Abbildungen der Seite

Hec. Noh.

Fire. Your spirits are then more unconscionable then bakers: ' You'll have liv'd then (Mother) six-score yeare to the hundred; and me-thincks after six-score yeares the devill might give you a cast; for he's a fruiterer too, and has byn from the beginning: the first apple that ere was eaten, came through his fingers: The Costermongers then I hold to be the auncientest trade, though some would have the Tailor prick'd downe before him.

Hec. Goe and take heed you shed not by the way:
The howre must have her portion, 'tis deere sirrop.
Each charmed drop is able to confound
A famely consisting of nineteene,
Or one and twentie feeders.

Fire. Mary, beere's stuff indeed! Deere surrup call you it? a little thing would make me give you a dram on’t in a possett, and cutt you three yeares shorter.

Hec. Thou'rt now about some villany.

Fire. Not I (forsooth) Truly the devil's in her I thinck. How one villanie smells out an other straight: Ther's no knavery but is nosde like a dog, and can smell out a doggs meaning. (Mother) I pray give me leave to ramble a-broad to-night with the night. mare, for I have a great mind to over-lay a fat parson's daughter.

Hec. And who shall lye with me tben!

Fire. The great cat for one night (Mother). 'Tis but a night: make shift with him for once.

Hec. You're a kind son:
But 'tis the nature of you all, I see that:
You had rather hunt after strange women still,
Then lye with your owne mother: Gett thee gon;
Sweatt thy six ounces out about the vessell,
And thou shalt play at mid-night: the night-mare
Shall call thee wlien it walkes.
Fire. Thancks most sweet Mother.

[Exit. Enter SEBASTIAN. Hec. Urchins, Elves, Haggs, Satires, Pans, Fawnes, silence. Kitt with the candlestick; Tritons, Centaures, Dwarfes, Imps, the Spoone, the Mare, the Man i'th’oake; the Hell-waine, the Fire-drake, the Puckle. A. Ab. Hur. Hus.

Seb. Heaven knowes with what unwillingnes and hate
I enter this dambd place: but such extreemes
Of wrongs in love, fight 'gainst religion's knowledge,
That were I ledd by this disease to deaths
As numberles as creatures that must die,
I could not shun the way: I know what 'tis
To pitty mad-men now; they're wretched things
That ever were created, if they be
Of woman's making, and her faithles vowes :
I fear they're now a kissing: what's a clock!
"Tis now but supper-time: But night will come,

And all new-married copples make short suppers.
What ere thou art, I have no spare time to feare thee;
My horrors are so strong and great already,
That thou seem'st nothing: Up and laze not:
Hadst thou my busynes, thou couldst nere sit soe;
'Twould firck thee into ayre a thousand mile,
Beyond thy oynetments: I would, I were read
So much in thy black powre, as mine owne griefes !
I'me in great need of help: wil't give me any?

Hec. Thy boldnes takes me bravely: we are all sworne
To sweatt 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.

Hec. Is't to confound some enemie on the seas?
It may be don to night. Stadlin's within ;
She raises all your sodaine ruinous stormes
That shipwrack barks, and teares up growing oakes,
Flyes over houses, and takes Anno Domini
Out of a rich man's chimney (a sweet place for't)
He would be hang'd ere he would set his owne yeares there,
They must be chamber'd in a five-pound picture,
A greene silk curtaine dawne before the eies on't,
(His rotten diseasd yeares)! Or dost thou envy
The fat pro peritie of any neighbour?
I'll call forth hoppo, and her incantation
Can straight destroy the yong of all his cattell:
Blast vine-yards, orchards, meadowes; or in one night
Transport his doong, hay, corne, by reekes, whole stacks,
Into thine own ground.

Seb. This would come most richely now
To many a cuntry grazier: But my envy
Lies not so lowe as cattell, corne, or vines:
'Twill trouble your best powres to give me ease.

Hec. Is yt to starve up generation?
To strike a barrennes in man or woman?

Seb. Hah!
Hec. Hah! did you feele me there? I knew your griefe,
Seb. Can there be such things don?

Hec. Are theis the skins
Of serpents ? theis of snakes?

Seb I see they are.

Hec. So sure into what house theis are convay'd
Knitt with theis charmes, and retentive knotts,
Neither the man begetts, nor woman breeds;
No, nor performes the least desire of wedlock,
Being then a mutuall dutie: I could give thee
Chiroconita, Adincantida,
Archimadon, Marmaritin, Calicia,
Which I could sort to villanous barren ends,
But this leades the same way: More I could instance:

[ocr errors]

As the same needles thrust into their pillowes
That soawes and socks up dead men in their sheets:
A privy grizzel of a man that hangs
After sun-sett: Good, excellent: yet all's there (Sir).

Seb. You could not doe a man that speciall kindnes
To part them utterly, now ? Could you do that?

Hec. No: time must do't: we cannot disioyne wedlock:
'Tis of heaven's fastning: well may we raise jarrs,
Jealouzies, striffes, and hart-burning disagreements,
Like a thick skurff ore life, as did our master
Upon that patient miracle: but the work itself
Our powre cannot dis-joynt.

Seb. I depart happy.
In what I have then, being constrain’d to this:
And graunt you (greater powres) that dispose men,
That I may never need this hag agen.

Hec. I know he loves me not, nor there's no hope on't;
'Tis for the love of mischief I doe this,
And that we are sworne to the first oath we take.
· Fire. Oh mother, mother.

Hec. What's the newes with thee now?

Fire. There's the bravest yong gentleman within, and the fine. liest drunck: I thought he would have falne into the vessel: he stumbled at a pipkin of childes greaze; reelde against Stadlin, overthrew her, and in the tumbling cast, struck up old Puckles heels with her clothes over her eares.

Hec. Hoy-day!

Fire. I was fayne to throw the cat upon her, to save her hones. tie; and all litle enough: I cryde out still, I pray be coverd. See where he comes now (Mother).

Alm. Call you theis witches ?
They be tumblers me-thinckes, very flat tumblers.

Hec. 'Tis Almachildes: fresh blood stirs in me-
The man that I have lusted to enjoy:
I have had him thrice in Incubus already.

Al. Is your name gooddy Hag?
· Hec. 'Tis any thing.
Call me the horridst and unhallowed things
That life and nature tremble at; for thee
I'll be the same. Thou com’st for a love-charme now?

Al. Why thou’rt a witch, I thinck.
* Hec. Thou shalt have choice of twentie, wett, or drie.

Al. Nay let's have drie ones.

Hec. Yf thou wilt use’t by way of cup and potion, I'll give thee a Remora shall be-witch her straight.

Al. A Remora? what's that?

Hec. A litle suck-stone,
Some call it a stalamprey, a small fish.


Al. And must 'be butter'd ?

Hec. The bones of a greene frog too: wondrous pretious, The flesh consum'd by pize-mires.

Al. Pize-mires! give me a chamber-pot.

Fire. You shall see him goe nigh to be so unmannerly, hee'll make water before my mother anon.

Al. And now you talke of frogs, I have somewhat here:
I come not emptie pocketted from a bancket.
(I learn'd that of my haberdashers wife.)
Looke, goody witch, there's a toad in marchpane for you.

Hec. Oh sir, y'have fitted me.

Al. And here's a spawne or two
Of the same paddock-brood too, for your son.

Fire. I thanck your worship, sir: how comes your handkercher so sweetely thus beray'd? sure tis wet sucket, sir.

Al. 'Tis nothing but the sirrup the toad spit,
Take all I pree-thee:

Hec. This was kindly don, sir,
And you shall sup with me to-night for this.

Al. How? sup with thee? dost thinck I'll eate fryde ratts,
And pickled spiders ?

Hec. No: I can command, Sir,
The best meat i'th' whole province for my frends,
And reverently servd in too.

Al. How?
Hec. In good fashion.
Al. Let me but see that, and I'll sup with you.
She conjures; and enter a Gatt (playing on a fidle) and Spiritts

(with meate).
The Catt and Fidle's an excellent ordinarie:
You had a devill once in a fox-skin.

Hec. Oh, I have him still: come walke with me, Sir. [Exit.

Fire. How apt and ready is a drunckard now to reele to the devill! Well I'll even in, and see how he eates, and I'll be hang'd if I be not the fatter of the twaine with laughing at him. [Exit.

Hec. The moone's a gallant; see how brisk she rides.
Stad. Heer's a rich evening, Heccat.

Hec. I, is't not wenches,
To take a journey of five thousand mile?

Hop. Ours will be more to-night.
Hec. Oh, 'twill be pretious: heard you the owle yet?

Stad. Breifely in the copps,
As we came through now.

Hec. 'Tis high time for us then.

Stad. There was a bat hoong 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 schreich-owle lights upon your shoulder,
And wooes you, like a pidgeon. Are you furnish’d?
Have you your oyntments ?

Stad. All.

Hec. Prepare to fight then: I'll over-take you swiftly.

Stad. Hye thee Heccat: We shal be up betimes.

Hec. I'll reach you quickly.

Fire. They are all going a birding to-night. They talk of fowles i'th'aire, that fly by day: I am sure they'll be a company of fowle slutts there to night. Yf we have not mortallitie affer'd, I'll be hang'd, for they are able to putryfie, to infect a whole re. gion. She spies me now.

Hec. What Fire-Stone, our sweet son ?

Fire. A little sweeter than some of you; or a doonghill were too good for me.

Hec. How much hast here?

Fire. Nineteene, and all brave plump ones; besides six lizards, and three serpentine eggs.

Hec. Deere and sweet boy: what herbes hast thou?
Fire. I have some Mar-martin, and Man-dragon.
Hec. Marmaritin, and Mandragora, thou wouldst say.

Fire. Heer's Pannax too: I thanck thee, my pan akes I am sure with kneeling downe to cut 'em.

Hec. And Selago,
Hedge hisop too: how neere he goes my cuttings?
Were they all cropt by moone-light?

Fire. Every blade of 'm, or I am a moone-calf (Mother).

Hec. Hve thee home with 'em.
Looke well to the house to night: I am for aloft.

Fire. Aloft (quoth vou ?) I would you would breake your neck once, that I might have all quickly. Hark, hark, mother; they are above the steeple alredy, flying over your head with a noyse of musitians.

Hec. They are they indeed. Help me, help me; I'm too late els. SONG. Come away, come away; } in the aire.

Heccat, Heccat, come away. So
Hec. I come, I come, I come, I come,

With all the speed I may,

With all the speed I may.
Wher's Stadlin?

Heere } in the aire.
Wher's Puckle?

And Hoppo too, and Hellwaine too: ( in the aire.
We lack but you; we lack but you; I
Come away, make up the count. )

« ZurückWeiter »