Are within far more crooked than I am,
And if I be a witch, more witch-like.

Sir Ar. You are 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.

Saw. I defy thee.

Sir Ar. 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.

Saw. Ha, ha!

Just. Do you laugh? why laugh you?
Saw. At my name,

The brave name this knight gives me, witch.

Just. Is the name of witch so pleasing to thine

ear?

Sir Ar. 'Pray, sir, give way; and let her tongue gallop on.

Saw. A witch! who is not ?

Hold not that universal name in scorn then.
What are your painted things in princes' courts,
Upon whose eye-lids lust sits, blowing fires
To burn men's souls in sensual hot desires;
Upon whose naked paps, a letcher's thought
Acts sin in fouler shapes than can be wrought?
Just. But those work not as you do.

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.
Saw. Why then on me,

Or any lean old beldam? Reverence once
Had wont to wait on age; now an old woman,
Ill-favour'd grown with years, if she be poor,
Must be call'd bawd or witch. Such so abused,
Are the coarse witches; t'other are the fine,
Spun for the devil's own wearing.

Sir Ar. And so is thine.

Saw. She, on whose tongue a whirlwind sits to

blow

A man out of himself, from his soft pillow,
To lean his head on rocks and fighting waves,
Is not that scold a witch? The man of law
Whose honey'd hopes the credulous client draws,
(As bees by tinkling basons) to swarm to him,
From his own hive, to work the wax in his;
He is no witch, not he!

Sir Ar. But these men-witches
Are not in trading with hell's merchandize,
Like such as you, that for a word, a look,
Denial of a coal of fire, kill men,
Children and cattle.

Saw. Tell them, sir, that do so:

Am I accus'd for such a one?

Sir Ar. Yes; 'twill be sworn.

Saw. Dare any swear I ever tempted maiden

With golden hooks flung at her chastity,

To come and lose her honour? and being lost,
To pay not a denier for't? Some slaves have done

it.3

Men-witches can, without the fangs of law

Drawing once one drop of blood, put counterfeit

pieces

Away for true gold.

Sir Ar. By one thing she speaks,

I know now she's a witch, and dare no longer
Hold conference with the fury.

Just. Let's then away.

Old woman, mend thy life, get home and pray.

[Exeunt Sir ARTHUR and JUSTICE.

Saw. For his confusion.

Enter Dog.

My dear Tom-boy, welcome!

I'm torn in pieces by a pack of curs

Clapt all upon me, and for want of thee :
Comfort me; thou shalt have the teat anon.
Dog. Bow, wow! I'll have it now.
Saw. I am dried up

With cursing and with madness; and have yet

No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine..
Stand on thy 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?
Dog. Yes;

And nipp'd the sucking child.

Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty,

My little pearl! no lady loves her hound,

Monkey, or paraquit, as I do thee.

Dog. The maid has been churning butter nine hours; but it shall not come.

Saw. Let'em eat cheese and choke.

Dog. I had rare sport

Among the clowns i' th' morrice.
Saw. I could dance

Out of my skin to hear thee. But, my curl pate,
That jade, that foul-tongued whore, Nan Ratcliffe,
Who for a little soap lick'd by my sow,

Struck, and almost had lamed it;-did not I charge

thee

To pinch that quean to th' heart?

Dog. Bow, wow, wow! look here else.
Enter ANN RATCLIFFE mad.

Ann. See, see, see! the man i' th' moon has built a new windmill, and what running there is from all quarters of the city to learn the art of grinding!

Saw. Ho, ho, ho! I thank thee, my sweet mongrel.

Ann. Hoyda! a pox of the devil's false hopper! all the golden meal runs into the rich knaves' purses, and the poor have nothing but bran. Hey derry down! are not you mother Sawyer?

Saw. No, I am a lawyer.

Ann. Art thou? I prithee let me scratch thy face; for thy pen has flay'd off a great many men's skins. You'll have brave doings in the vacation; for knaves and fools are at variance in every village. I'll sue mother Sawyer, and her own sow shall give in evidence against her.

Saw. Touch her. [To the Dog, who rubs against her.

Ann. Oh! my ribs are made of a paned hose, and they break. There's a Lancashire hornpipe in my throat; hark, how it tickles it, with doodle doodle, doodle, doodle! welcome, serjeants! welcome, devil! hands, hands! hold hands, and dance a-round, a-round, a-round. [Dancing.

Re-enter Old BANKS, CUDDY, RATCLIFFE, and Countrymen.

Rat. She's here; alas! my poor wife is here. Banks. Catch her fast, and have her into some close chamber, do; for she's as many wives are, stark mad.

Cud. The witch! mother Sawyer, the witch, the devil!