White spirits, black spirits, grey spirits, red spirits, 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 serpents, And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour. Why, when? Stad. Here's Stadlin and the dish. Hec. Here take this unbaptized brat: Boil it well-preserve the fat: In moonlight nights, o'er steeple tops, Mountains, and pine trees, that like pricks, or stops, A russet mole upon some lady's cheek. When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing, Dance, kiss, and col, use everything: What young man can we wish to pleasuro us, But we enjoy him in an Incubus ? Thou know'st it, Stadlin? Stad. Usually that's done. Hec. Away, in. Go feed the vessel for the second hour. Hec. They're down his throat,t His mouth cramm'd full; his ears and nostrils stuft. I thrust in Eleaselinum, lately Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot. You may see that, he looks so black i' th' mouth. Dentaphillon, the blood of a flitter-mouse, Solanum somnificum et oleum. 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. Goose-grease and tar, when I ne'er hurt their churnings, Of the last litter, nine ducklings, thirteen goslings and a hog And mark how their sheep prosper; or what soup Each milch-kine gives to th' pail : I'll send these snakes I'll mar their sillabubs, and swarthy feastings Under cows' bellies, with the parish youths. SEBASTIAN consults the WITCH for a Charm to be revenged on his successful Rival. Hec. Urchins, elves, hags, satires, pans, fawns, silence. Kit with the candlestick; tritons, centaurs, dwarfs, imps. The spoon, the mare, the man i' th' oak, the hellwain, the firedrake, the puckle. A. ab. hur. hus. Seb. Heaven knows with what unwillingness and hate I enter this damn'd place: but such extremes Of wrongs in love fight 'gainst religion's knowledge, As numberless as creatures that must die, Of woman's making and her faithless vows. Hec. Thy boldness takes me bravely; we are all sworn To sweat for such a spirit; see; I regard thee, I rise, and bid thee welcome. What's thy wish now ? Seb. Oh my heart swells with 't. I must take breath first. It may be done to-night. Stadlin's within ; Out of a rich man's chimney (a sweet place for 't, A green silk curtain drawn before the eyes on 't, I'll call forth Hoppo, and her incantation Can straight destroy the young of all his cattle: Blast vine-yards, orchards, meadows; or in one night Seb. This would come most richly now To many a country grazier: But my envy Lies not so low as cattle, corn, or wines: "Twill trouble your best pow'rs to give me ease. Hec. Is it to starve up generation? To strike a barrenness in man or woman? Seb. Hah! Hec. Hah! Did you feel me there? I knew your grief. Seb. Can there be such things done ? Hec. Are these the skins Of serpents these of snakes? Seb. I see they are. Hec. So sure into what house these are convey'd Archimadon, Marmaritin, Calicia, Which I could sort to villainous barren ends; A privy grissel of a man that hangs After sun set: Good, excellent: yet all's there, Sir. Hec. No: time must do 't: we cannot disjoin wedlock; Seb. I depart happy In what I have then, being constrain'd to this: • Job. That I may never need this hag again. [Exit. Hec. I know he loves me not, nor there's no hope on 't; 'Tis for the love of mischief I do this: And that we are sworn to the first oath we take. HECATE, STADLIN, HOPPO, with the other Witches, preparing for their midnight journey through the Air. FIRESTONE, Hecate's Son. Hec. The moon's a gallant: see how brisk she rides. Hec. Ay, is 't not, wenches, To take a journey of five thousand mile? Stad. Briefly in the copse, As we came through now. Hec. 'Tis high time for us then. Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times As we came through the woods, and drank her fill. Old Puckle saw her. Hec. You are fortunate still: The very screech owl lights upon your shoulder, Stad. All. Hec. Prepare to flight then: We shall be up betimes. Hec. I'll reach you quickly. [The other Witches mount. Fire. They are all going a birding to-night. They talk of fowls in the air, that fly by day; I am sure, they'll be a company of foul sluts there to-night. If we have not mortality offer'd,* I 'll be hanged; for they are able to putrify it, to infect a whole region. She spies me now. Probably the true reading is after 't. |