Lord Card. What, have you forgot your vow? Lord Card. Your vow? that cannot be; it follows now, 'Life, had he not his answer? what strange impudence Governs in man, when lust is lord of him! Thinks he me mad? 'cause I have no monies on earth, And live eternal beggar? he shall pardon me : husband, Comfort. Wake, wake, and let not patience keep thee poor, Good and Ill Fortune. O my blessing! I feel a hand of mercy lift me up And scarce can feed himself: the streams of fortune, To lift his arm to his posterities' blessing. For till some happy means relieve his state, Parting in Amity. Let our Parting Be full as charitable as our meeting was; And nuptial strifes, may not feed fat with ours. O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence I cannot make thy welcome rich enough With all the wealth of words. Mother's Forgiveness. Moth. Why do your words start back? are they afraid Of her that ever lov'd them? Philip. I have a suit to you, Madam. Moth. You have told me that already; pray, what is't? If't be so great, my present state refuse it, I shall be abler, then command and use it. Whatever 't be, let me have warning to provide for 't. Philip. Provide forgiveness then, for that's the want To set my pleasures free; while you lay captive. You use me like a stranger: pray, stand up. Philip. Rather fall flat: I shall deserve yet worse. Moth. Whate'er your faults are, esteem me still a friend; Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon Than when you did the wrong you ask'd it for: I saw a face at Antwerp, that quite drew me I forgive thee As freely as thou didst it. For alas, This may be call'd good dealing, to some parts That love and youth plays daily among sons. THE WITCH: A TRAGI-COMEDY. BY THOMAS HECATE, and the other Witches, at their Charms. Hec. Titty and Tiffin, Suckin And Pidgen, Liard, and Robin! White spirits, black spirits, grey spirits, red spirits, Hec. Boil it well. Hop. It gallops now. Hec. Are the flames blue enough, Or shall I use a little seeten* more? Stad. The nips of Fairies upon maids' white hips Are not more perfect azure. Hec. Tend it carefully. Send Stadlin to me with a brazen dish, That I may fall to work upon these serpen ts. Why, when? Stad. Here's Stadlin and the dish. Hec. Here take this unbaptized brat: Boil it well-preserve the fat: You know tis precious to transfer Our 'nointed flesh into the air, In moonlight nights, o'er steeple tops, Mountains, and pine trees, that like pricks, or stops, Seem to our height: high towers, and roofs of princes, Like wrinkles in the earth: whole provinces Seething. Appear to our sight then even like A russet-mole upon some lady's cheek. What young man can we wish to pleasure us, But we enjoy him in an Incubus ? Stad. Usually that's done. Hec. Away, in. Go feed the vessel for the second hour. Hec. They're down his throat*, His mouth cramm'd full; his ears and nostrils stuft. Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot. You may see that, he looks so black i' th' mouth. Stad. Then there's all, Hecate. Hec. Is the heart of wax Stuck full of magic needles? Stad. 'Tis done, Hecate. Hec. And is the farmer's picture, and his wife's, Laid down to the fire yet? Stad. They are a roasting both too. Hec. Good; Then their marrows are a melting subtilly, And three months' sickness sucks up life in 'em. They denied me often flour, barm, and milk, Goose grease and tar, when I ne'er hurt their churnings, |