde

My selfe from this Meander, I the more

Therein am intricated; prithee woman

Art thou a Witch?

Mrs.

It cannot be deny'd, I am such a curst Creature.

Gen.

Keep aloofe, and doe not come too neare me, O my trust;

Have I since first I understood my selfe,

Bin of my soule so charie, still to studie

What best was for it's health, to renounce all

The workes of that black Fiend with my best force

And hath that Serpent twin'd me so about,

That I must lye so often and so long

With a Divell in my bosome!

Mrs.

Pardon sir.

Gen.

Pardon! Can such a thing as that be hop'd?

Lift up thine eyes (lost woman) to yon Hils;

It must be thence expected: look not down

Vnto that horrid dwelling, which thou hast sought

At such deare rate to purchase, prithee tell me,

(For now I can beleeve) art thou a Witch?

Mrs.

I am.

Gen.

With that word I am thunderstrooke,

And know not what to answer, yet resolve me

Hast thou made any contract with that Fiend

The Enemy of Mankind?

Mrs.

O I have.

Gen.

What? and how farre?

Mrs.

I have promis'd him my soule.

Gen.

Ten thousand times better thy Body had

Bin promis'd to the Stake, I and mine too,

To have suffer'd with thee in a hedge of flames:

Then such a compact ever had bin made. Oh---

Rob.

What cheere sir, show your selfe a man, though she appear'd so late a

Beast; Mistresse confesse all, better here than in a worse place, out with it.

Gen.

Resolve me, how farre doth that contract stretch?

Mrs.

What interest in this Soule, my selfe coo'd claime

I freely gave him, but his part that made it

I still reserve, not being mine to give.

Gen.

O cunning Divell, foolish woman know

Where he can clayme but the least little part,

He will usurpe the whole; th'art a lost woman.

Mrs.

I hope not so.

Gen.

Why hast thou any hope?

Mrs.

Yes Sir I have.

Gen.

Make it appeare to me.

Mrs.

I hope I never bargain'd for that fire,

Further then penitent teares have power to quench.

Gen.

I would see some of them.

Mrs.

You behold them now.

(If you looke on me with charitable eyes)

Tinctur'd in blood, blood issuing from the heart,

Sir I am sorry; when I looke towards Heaven

I beg a gracious Pardon; when on you

Me thinkes your Native goodnesse should not be

Lesse pittifull than they: 'gainst both I have err'd.

From both I beg attonement.

Gener.

May I presum't?

Mrs.

I kneele to both your Mercies.

Gener.

Know'st thou what a Witch is?

Mrs.

Alas, None better,

Or after mature recollection can be

More sad to thinke on't.

Gen.

Tell me, are those teares

As full of true hearted penitence,

As mine of sorrow, to behold what state

What desperate state th'art falne in.

Mrs.

Sir they are.

Gen.

Rise, and as I doe, so heaven pardon me;

We all offend, but from such falling off,

Defend us. Well, I doe remember wife,

When I first tooke thee, 'twas for good and bad;

O change thy bad to good, that I may keep thee,

As then we past our faiths, till Death us sever.

I will not aggravate thy griefe too much,

By Needles iteration: Robin hereafter

Forget thou hast a tongue, if the least Syllable

Of what hath past be rumour'd, you loose me;

But if I finde you faithfull, you gaine me ever.

Rob.

A match sir, you shall finde me as mute as if I had the

Bridle still in my mouth.

Gen.

O woman thou had'st need to weepe thy selfe

Into a fountaine, such a penitent spring

As may have power to quench invisible flames

In which my eyes shall ayde; too little all,

If not too little, all's forgiven, forgot;

Only thus much remember, thou had'st extermin'd

Thy selfe out of the blest society

Of Saints and Angels, but on thy repentance

I take thee to my Bosome, once againe,

My wife, sister, and daughter: saddle my Gelding,

Some businesse that may hold me for two dayes

Calls me aside.

Rob.

I shall Sir, well now my Mistresse hath promis'd to give over her Witchery, I

hope though I still continue her man, yet she will make me no more her

journey-man; to prevent which the first thing I doe shall be to burne the

Bridle, and then away with the Witch.

Arth.

Sir you have done a right noble courtesie, which deserves a memory, as long as

the name of friendship can beare mention.

Dough.

What I have done, I ha' done, if it be well, 'tis well, J doe not like the

bouncing of good Offices, if the little care I have taken shall doe these

poore people good, I have my end in't, and so my reward.

Bant.

Now Gentlemen, you seeme very serious.

Arth.

'Tis true we are so, but you are welcome to the knowledge of our affayres.

Bant.

How does thine Uncle and Aunt, Gregory and his sister, the Families of

Seelyes agree yet, can you tell?

Arth.

That is the businesse, the Seely houshold is divided now.

Bant.

How so I pray?

Arth.

You know, and cannot but with pitty know

Their miserable condition, how

The good old couple were abus'd, and how

The young abus'd themselves; if we may say

That any of hem are their selves at all

Which sure we cannot, nor approve them fit

To be their owne disposers, that would give

The governance of such a house and living

Into their Vassailes hands, to thrust them out on't

Without or Law or order, this consider'd

This Gentleman and my selfe have taken home

By faire entreaty, the old folkes to his house,

The young to mine, untill some wholesome order

By the judicious of the Common-wealth,

Shall for their persons and estate be taken.

Bant.

But what becomes of Lawrence and his Parnell?

The lusty couple, what doe they now?

Dough.

Alas poore folks, they are as farre to seeke of how they doe, or what they

doe, or what they should doe, as any of the rest, they are all growne Ideots,

and till some of these damnable jades, with their divellish devises bee found

out, to discharme them, no remedy can be found, I mean to lay the

Country for their Hagships, and if J can anticipate the purpose, of their

grand Mr. Divell to confound 'em before their lease be out, be sure ile do 't.

Cry.

A Skimington, a Skimmington, a Skimington.

Dough.

Whats the matter now, is Hell broke loose?

Arth.

Tom Shakstone, how now, canst tell the newes?

Sha.

The news, ye heare it up i'th aire, do you not?

A Skimington, a Skimington, a Skimington.

Sha.

Hearke ye, do you not heare it? theres a Skimington, towards gentlemen.

Dou.

Ware Wedlocke hoe.

Bant.

At whose suit I prithee is Don Skimington come to towne.

Sha.

Ile tell you gentlemen, since you have taken home old Seely and his wife to

your house, and you their son and daughter to yours, the house-keepers

Lawrence, and his late bride Parnell are fallen out by themselves.

Arth.

How prithee?

Sha.

The quarell began they say upon the wedding night, and in the bride bed.

Bant.

For want of bedstaves?

Sha.

No but a better implement it seemes the bridegroome was unprovided of, a

homely tale to tell.

Dou.

Now out upon her shee has a greedy worme in her, I have heard the fellow

complain'd on, for an over mickle man among the maids.

Arth.

Is his haste to goe to bed at afternoone come to this now?

Dough.

Witchery, witchery, more witcherie still flat and plaine witchery. Now do I

thinke upon the codpeece point the young jade gave him at the wedding: shee is

a witch, and that was a charme, if there be any in the World.

Arth.

A ligatory point.

Bant.

Alas poore Lawrence.

Sha.

He's comming to make his mone to you about it, and she too, since you have

taken their masters & mistresses to your care, you must do them right too.

Dough.

Marry but ile not undertake her at these yeares, if lusty Lawrence cannot

do't.

Bant.

But has she beaten him?

Sha.

Grievously broke his head in I know not how many places: of which the hoydens

have taken notice, and will have a Skimmington on horse-backe presently. Looke

ye, here comes both plaintiffe and defendant.

Enter Lawrence and Parnell.

Dough.

How now Lawrence, what has thy wedlock brought thee already to thy night-cap?

Lawr.

Yie gadwat sir, I ware wadded but aw to seun.

Par.

Han yeou reeson to complayne or ay trow yeou gaffer Downought? Wa warth the

day that ever I wadded a Downought.

Nay hold Parnel hold.

Dough.

We have heard enough of your valour already, wee know you have beaten him, let

that suffice.

Parn.

Ware ever poore mayden betrayed as ay ware unto a swagbellied Carle that

cannot aw waw that cannot.

Dou.

What saies she?

Dou.

I know not, she catterwawles I think. Parnel be patient good Parnell, and a

little modest too, 'tis not amisse, wee know not the relish of every eare that

heares vs, lets talke within our selves. Whats the defect? Whats the

impediment? Lawrence has had a lusty name among the Batchellors.

Par.

What he ware when he ware a Batchelor, I know better than the best maid ith

tawne. I wad I had not.

Ar., Ba., Sha.

Peace Parnell.

Par.

'Tware that, that cossen'd me, he has not now as he had than?

Ar., Ba., Sha.

Peace good Parnell.

Parn.

For then he could, but now he connot, he connot.

Fie Parnel fie.

Par.

I say agen and agean, hee connot, he connot.

Ar., Ba., Sha.

Alas poore Parnel.

Par.

I am not a bit the better for him sin wye ware wad.

Dou.

Here’s good stuffe for a jurie of women to passe upon.

Arth.

But Parnel, why have you beaten him so grievously? What would you have

him doe in this case?

Dou.

He's out of a doing case it seemes.

Par.

Marry sir, and beat him will I into his grave, or backe to the Priest, and be

unwaddded agone, for I wonot bee baund to lig with him and live with him the

laife of an honest woman for aw the layves good i' Loncoshire.

Dou.

An honest woman: thats a good mind Parnel What say you to this Lawrence?

Law.

Keepe her of o'me, and I shan teln yeou, and she be by I am no body: But keep

her off and search me, let me be searcht as never witch was searcht, and finde

ony thing mor or lasse upo me than a sufficient mon shold have, and let me be

honckt by't.

Art.

Do you heare this Parnell?

Par.

Ah leear, leear, deell tacke the leear, troist yee and hong yee.

Dou.

Alasse it is too plaine, the poore fellow is bewitcht. Heres a plaine

Maleficium versus hanc now.

Ar.

And so is she bewitcht too into this immodesty.

Ban.

She would never talke so else

Law.

I prayn yeow gi' me the lere o'that Latine sir.

Dough.

The meaning is, you must get halfe a dozen bastards Within this twelvemoneth,

and that will mend your next marriage.

Law.

And I thought it would ma' Parnel, love me i'd be sure on't, and gang about it

now right.

Sha.

Y'are soone provided it seems for such a journey.

Best tarry till thy head be whole Lawrence.

Pa.

Nay, nay, ay's white casten away ent I be vnwadded agen. And then ine

undertack to find 3 better husbands in a bean cod.

Sha.

Hearke gentlemen, the shew is comming.

Ar.

What shall we stay & see't.

O by all means Gent.

Dou.

'Tis best to have these away first.

Par.

Nay mary shan yeou not sir, I heare yeou well enogh, & I con the meaning o'the

show well enogh, & I stay not the show & see not the show, & ma'one i'the

show, let me be honckt up for a show ile ware them to mel or ma with a woman

that mels or mae's with a testril a longie, a dowlittle losell that connot, &

if I skim not their skimingtons cockskeam for't, ma that warplin boggle me a

week lonker, & thats a curse eno' for any wife I tro.

Dough.

Agreed, perhaps 'twill mend the sport.

Beat drum alarum.

Enough, engugh, here my masters: now patch up your shew if you can, and catch

your horse again, and when you have done drinke that.

Thanke your worship.

Par.

Lat'hem as they laik this gang a procession with their aydoll Skimington

agean.

Arth.

Parnel. thou didst bravely.

Parn.

I am sure I han drawne blood o'theyr aydoll.

Law.

And I thinke I tickled his waife.

Par.

Yie to be sure, yeou bene eane of the owd ticklers.

But with what con yeou tell?

Law

Yieu with her owne ladel.

Par.

Yie marry a ladell is something.

Dou.

Come you have both done well, goe in to my house, see your old master and

mistresse, while I travell a course to make yee all well againe, I will now a

witch hunting.

Par.

Na course for hus but to be unwadded agone.

Wee are for

Whetstone and his aunt you know.

Farewell, farewell.

Welcome, welcome, my girle, what hath thy puggy

yet suckt upon thy pretty duggy?

All's well at home, and abroad too.

What ere I bid my Pug, hee'l doo. You sent for mee?

I did.

And why?

Wench ile tell thee, thou and I

Will walk a little, how doth Meg?

And her Mamillion.

Of one leg

Shee's growne lame.

Because the beast

Did misse us last Goodfriday Feast,

I gest as much.

But All-Saints night

She met though she did halt downe right.

Dickison and Hargrave prithee tel,

How do they?

All about us well.

But Puggy whisperd in mine eare

That you of late were put in feare.

The slave my man.

Who Robin?

Hee.

My Sweet-heart?

Such a tricke serv'd me.

About the bridle, now alacke.

The villain brought me to the rack.

Tyed was I both to rack and manger

But thence how scap't you?

Without danger, I thank my spirit

I but than

How pacified was your good man?

Some passionate words mixt with forc't tears

Did so inchant his eyes and eares

I made my peace, with promise never

To doe the like; but once and ever

A Witch thou know'st. Now understand

New businesse wee tooke in hand.

My Husband packt out of the towne

Know that the house, and all's our owne.

Enter Whetstone.

Naunt, is this your promise Naunt? (What Mal! How doest thou Mal?) You told

mee you would put a tricke upon these Gentlemen, whom you made me invite to

supper, who abused and called me bastard. (And when shall I get one upon

thee my sweet Rogue:) And that you would doe I know not what; for you would

not tell mee what you would doe. And shall you and I never have any doing

together) supper is done, and the table ready to withdraw: And I am risen the

earliest from the boord, and yet for ought I can see I am never a whit the neerer What

not one kisse at parting Mal?

Mrs.

Well Cozen this is all you have to do:

Retire the Gallants to some privat roome,

Where call for wine, and junckets what you please,

Then thou shalt need to do no other thing

Than what this note directs thee, observe that

And trouble me no farther.

Whet.

Very good, I like this beginning well: for where they sleighted me before,

they shall finde me a man of note.

Mal.

Of this the meaning.

Mrs.

Marry Lasse

To bring a new conceit to passe.

Thy Spirit must borrow more,

To fill the number three or foure;

Whom we will use to no great harm,

Only assist me with thy charme.

This night wee'l celebrate to sport:

'Tis all for mirth, we mean no hurt.

Mal.

My Spirit and my selfe command;

Mamillion, & the rest at hand, shall all assist.

Mrs.

Withdraw then, quicke,

Now gallants, ther's for you a trick.

Enter Whetstone, Arthur, Shakstone, Bantam.

Whet.

Heer's a more privat roome gentlemen, free from the noise of the Hall. Here we

may talke, and throw the chamber out of the casements. Some wine and a short

banquet.

Whet.

So now leave us.

Arth.

Wee are much bound to you master Whetstone.

For this great entertainment: I see you command

The house in the absence of your Unkle.

Whet.

Yes, I thanke my Aunt; for though I be but a daily guest yet I can be welcome

to her at midnight.

Shak.

How shall we passe the time?

Bant.

In some discourse.

Whet.

But no such discourse as we had last, I beseech you.

Bant.

Now master Whetstone you reflect on me.

'Tis true, at our last meeting some few words

Then past my lips, which I could wish forgot:

I thinke I call'd you Bastard.

Whet.

I thinke so too; but whats that amongst friends, for I would faine know

which amongst you all knowes his owne father.

Bant.

You are merrie with your friends, good master By-Blow, and wee are guests here

in your Unckles house, and therefore priviledged.

Whet.

I presume you had no more priviledge in your getting than I. But tell me

gentlemen, is there any man here amongst you, that hath a minde to see his

father?

Bant.

Why, who shall shew him?

Whet.

Thats all one; if any man here desire it, let him but speake the word, and

'tis sufficient.

Bant.

Why, I would see my father.

Mistresse Gener.

Strike.

Musique.

Whet.

Doe you know him that lookes so full in your face?

Bant.

Yes well, a pedant in my fathers house.

Who beeing young, taught me my A, B, C.

In his house, that goes for your father you would say: For know one morning,

when your mothers husband rid early to have a Nisi prius tryed at Lancaster

Syzes, hee crept into his warme place, lay close by her side, and then were

you got. Then come, your heeles and tayle together, and kneele unto your own

deare father.

Ha, ha, ha.

I am abused.

Whet.

Why laugh you Gentlemen? It may be more mens cases than his or mine.

Bant.

To be thus geer'd.

Arth.

Come, take it as a jest

For I presume 'twas meant no otherwise.

Whet.

Would either of you two now see his father in earnest

Yes, canst thou shew me mine?

Strike.

Enter a nimble Taylor dauncing, using the same posture to Shakstone.

Whet.

Hee lookes on you, speake, doe you know him?

Shak.

Yes, he was my mothers Taylor, I remember him ever since I was a childe.

Whet.

Who when hee came to take measure of her upper parts had more minde to the

lower, whilest the good man was in the fields hunting, he was at home whoring.

Then, since no better comfort can be had,

Come downe, come downe aske blessing of your dad.

Ha, ha, ha.

This cannot be indur'd.

It is plaine Witchcraft.

Nay since we all are bid unto one feast,

Lets fare alike, come shew me mine too.

Mrs Gener.

Strike.

Enter Robin with a switch and a Currycombe, he points at Arthur.

He points at you.

What then?

You know him.

Yes, Robin the groome belonging to this house.

And never served your father?

In's youth I thinke he did.

Who when your supposed father had businesse at the Lord Presidents Court in

Yorke, stood for his Atturney at home, & so it seems you were got by deputy:

what all a mort? if you will have but a little patience, stay & you shall see mine too:

And know I shew you him the rather,

To finde who hath the best man to his Father.

Strike---

Now Gentlemen make me your President, learne your duties, and doe as I doe---A

blessing Dad.

Come, come, let's home, we'l finde some other time, When to dispute of these

things---

Nay Gent. no parting in spleene, since we have begun in mirth, let's not end

in melancholy; you see there are more By-blowes than beare the name; It is

growne a great kindred in the Kingdome. Come, come, all friends; Let's into

the Cellar and conclude our Revels in a lusty health.

I faine would strike, but cannot.

Some strange fate holds me.

Here then all anger end,

Let none be mad at what they cannot mend.

Now say what's next?

I'th' Mill there lyes

A Souldier yet with unscratcht eyes,

Summon the Sister-hood together

For we with all our Spirits will thither;

And such a Catterwalling keepe,

That he in vaine shall thinke to sleepe.

Call Meg, and Doll, Tib, Nab, and Iug,

Let none appeare without her Pug.

We'l try our utmost Art and skill.

To fright the stout Knave in the Mill.

SCENA, I.

Thou art a brave Boy, the honour of thy Country; thy Statue shall be set up in

brasse upon the Market Crosse in Lancaster, I blesse the time that I

answered at the Font for thee: 'Zookes did I ever thinke that a Godson of mine

should have fought hand to fist with the Divell!

He was ever an unhappy Boy Sir, and like enough to grow acquainted with him;

and friends may fall out sometimes.

Thou art a dogged Sire, and doest not know the vertue of my Godsonne, my sonne

now; he shall be thy sonne no longer: he and I will worry all the Witches in

Lancashire.

You were best take heed though.

I care not, though we leave not above three untainted women in the Parish,

we'll doe it.

Doe what you please Sir, there's the Boy stout enough to justifie any thing he

has sayd. Now 'tis out, he should be my Sonne still by that: Though he was at

Death's dore before he would reveale any thing, the damnable jades had so

threatned him, and as soone as ever he had told he mended.

'Tis well he did so, we will so swing them in two-penny halters Boy.

For my part I have no reason to hinder any thing that may root them all out; I

have tasted enough of their mischiefe, witnesse my usage i' th Mill, which

could be nothing but their Roguerie. One night in my sleepe they set me a

stride stark naked a top of my Mill, a bitter cold night too; 'twas daylight

before I waked, and I durst never speake of it to this houre, because I

thought it impossible to be beleeved.

Villanous Hags!

And all last Summer, my Wife could not make a bit of butter.

It would not come, would it?

No Sir, we could not make it come, though she and I both together, churn'd

almost our harts out, and nothing would come, but all ran into thin waterish

geere: the Pigges would not drinke it.

Is't possible?

None but one, and he ran out of his wits upon't, till we bound his head, and

layd him a sleepe, but he has had a wry mouth ever since.

That the Divell should put in their hearts to delight in such Villanies! I

have sought about these two dayes, and heard of a hundred such mischievous

tricks, though none mortall, but could not finde whom to mistrust for a Witch

till now this boy, this happy boy informes me.

And they should neere have been sought for me if their affrightments and

divellish devices, had not brought my Boy into such a sicknesse; Whereupon

indeed I thought good to acquaint your worship, and bring the Boy unto you

being his Godfather, and as you now stick not to say his Father.

After you I thanke yon Gossip. But my Boy thou hast satisfied me in their

names, and thy knowledge of the women, their turning into shapes, their

dog-trickes, and their horse trickes, and their great Feast in the Barne (a

pox take them with my Surloyne, I say still.) But a little more of thy combat

with the Divell, I prithee; he came to thee like a Boy thou sayest, about

thine owne bignesse?

Yes Sir, and he asked me where I dwelt, and what my name was.

Ah Rogue!

But it was in a quarrelsome way; Whereupon I was as stout, and ask'd him who

made him an examiner?

Ah good Boy.

In that he was my Sonne.

He told me he would know or beat it out of me, And I told him he should not,

and bid him doe his worst; And to't we went.

In that he was my sonne againe, ha boy; I see him at it now.

We fought a quarter of an houre, till his sharpe nailes made my eares bleed.

O the grand Divell pare 'em.

I wondred to finde him so strong in my hands, seeming but of mine owne age and

bignesse, till I looking downe, perceived he had clubb'd cloven feet like Oxe

feet; but his face was as young as mine.

A pox, but by his feet, he may be the Club-footed Horse-coursers father, for

all his young lookes.

But I was afraid of his feet, and ran from him towards a light that I saw, and

when I came to it, it was one of the Witches in white upon a Bridge, that

scar'd me backe againe, and then met me the Boy againe, and he strucke me and

layd mee for dead.

Till I wondring at his stay, went out and found him in the Trance; since which

time, he has beene haunted and frighted with Goblins, 40. times, and never

durst tell any thing (as I sayd) because the Hags had so threatned him till in

his sicknes he revealed it to his mother.

And she told no body but folkes on't. Well Gossip Gretty, as thou art a

Miller, and a close thiefe, now let us keepe it as close as we may till we

take 'hem, and see them handsomly hanged o'the way: Ha my little Cuffe-divell,

thou art a made man. Come, away with me.

These two nights I have slept well and heard no noise

Of Cats, or Rats; most sure the fellow dream't,

And scratcht himselfe in 's sleep. I have traveld' Desarts,

Beheld Wolves, Beares, and Lyons: Indeed what not?

Of horrid shape; And shall I be afrayd

Of Cats in mine owne Country? I can never

Grow so Mouse-hearted. It is now a Calme

And no winde stirring, I can beare no sayle;

Then best lye downe to sleepe. Nay rest by me

Good Morglay, my Comrague and Bedfellow

That never fayl'd me yet; I know thou did'st not.

If I be wak'd, see thou be stirring too;

Then come a Gib as big as Ascapært

We'l make him play at Leap-frog. A brave Souldiers lodging,

The floore my Bed, a Milstone for my Pillow,

The Sayles for Curtaynes. So good night.

Lyes downe.

Is Nab come?

Yes.

Where's Jug?

On horseback yet,

Now lighting from her Broome-staffe.

But where's Peg?

Entred the Mill already.

Is he fast?

As sencelesse as a Dormouse.

Then to work, to work my pretty Laplands

Pinch, here, scratch,

Doe that within, without we'l keep the watch.

starts.

Am I in Hell, then have among'st you divels;

This side, and that side, what behinde, before?

Ile keep my face unscratch'd dispight you all:

What, doe you pinch in private, clawes I feele

But can see nothing, nothing pinch me thus?

Have at you then, I and have at you still;

And stil have at you.

One of them I have pay'd,

In leaping out oth' hole a foot or eare

Or something I have light on. What all gone?

All quiet? not a Cat that's heard to mew?

Nay then Ile try to take another nap,

Though I sleepe with mine eyes open.

Robin, the last night that I lodg'd at home

My Wife (if thou remembrest) lay abroad,

But no words of that.

Rob.

You have taught me silence.

Gen.

I rose thus early much before my houre,

To take her in her bed; 'Tis not five:

The Sunne scarce up. Those horses take and lead 'em

Into the Stable, see them rubb'd and drest,

We have rid hard. Now in the interim I

Will step and see how my new Miller fares,

Or whether he slept better in his charge,

Than those which did precede him.

Rob.

Sir I shall.

Gen.

But one thing more---

Arth.

Now from the last nights witchcraft we are freed.

And I that had not power to cleare my selfe

From base aspersion, am at liberty

For vow'd revenge: I cannot be at peace

(The night-spell being took of) till I have met

With noble Mr. Generous: in whose search

The best part of this morning I have spent,

His wife now I suspect.

Rob.

By your leave Sir.

Arth.

O y'are well met, pray tell me how long is't

Be patient I beseech you, what doe you meane Sir?

Arth.

But that I honour

Thy Master, to whose goodnesse I am bound,

And still must remaine thankfull, I should prove

Worse then a Murderer, a meere Paricide

By killing thee my Father.

Rob.

I your Father? he was a man I alwayes lov'd

And honour'd. He bred me.

Arth.

And you begot me? oh you us'd me finely last night?

Gen.

Pray what's the matter Sir?

Arth.

My worthy friend, but that I honour you

As one to whom I am so much oblig'd,

This Villaine could not stirre a foot from hence

Till perisht by my sword.

Gener.

How hath he wrong'd you?

Be of a milder temper I intreat,

Relate what and when done?

Arth.

You may command me,

If aske me what wrongs, know this Groome pretends

He hath strumpeted my mother, if when, blaz'd

Last night at midnight. If you aske me further

Where, in your own house; when he pointed to me

As had I been his Bastard.

Rob.

I doe this? I am a horse agen if I got you, Master, why

Master.

Gen.

I know you Mr. Arthur, for a Gentleman

Of faire endowments, a most solid braine,

And setled understanding. Why this fellow

These two dayes was scarce sundred from my side,

And for the last night I am most assur'd

He slept within my Chamber, 12. miles off,

We have nere parted since.

Arth,

You tell me wonders.

Since all your words to me are Oracles,

And such as I most constantly beleeve.

But Sir, shall I be bold and plaine withall,

I am suspitious all's not well at home;

I dare proceed no farther without leave,

Yet there is something lodged within my breast

Which I am loath to utter.

Gen.

Keepe it there,

I pray doe a season (O my feares)

No doubt ere long my tongue may be the Key

To open that your secret: Get you gone sir

And doe as I commanded.

Rob.

I shall Sir. Father quoth he

I should be proud indeed of such a sonne.

Gen.

Please you now walk with me to my Mill, I faine would see

How my bold Soldier speeds. It is a place

Hath beene much troubled.

I shall waite on you.---See he appeares.

Good morrow Soldier.

A bad night I have had

A murrin take your Mill-sprights.

Prithee tell me, hast thou bin frighted then?

How frighted Sir,

A Doungcart full of Divels coo'd not do't.

But I have bin so nipt, and pull'd, and pinch'd,

By a company of Hell-cats.

Fairies sure.

Rather foule fiends, Fairies have no such clawes;

Yet I have kept my face whole thanks my Semiter,

My trusty Bilbo, but for which I vow,

I had been torne to pieces. But I thinke

I met with some of them. One I am sure

I have sent limping hence.

Didst thou fasten upon any?

Sold.

Fast or loose, most sure I made them flye,

And skip out of the Port-holes. But the last

I made her squeake, she had forgot to mew,

I spoyl'd her Catter-wawling.

Arth.

Let's see thy sword.

Sold.

To look on, not to part with from my hand,

'Tis not the Soldiers custome.

Arth.

Sir, I observe 'tis bloody towards the point.

Sold.

If all the rest scape scot-free, yet I am sure

Thees one hath payd the reckoning.

Gen.

Looke well about,

Lookes about and findes the hand.

Perhaps there may be seene some tract of bloud.

Sold.

What's here? is't possible Cats should have hands

And rings upon their fingers.

Arth.

Most prodigious.

Gen.

Reach me that hand.

Sold.

There's that of the three I can best spare.

Gen.

Amazement upon wonder, can this be;

I needs must know't by most infallible markes.

Is this the hand once plighted holy vowes,

And this the ring that bound them? doth this last age

Afford what former never durst beleeve?

O how have I offended those high powers?

That my great incredulity should merit

A punishment so grievous, and to happen

Vnder mine own roofe, mine own bed, my bosome.

Arth.

Know you the hand Sir?

Gen.

Yes and too well can reade it.

Good Master Arthur beare me company

Vnto my house, in the society

Of good men there's great solace.

Arth.

Sir Ile waite on you.

Gen.

And Soldier do not leave me, lock thy Mill,

I have imployment for thee.

I shall sir, I think I have tickled some of your Tenants at will, that thought

to revell here rent-free; the best is if one of the parties shall deny the

deed, we have their hand to shew.

A Bed thrust out, Mrs. Gener. in't; Whetstone, Mall Spencer by her.

Why Aunt, deere Aunt, honey Aunt, how doe you, how fare you, cheere you, how

is't with you? you have bin a lusty woman in your time, but now you look as if

you could not doe with all.

Good Mal let him not trouble me.

Fie Mr. Whetstone you keep such a noise in the chamber that your Aunt is

desirous to take a little rest and cannot.

In my Uncle’s absence who but I should comfort my Aunt,

Am I not of the Bloud, am not I next of Kin?

Why Aunt?

Good Nephew leave me.

The Divell shall leave you ere ile forsake you, Aunt, you know, Sic is

So, and being so sicke doe you thinke ile leave you, what know I but this Bed

may prove your death-bed, and and then I hope you will remember me, that is,

remember me in your Will.---(Knocke within.) Who's that knocks with such

authority. Ten to one my Uncles come to towne.

If it be so, excuse my weaknes to him, say I can speake with none.

I will, and scape him if I can; by this accident all must come out, and here's

no stay for me---(Knock again) Againe, stay you here with your Aunt, and ile

goe let in your Uncle.

Doe good Mal, and how, and how sweet Aunt?

Y' are well met here, I am told you oft frequent

This house as my Wives choyse companion,

Yet have I seldome seene you.

Pray, by your leave Sir,

Your wife is taken with a suddaine qualme

She hath sent me for a Doctor.

But that labour ile save you, Soldier take her to your charge.

And now where's this sicke woman.

Whet.

O Uncle you come in good time, my Aunt is so suddainly taken as if she were

ready to give up the spirit.

'Tis almost time she did, speake how is't wife

My Nephew tels me you were tooke last night

With a shrewd sicknesse, which this Mayde confirmes.

Yes sir, but now desire no company.

Noyse troubles me, and I would gladly sleepe.

In company there's comfort, prithee wife

Lend me thy hand, and let me feele thy pulse,

Perhaps some Feaver, by their beating I

May guesse at thy disease.

My hand, 'tis there.

A dangerous sicknes, and I feare t death,

'Tis oddes you will not scape it. Take that backe

And let me prove the t'other, if perhaps

I there can finde more comfort.

I pray excuse me.

I must not be deny'd,

Sick folkes are peevish, and must be ore-rul'd, and so shall you.

Mrs. Gen.

Alas I have not strength to lift it up.

If not thy hand Wife, shew me but thy wrist,

And see how this will match it, here's a Testate

That cannot be out-fac'd.

Mrs. Gener.

I am undone.

Hath my Aunt bin playing at handee dandee, nay then if the game goe this way I

feare she'l have the worst hand on't.

'Tis now apparant

How all the last nights businesse came about,

In this my late suspicion, is confirm'd.

My heart hath bled more for thy curst relapse

Than drops hath issu'd from thy wounded arme.

But wherefore should I preach to one past hope?

Or where the divell himselfe claimes right in all,

Seeke the least part or interest? Leave your Bed,

Vp, make you ready; I must deliver you

Into the hand of Iustice. O deare friend

It is in vaine to guesse at this my griefe

'Tis so inundant. Soldier take away that young

But old in mischiefe.

And being of these Apostat's rid so well,

Ile see my house no more be made a Hell.

Away with them.

Ban.

Ile out o' the Country, and as soone live in Lapland as Lancashire hereafter.

Shak.

What for a false illusive apparition? I hope the divell is not able to

perswade thee thou art a Bastard.

Bant.

No, but I am afflicted to thinke that the divell should have power to put such

a trick upon us, to countenance a Rascal, that is one.

Shak.

I hope Arthur has taken a course with his Uncle about him by this time, who

would have thought such a foole as hee could have beene a Witch?

Bant.

Why doe you thinke there's any wise folks of the quality; Can any but fooles

be drawne into a Covenant with the greatest enemy of mankind? yet I cannot

thinke that Whetstone is the Witch? The young Queane that was at the Wedding

was i'th house yee know.

Shak.

See Lawrence and Parnell civilly accorded againe it seems, and accoutred as

they were wont to be when they had their wits.

Lawr.

Blest be the houre I say may hunny, may sweet Pall, that Ay's becom'd thaine

agone, and thou's becom'd maine agone, and may this ea kisse ma us tway become

both eane for ever and a day.

Parn.

Yie marry Lall, and thus shadden it be, there is nought getten by fawing out,

we mun faw in or we get nought.

Bant.

The world's well mended here; we cannot but rejoyce to see this, Lawrence.

Lawr.

And you been welcome to it Gentlemen.

Parn.

And we been glad we han it for you.

Shak.

And I protest I am glad to see it.

Parn.

And thus shan yeou see't till our deeing houre. Ween eon leove now for a laife

time, the Dewle shonot ha the poore to put us to peeces agone.

Bant.

Why now all's right and straight and as it should be.

Lawr.

Yie marry that is it, the good houre be blessed for it, that put the wit into

may head, to have a mistrust of that pestilent Codpeece-point, that the

witched worch Mal Spencer go

me, ah woe worth her, that were it that made aw so nought.

Bant. & Shak.

Is't possible?

Parn.

Yie marry it were an Inchauntment, and about an houre since it come

intill our hearts to doe, what yeou thinke, and we did it.

Bant.

What Parnell?

Parn.

Marry we take the point, and we casten the point into the fire, and the point

spitter'd and spatter'd in the fire, like an it were (love blesse us) a laive

thing in the faire; and it hopet and skippet, and riggled, and frisket in the

faire, and crept about laike a worme in the faire, that it were warke enough

for us both with all the Chimney tooles to keepe it into the faire, and it

stinket in the faire, worsen than ony brimstone in the faire.

Bant.

This is wonderfull as all the rest.

Lawr.

It wolld ha scar'd ony that hadden their wits till a seen't, and we werne mad

eont it were deone.

Parn.

And this were not above an houre sine, and you connot devaise how we han lov'd

t'on t'other by now, yeou woud een blisse your seln to see't.

Lawr.

Yie an han pit on our working geere, to swinke and serve our Master and

Maistresse like intill painfull servants agone, as we shudden.

Bant.

'Tis wondrous well.

Shak.

And are they well agen?

Parn.

Yie and weel's laike heane blisse them, they are awas weel becom'd as none ill

had ever beene aneast 'hem; Lo ye, lo ye, as they come.

Greg.

Sir, if a contrite heart strucke through with sence

Of it's sharpe errors, bleeding with remorse

The blacke polluted staine it had conceived

Of foule unnaturall disobedience

May yet by your faire mercy finde Remission;

You shall upraise a Sonne out o'the gulph

Of horrour and despaire, unto a blisse

That shall for ever crowne your goodnesse, and

Instructive in my after life to serve you,

In all the duties that befit a sonne.

Seel.

Enough, enough, good boy, 'tis most apparant

We all have had our errors, and as plainly

It now appeares, our judgments, yea our reason

Was poyson'd by some violent infection,

Quite contrary to Nature.

Bant.

This sounds well.

Seely.

I feare it was by Witchcraft: for I now

(Blest be the power that wrought the happy means

Of my delivery) remember that

Some 3. months since I crost a wayward woman

(One that I now suspect) for bearing with

A most unseemly disobedience,

In an untoward ill-bred sonne of hers,

When with an ill looke and an hollow voyce

She mutter'd out these words. Perhaps ere long

Thy selfe shalt be obedient to thy sonne.

She has play'd her pranke it seemes.

Greg.

Sir I have heard, that Witches apprehended under hands of lawfull authority,

doe loose their power;

And all their spels are instantly dissolv'd.

Seel.

If it be so, then at this happy houre,

The Witch is tane that over us had power.

Joane.

Enough Childe, thou art mine and all is well.

Win.

Long may you live the well-spring of my blisse,

And may my duty and my fruitfull Prayers,

Draw a perpetuall streame of blessings from you.

Gentlemen welcome to my best friends house,

You know the unhappy cause that drew me hether.

Bant.

And cannot but rejoyce to see the remedy so neere at hand.

Dought.

Come Gossip, come Boy---Gentlemen you are come to the bravest discovery---Mr.

Seely and the rest, how is't with you? you look reasonable well me thinkes.

Seely.

Sir, we doe find that we have reason enough to thank you for your Neighbourly

and pious care of us.

Doughty.

Is all so well with you already? goe to, will you know a reason for't

Gentlemen: I have catcht a whole Kennel of Witches. It seemes their Witch is

one of 'hem, and so they are discharm'd, they are all in Officers hands, and

they will touch here with two or three of them for a little private parley,

before they goe to the Iustices. Master Generous is comming hither

too, with a supply that you dreame not of, and your Nephew Arthur.

Bant.

You are beholden Sir to Master Generous in behalfe of your Nephew for saving

his land from forfeiture in time of your distraction.

Seely.

I will acknowledge it most thankfully.

Shak.

See he comes.

Enter Mr. Generous, Mrs. Generous, Arthur, Whetstone, Mal, Soldier, and Robin.

Seel.

O Mr. Generous, the noble favour you have shew'd

My Nephew for ever bindes me to you.

Gener.

I pittyed then your misery, and now

Have nothing left but to bewayle mine owne

In this unhappy woman.

Seel.

Good Mistresse Generous---

Arth.

Make a full stop there Sir, sides, sides, make sides, You know her not as I

doe, stand aloofe there Mistresse with your darling Witch, your Nephew too if

you please, because though he be no witch, he is a wel-willer to the infernal

science.

Gener.

I utterly discard him in her blood

And all the good that I intended him

I will conferre upon this vertuous Gentleman.

Whet.

Well Sir, though you be no Vnckle, yet mine Aunt's mine Aunt, and shall be to

her dying day.

Doug.

And that will be about a day after next Sizes I take it,

O here comes more o' your Naunts, Naunt Dickenson & Naunt

Hargrave, ods fish and your Granny Johnson too; we want but a good fire

to entertaine 'em.

Arth.

See how they lay their heads together?

Gill.

No succour.

Maud.

No reliefe.

Peg.

No comfort!

Mawsy, my Mawsy, gentle Mawsy come,

Maud.

Come my sweet Puckling.

My Mamilion.

What doe they say?

Bant.

They call their Spirits I thinke.

Now a shame take you for a fardell of fooles, have you knowne so many of the

Divels tricks, and can be ignorant of that common feate of the old Iugler;

that is, to leave you all to the Law, when you are once seized on by the

tallons of Authority? Ile undertake this little Demigorgon Constable with

these Common-wealth Characters upon his staffe here, is able inspite of all

your bugs-words, to stave off the grand Divell for doing any of you good till

you come to his Kingdome to him, and there take what you can finde.

But Gentlemen, shall we try if we can by examination get from them something

that may abbreviate the cause unto the wiser in Commission for the peace

before wee carry them before 'em.

Gen. & Seel.

Let it be so.

Dought.

Well say, stand out Boy, stand out Miller, stand out Robin, stand out

Soldier, and lay your accusation upon 'em.

Bant.

Speake Boy doe you know these Creatures, women I dare not call 'em?

Boy.

Yes Sir, and saw them all in the Barne together, and many more at their Feast

and Witchery.

Rob.

And so did I, by a Divellish token, J was rid thither, though I rid home

againe as fast without switch or spur.

Mill.

I was ill handled by them in the Mill.

Sold.

And I sliced off a Cats foot there, that is since a hand, who ever wants it.

Seel.

How I and all my family have suffered you all know.

Lawr.

And how I were betwitched my Pall, here knowes.

Parn.

Yie Lall, and the Witch I knaw, an I prayen yeou goe

me but leave to scrat her well-favorely.

Bant.

Hold Parnell.

Parn.

Yeou can blame no honest woman, I trow, to scrat for the thing she leoves.

Mal.

Ha, ha, ha.

Dough.

Doe you laugh Gentlewoman? what say you to all these matters?

I will say nothing, but what you know you know, And as the law shall finde me

let it take me.

Gil.

And so say I.

Mawd.

And I.

Mal.

And J, other confession you get none from us.

Arth.

What say you Granny?

Peg.

Mamilion, ho Mamilion, Mamilion.

Arth.

Who's that you call?

Peg.

My friend, my Sweet-heart, my Mamilion.

Witches.

You are not mad?

Dought.

Ah ha, that's her Divell, her Incubus I warrant; take her off from the rest

they'l hurt her. Come hether poore old woman. Ile dandle a Witch a little,

thou wilt speake, and tell the truth, and shalt have favour doubt not. Say art

not thou a Witch?

Peg.

'Tis folly to dissemble yie sir, I am one.

Dought.

And that Mamilion which thou call'st upon

Is thy familiar Divell is't not? Nay prithee speake.

Peg.

Yes Sir.

Dough.

That's a good woman, how long hast had's acquaintance, ha?

Peg.

A matter of sixe yeares Sir.

Dought.

A pretty matter. What was he like a man?

Peg.

Yes when I pleas'd.

Dought.

And then he lay with thee, did he not sometimes?

Peg.

Tis folly to dissemble; twice a Weeke he never fail'd me.

Dough.

Humh---and how? and how a little? was he a good Bedfellow?

Peg.

Tis folly to speake worse of him than he is.

Dough.

I trust me is't. Give the Divell his due.

Peg.

He pleas'd me well Sir, like a proper man.

Dought.

There was sweet coupling.

Peg.

Onely his flesh felt cold.

Arth.

He wanted his great fires about him that he has at home.

Dough.

Peace, and did he weare good clothes?

Peg.

Gentleman like, but blacke blacke points and all.

Dought.

I, very like his points were blacke enough. But come we'l trifle w'yee no

longer. Now shall you all to the Justices, and let them take order with you

till the Sizes, and then let Law take his course, and Vivat Rex. Mr. Generous

I am sorry for your cause of sorrow, we shall not have your company?

Gener.

No sir, my Prayers for her soul’s recovery.

Shall not be wanting to her, but mine eyes

Must never see her more.

Rob.

Mal, adiew sweet Mal, ride your next journey with the company you have there.

Mal.

Well Rogue I may live to ride in a Coach before I come to the Gallowes yet.

Rob.

And Mrs. the horse that stayes for you rides better with a Halter than your

gingling bridle.

Dought.

Mr. Seely I rejoyce for your families attonement.

Seel.

And I praise heaven for you that were the means to it.

Dough.

On afore Drovers with your untoward Cattell.

Bant.

Why doe not you follow Mr. By-blow. I thanke your Aunt for the tricke she

would have father'd us withall.

Whet.

Well Sir, mine Aunt's mine Aunt, and for that trick I will not leave her

till I see her doe a worse.

Y'are a kinde Kinsman.

FINIS.

Come Mawsy, come Puckling,

And come my sweet Suckling,

My pretty Mamillion, my Ioy,

Fall each to his Duggy,

While kindly we huggie,

As tender as Nurse over Boy.

Then suck our blouds freely, and with it be jolly,

While merrily we sing, hey Trolly Lolly.

We'l dandle and clip yee,

We'l stroke yee, and leape yee,

And all that we have is your due;

The feates you doe for us,

And those which you store us

Withall, tyes us onely to you.

Then suck our blouds freely, and with it be jolly,

While merrily we sing, hey Trolly Lolly.

THE EPILOGVE.

Now while the Witches must expect their due

By lawfull Iustice, we appeale to you

For favourable censure; what their crime

May bring upon 'em, ripenes yet of time

Has not reveal'd. Perhaps great Mercy may

After just condemnation give them day

Of longer life. We represent as much

As they have done, before Lawes hand did touch

Upon their guilt; But dare not hold it fit,

That we for Iustices and Iudges sit.

And personate their grave wisedomes on the Stage

Whom we are bound to honour; No, the Age

Allowes it not. Therefore unto the Lawes

We can but bring the Witches and their cause,

And there we leave 'em, as their Divels did,

Should we goe further with 'em? Wit forbid;

What of their storie, further shall ensue,

We must referre to time, ourselves to you.