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THE WITCH OF EDMONTON; A TRAGI-COMEDY. BY WILLIAM ROWLEY, THOMAS DECKER, JOHN FORD, &c.

MOTHER SAWYER (before she turns Witch) alone.

Saw. And why on me? why should the envious world
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?
'Cause I am poor, deform'd, and ignorant,
And like a bow buckled and bent together
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself;
Must I for that be made a common sink
For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues
To fall and run into? Some call me Witch,
And being ignorant, of myself, they go
About to teach me how to be one: urging

That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so)
Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn,
Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse:
This they enforce upon me; and in part

Make me to credit it."

BANKS, a Farmer, enters.

Banks. Out, out upon thee, Witch.

Saw. Dost call me Witch?

Banks. I do, Witch, I do :

And worse I would, knew I a name more hateful.

What makest thou upon my ground ?

Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.
Banks. Down with them when I bid thee, quickly;

I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin elso.

Saw. You won't? churl, cut-throat, miser: there they bo. Would they stuck cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff

Banks. Say'st thou me so? Hag, out of my ground.

Saw. Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon? Now thy bones aches, thy joints cramps,

And convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews.

This Soliloquy anticipates all that Addison has said in the conclusion of the 117th Spectator.

Banks. Cursing, thou hag ? take that, and that.

[Exit.

Saw. Strike, do and wither'd inay that hand and arm
Whose blows have lam'd me, drop from the rotten trunk.
Abuse me! beat me! call me hag and witch!

What is the name, where, and by what art learn'd}
What spells, or charms, or invocations,

May the thing call'd Familiar be purchased?

-I am shunn'd

And hated like a sickness: made a scorn

To all degrees and sexes. I have heard old beldams
Talk of Familiars in the shape of mice,

Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what,

That have appear'd: and suck'd, some say, their blood.
But by what means they came acquainted with them,
I'm now ignorant. Would some power good or bad
Instruct me which way I might be reveng'd

Upon this churl, I'd go out of myself,
And give this fury leave to dwell within
This ruined cottage, ready to fall with age:
Abjure all goodness, be at hate with prayer,
And study curses, imprecations,

Blasphemous speeches, oaths, detested oaths,
Or anything that's ill; so I might work

Revenge upon this miser, this black cur,

That barks, and bites, and sucks the very blood

Of me, and of my credit. 'Tis all one

To be a witch as to be counted ono.

She gets a familiar which serves her in the likeness of a Black Dog

MOTHER SAWYER.

Saw. I am dried up

Familiar.

With cursing and with madness; and have yet

No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine.

Stand on thine hind-legs up. Kiss me, my Tommy;

And rub away some wrinkles on my brow,

By making my old ribs to shrug for joy

Of thy fine tricks. What hast thou done? Let's tickle.
Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee ?

Famil. Yes, and nipt the sucking-child.

Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty,

My little pearl. No lady loves her hound,

Monkey, or parakeet, as I do thee.

Famil. The maid has been churning butter nine hours, but it

shall not come.

Saw. Let 'em eat cheese and choak.

Famil. I had rare sport

Among the clowns in the morrice.

Saw. I could dance

Out of my skin to hear thee. But, my curl-pate,
That jade, that foul-tongued—Nan Ratcliff,

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

Struck, and had almost lamed it : did not I charge thee
To pinch that quean to the heart?

Her Familiar absents himself: she invokes hum.
Saw.
-Not see me in three days?
I'm lost without my Tomalin; prithee come;
Revenge to me is sweeter far than life;
Thou art my raven, on whose coal-black wings
Revenge comes flying to me: Oh, my best love,
I am on fire (even in the midst of ice)
Raking my blood up, till my shrunk knees feel

Thy curl'd head leaning on them. Come then, my darling,
If in the air thou hover'st, fall upon me

In some dark cloud; and, as I oft have seen

Dragons and serpents in the elements,

Appear thou now so to me. Art thou i' the sea!

Muster up all the monsters from the deep,
And be the ugliest of them: so that my bulch
Show but his swarth cheek to me, let earth cleave,
And break from hell, I care not; could I run
Like a swift powder-mine beneath the world,
Up would I blow it, all to find out thee,
Though I lay ruin'd in it.-Not yet come ?

I must then fall to my old prayer: sanctibiceter nomen tuum.

He comes in White.

Saw. Why dost thou thus appear to me in white, As if thou wert the ghost of my dear love?

Famil. I am dogged, list not to tell thee, yet to torment thee, My whiteness puts thee in mind of thy winding sheet.

Saw. Am I near death?

Famil. Be blasted with the news.

Whiteness is day's footboy, a forerunner to light, which shows thy old rivel'd face: villainies are stript naked, the

witch must be beaten out of her cockpit.

Saw. Why to mine eyes art thou a flag of truce?

I am at peace with none; 'tis the black color,
Or none, which I fight under: I do not like
Thy puritan-paleness.—————

[Mother Sawyer differs from the hags of Middleton or Shakspeare. She is the plain traditional old woman Witch of our ancestors; poor, deformed and ignorant; the terror of villages, herself amenable to a justice. That should be a hardy sheriff, with the power of a county at his heels, that would lay hands on the Weird Sisters. They are of another jurisdiction. But upon the common and received opinion the author (or authors) have engrafted strong fancy. There is something frightfully earnest in her invocations to the Familiar.]

THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY; OR, THE HONEST MAN'S
REVENGE. BY CYRIL TOURNEUR..

DAmville (the Atheist) with the aid of his wicked instrument, Borachio, murders his Brother, Montferrers, for his Estate. After the deed is done, Borachio and he talk together of the circumstances which attended the murder.

D'Am. Here's a sweet comedy, begins with O dolentis, and concludes with ha, ha, he.

Bor. Ha, ha, he.

D'Am. O my echo! I could stand reverberating this sweet musical air of joy, till I had perished my sound lungs

with violent laughter. Lovely night-raven, thou hast seized a carcase?

Bor. Put him out on's pain. I lay so fitly underneath the bank from whence he fell, that ere his faltering tongue could utter double 0, I knocked out his brains with this fair ruby; and had another stone just of this form and bigness ready, that I had laid in the broken scull upon the ground for his pillow, against the which they thought he fell and perished.

D'Am. Upon this ground I'll build my manor house, And this shall be chiefest corner stone.

that

circumstance

Bor. This crown'd the most judicious murder,
The brain of man was e'er deliver'd of.
D'Am. Aye, mark the plot. Not any
That stood within the reach of the design,
Of persons, dispositions, matter, time,

Or place, but by this brain of mine was made
An instrumental help; yet nothing from

The induction to the accomplishment seem'd forced,
Or done o' purpose, but by accident.

[Here they reckon up the several circumstances.

Bor. Then darkness did

Protect the execution of the work

Both from prevention and discovery.

D'Am. Here was a murder bravely carried through
The eye of observation, unobserved.

Bor. And those that saw the passage of it, made
The instruments; yet knew not what they did.
D'Am. That power of rule, philosophers ascribe
To him they call the Supreme of the Stars,
Making their influences governors
Of sublunary creatures, when theirselves.
Are senseless of their operations.
What! dost start at thunder?

[Thunder and lightning. Credit my belief, 'tis a mere effect of nature, an exhalation hot and dry, involved within a watry vapor in the middle region of the air, whose coldness congealing that thick moisture to a cloud, the angry exhalation shut within a prison of contrary quality, strives to be free; and with the violent