Look, this will serve your turn. [Draws a knife.
Sus. I’ll not turn from it,
If you be earnest, sir; yet you may tell me
Wherefore you’ll kill me.
Frank. Because you are a whore.
Sus. There’s one deep wound already; a whore!
’Twas ever further from me than the thought
Of this black hour; a whore?
Frank. Yes, I’ll prove it,
And you shall confess it. You are my whore.
No wife of mine; the word admits no second.
I was before wedded to another; have her still.
I do not lay the sin unto your charge,
’Tis all mine own: your marriage was my theft,
For I espoused your dowry, and I have it.
I did not purpose to have added murder;
The devil did not prompt me till this minute:
You might have safe returned; now you cannot.
You have dogged your own death. [Stabs her.
Sus. And I deserve it;
I’m glad my fate was so intelligent:
’Twas some good spirit’s motion. Die? O, ’twas time!
How many years might I have slept in sin,
The sin of my most hatred, too, adultery!
Frank. Nay, sure, ’twas likely that the most was past;
For I meant never to return to you
After this parting.
Sus. Why, then, I thank you more;
You have done lovingly, leaving yourself,
That you would thus bestow me on another.
Thou art my husband, Death, and I embrace thee
With all the love I have. Forget the stain
Of my unwitting sin; and then I come
A crystal virgin to thee: my soul’s purity
Shall with bold wings ascend the doors of Mercy;
For Innocence is ever her companion.
Frank. Not yet mortal? I would not linger you,
Or leave you a tongue to blab. [Stabs her again.
Sus. Now Heaven reward you ne’er the worse for me!
I did not think that Death had been so sweet,
Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne’er die better,
Had I stayed forty years for preparation;
For I’m in charity with all the world.
Let me for once be thine example, Heaven;
Do to this man as I him free forgive,
And may he better die and better live. [Dies.
Frank. ’Tis done; and I am in! Once past our height,
We scorn the deep’st abyss. This follows now,
To heal her wounds by dressing of the weapon.
Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail [Wounds himself.
Light scratches, giving such deep ones: the best I can
To bind myself to this tree. Now’s the storm,
Which if blown o’er, many fair days may follow.
[Binds himself to a tree; the Dog ties him behind and exit.
So, so, I’m fast; I did not think I could
Have done so well behind me. How prosperous
And effectual mischief sometimes is! — [Aloud] Help! help!
Murder, murder, murder!
Enter Carter and Old Thorney.
Car. Ha! whom tolls the bell for?
Frank. O, O!
O. Thor. Ah me!
The cause appears too soon; my child, my son!
Car. Susan, girl, child! not speak to thy father? ha!
Frank. O, lend me some assistance to o’ertake
This hapless woman.
O. Thor. Let’s o’ertake the murderers.
Speak whilst thou canst, anon may be too late;
I fear thou hast death’s mark upon thee too.
Frank. I know them both; yet such an oath is passed
As pulls damnation up if it be broke.
I dare not name ’em: think what forced men do.
O. Thor. Keep oath with murderers! that were a conscience
To hold the devil in.
Frank. Nay, sir, I can describe ’em,
Shall show them as familiar as their names:
The taller of the two at this time wears
His satin doublet white, but crimson-lined,
Hose of black satin, cloak of scarlet —
O. Thor. Warbeck,
Warbeck, Warbeck! — do you list to this, sir?
Car. Yes, yes, I listen you; here’s nothing to be heard.
Frank. Th’ other’s cloak branched velvet, black, velvet-lined his suit.
O. Thor. I have ’em already; Somerton, Somerton!
Binal revenge all this. Come, sir, the first work
Is to pursue the murderers, when we have
Removed these mangled bodies hence.
Car. Sir, take that carcass there, and give me this.
I will not own her now; she’s none of mine.
Bob me off with a dumb-show! no, I’ll have life.
This is my son too, and while there’s life in him,
’Tis half mine; take you half that silence for’t. —
When I speak I look to be spoken to:
Forgetful slut!
O. Thor. Alas, what grief may do now!
Look, sir, I’ll take this load of sorrow with me.
Car. Ay, do, and I’ll have this. [Exit Old Thorney with Susan in his arms.] How do you, sir?
Frank. O, very ill, sir.
Car. Yes,
I think so; but ’tis well you can speak yet:
There’s no music but in sound; sound it must be.
I have not wept these twenty years before,
And that I guess was ere that girl was born;
Yet now methinks, if I but knew the way,
My heart’s so full, I could weep night and day. [Exit with Frank.
SCENE IV. — Before Sir Arthur Clarington’s House.
ENTER SIR ARTHUR Clarington, Warbeck, and Somerton.
Sir Arth. Come, gentlemen, we must all help to grace
The nimble-footed youth of Edmonton,
That are so kind to call us up to-day
With an high morris.
War. I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now. Absurdity’s in my opinion ever the best dancer in a morris.
Som. I could rather sleep than see ’em.
Sir Arth. Not well, sir?
Som. ‘Faith, not ever thus leaden: yet I know no cause for’t.
War. Now am I beyond mine own condition highly disposed to mirth.
Sir Arth. Well, you may have yet a morris to help both;
To strike you in a dump, and make him merry.
Enter Sawgut with the Morris-dancers, &c.
Saw. Come, will you set yourselves in morris-ray? the forebell, second-bell, tenor, and great-bell; Maid Marian for the same bell. But where’s the weathercock now? the Hobby-horse?
1st Cl. Is not Banks come yet? What a spite ’tis!
Sir Arth. When set you forward, gentlemen?
1st Cl. We stay but for the Hobby-horse, sir; all our footmen are ready.
Som. ’Tis marvel your horse should be behind your foot.
2nd Cl. Yes, sir, he goes further about; we can come in at the wicket, but the broad gate must be opened for him.
Enter Cuddy Banks with the Hobby-horse, followed by the Dog.
Sit Arth. O, we stayed for you, sir.
Cud. Only my horse wanted a shoe, sir; but we shall make you amends ere we part.
Sir Arth. Ay? well said; make ’em drink ere they begin.
Enter Servants with beer.
Cud. A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my horse; he’ll mount the better. Nay, give me: I must drink to him, he’ll not pledge else. [Drinks.] Here, Hobby [Holds the bowl to the Hobby-horse.] — I pray you: no? not drink! You see, gentlemen, we can but bring our horse to the water; he may choose whether he’ll drink or no. [Drinks again.
Som. A good moral made plain by history.
1st Cl. Strike up,
Father Sawgut, strike up.
Saw. E’en when you will, children. [Cuddy mounts the Hobby.] — Now in the name of — the best foot forward! [Endeavours to play, but the fiddle gives no sound.] — How now! not a word in thy guts? I think, children, my instrument has caught cold on the sudden.
Cud. [Aside.] My ningle’s knavery; black Tom’s doing.
All the Clowns. Why, what mean you, Father Sawgut?
Cud. Why, what would you have him do? you hear his fiddle is speechless.
Saw. I’ll lay mine ear to my instrument that my poor fiddle is bewitched. I played “The Flowers in May” e’en now, as sweet as a violet; now ‘twill not go against the hair: you see I can make no more music than a beetle of a cow-turd.
Cud. Let me see, Father Sawgut [Takes the fiddle]; say once you had a brave hobby-horse that you were beholding to. I’ll play and dance too. — Ningle, away with it. [Gives it to the Dog, who plays the morris.
All the Clowns. Ay, marry, sir! [They dance.
Enter a Constable and Officers.
Con. Away with jollity! ’tis too sad an hour. —
Sir Arthur Clarington, your own assistance,
In the king’s name, I charge, for apprehension
Of these two murderers, Warbeck and Somerton.
Sir Arth. Ha! flat murderers?
Som. Ha, ha, ha! this has awakened my melancholy.
War. And struck my mirth down flat. — Murderers?
Con. The accusation’s flat against you, gentlemen. —
Sir, you may be satisfied with this. [Shows his warrant.] —
I hope you’ll quietly obey my power;
‘Twill make your cause the fairer.
Som. and War. O, with all our hearts, sir.
Cud. There’s my rival taken up for hangman’s meat; Tom told me he was about a piece of villany. — Mates and morris-men, you see here’s no longer piping, no longer dancing; this news of murder has slain the morris. You that go the footway, fare ye well; I am for a gallop. — Come, ningle. [Canters off with the Hobby-horse and the Dog.
Saw. [Strikes his fiddle, which sounds as before.] Ay? nay, an my fiddle be come to himself again, I care not. I think the devil has been abroad amongst us to-day; I’ll keep thee out of thy fit now, if I can. [Exit with the Morris-dancers.
Sir Arth. These things are full of horror, full of pity.
But if this time be constant to the proof,
The guilt of both these gentlemen I dare take
On mine own danger; yet, howsoever, sir,
Your power must be obeyed.
War. O, most willingly, sir.
’Tis a most sweet affliction; I could not meet
A joy in the best shape with better will:
Come, fear not, sir; nor judge nor evidence
Can bind him o’er who’s freed by conscience.
Som. Mine stands so upright to the middle zone
It takes no shadow to’t, it goes alone. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I. — Edmonton. The Street.
ENTER OLD BANKS and several Countrymen.
Old Banks. My horse this morning runs most piteously of the glanders, whose nose yesternight was as clean as any man’s here now coming from the barber’s; and this, I’ll take my death upon’t, is long of this jadish witch Mother Sawyer.
1st Coun. I took my wife and a serving-man in our town of Edmonton thrashing in my barn together such corn as country wenches carry to market; and examining my polecat why she did so, she swore in her conscience she was bewitched: and what witch have we about us but Mother Sawyer?
2nd Coun. Rid the town of her, else all our wives will do nothing else but dance about other country maypoles.
3rd Coun. Our cattle fall, our wives fall, our daughters fall, and maid-servants fall; and we ourselves shall not be able to stand, if this beast be suffered to graze amongst us.
Enter Hamluc with thatch and a lighted link.
Ham. Burn the witch, the witch, the witch, the witch!
Countrymen. What hast got there?
Ham. A handful of thatch plucked off a hovel of hers; and they say, when ’tis burning, if she be a witch, she’ll come running in.
O. Banks. Fire it, fire it! I’ll stand between thee and home for any danger. [Ham. sets fire to the thatch.
Enter Mother Sawyer running.
M. Saw. Diseases, plagues, the curse of an old woman
Follow and fall upon you!
Countrymen. Are you come, you old trot?
O. Banks. You hot whore, must we fetch you with fire in your tail?
1st Coun. This thatch is as good as a jury to prove she is a witch.
Countrymen. Out, witch! beat her, kick her, set fire on her!
M. Saw. Shall I be murdered by a bed of serpents? Help, help!
Enter Sir Arthur Clarington and a Justice.
Countrymen. Hang her, beat her, kill her!
Just. How now! forbear this violence.
M. Saw. A crew of villains, a knot of bloody hangmen,
Set to torment me, I know not why.
Just. Alas, neighbour Banks, are you a ringleader in mischief? fie! to abuse an aged woman.
O. Banks. Woman? a she hell-cat, a witch! To prove her one, we no sooner set fire on the thatch of her house, but in she came running as if the devil had sent her in a barrel of gunpowder; which trick as surely proves her a witch as the pox in a snuffling nose is a sign a man is a whore-master.
Just. Come, come: firing her thatch? ridiculous!
Take heed, sirs, what you do; unless your proofs
Come better armed, instead of turning her
Into a witch, you’ll prove yourselves stark fools.
Countrymen. Fools?
Just. Arrant fools.
O. Banks. Pray, Master Justice What-do-you-call-’em, hear me but in one thing: this grumbling devil owes me I know no good-will ever since I fell out with her.
M. Saw. And break’dst my back with beating me.
O. Banks. I’ll break it worse.
M. Saw. Wilt thou?
Just. You must not threaten her; ’tis against law: Go on.
O. Banks. So, sir, ever since, having a dun cow tied up in my back-side, let me go thither, or but cast mine eye at her, and if I should be hanged I cannot choose, though it be ten times in an hour, but run to the cow, and taking up her tail, kiss — saving your worship’s reverence — my cow behind, that the whole town of Edmonton has been ready to bepiss themselves with laughing me to scorn.
Just. And this is long of her?
O. Banks. Who the devil else? for is any man such an ass to be such a baby, if he were not bewitched?
Sir Arth. Nay, if she be a witch, and the harms she does end in such sports, she may scape burning.
Just. Go, go: pray, vex her not; she is a subject,
And you must not be judges of the law
To strike her as you please.
Countrymen. No, no, we’ll find cudgel enough to strike her.
O. Banks. Ay; no lips to kiss but my cow’s — !
M. Saw. Rots and foul maladies eat up thee and thine! [Exeunt Old Banks and Countrymen.
Just. Here’s none now, Mother Sawyer, but this gentleman,
Myself, and you: let us to some mild questions;
Have you mild answers; tell us honestly
And with a free confession — we’ll do our best
To wean you from it — are you a witch, or no?
M. Saw. I am none.
Just. Be not so furious.
M. Saw. I am none.
None but base curs so bark at me; I’m none:
Or would I were! if every poor old woman
Be trod on thus by slaves, reviled, kicked, beaten,
As I am daily, she to be revenged
Had need turn witch.
Sir Arth. And you to be revenged
Have sold your soul to th’ devil.
M. Saw. Keep thine own from him.
Just. You are too saucy and too bitt
er.
M. Saw. Saucy?
By what commission can he send my soul
On the devil’s errand more than I can his?
Is he a landlord of my soul, to thrust it,
When he list, out of door?
Just. Know whom you speak to.
M. Saw. A man; perhaps no man. Men in gay clothes,
Whose backs are laden with titles and with honours,
Are within far more crookèd than I am,
And, if I be a witch, more witch-like.
Sir Arth. You’re a base hell-hound. —
And now, sir, let me tell you, far and near
She’s bruited for a woman that maintains
A spirit that sucks her.
M. Saw. I defy thee.
Sir Arth. Go, go:
I can, if need be, bring an hundred voices,
E’en here in Edmonton, that shall loud proclaim
Thee for a secret and pernicious witch.
M. Saw. Ha, ha!
Just. Do you laugh? why laugh you?
M. Saw. At my name,
The brave name this knight gives me — witch.
Just. Is the name of witch so pleasing to thine ear?
Sir Arth. Pray, sir, give way, and let her tongue gallop on.
M. Saw. A witch! who is not?
Hold not that universal name in scorn, then.
What are your painted things in princes’ courts,
Upon whose eyelids lust sits, blowing fires
To burn men’s souls in sensual hot desires,
Upon whose naked paps a lecher’s thought
Acts sin in fouler shapes than can be wrought?
Just. But those work not as you do.
M. Saw. No, but far worse
These by enchantments can whole lordships change
To trunks of rich attire, turn ploughs and teams
To Flanders mares and coaches, and huge trains
Of servitors to a French butterfly.
Have you not city-witches who can turn
Their husbands’ wares, whole standing shops of wares,
To sumptuous tables, gardens of stolen sin;
In one year wasting what scarce twenty win?
Are not these witches?
Just. Yes, yes; but the law
Casts not an eye on these.
M. Saw. Why, then, on me,
Or any lean old beldam? Reverence once
Had wont to wait on age; now an old woman,
Ill-favoured grown with years, if she be poor,
Must be called bawd or witch. Such so abused
Are the coarse witches; t’other are the fine,
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 176