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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. 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,
Just. Let's then away.
[Exeunt Sir ARTHUR and JUSTICE. Saw. For his confusion.
Dog. Bow, wow! I'll have it now.
Saw. I am dried up With cursing and with madness; and have yet
3 This is wormwood, and Sir Arthur feels it. Our authors have furnished their old woman with language far above the capacity of those poor creatures who were commonly accused of witchcraft, and strangely inconsistent with the mischievous frivolity of her conduct.
No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine.
Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty,
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
Saw. I could dance
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 mon
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
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!
4 Oh! my
ribs are made of a paned hose, and they break.] Paned hose were composed of stripes (panels) of different coloured stuff stitched together, and therefore liable to break, or be seam-rent. See Introduction, p. clxxvii.
Rat. Oh, my dear wife! help, sirs!
[She is carried off Banks. You see your work, mother Bumby.s Saw. My work ? should she and all you here
run mad, Is the work mine?
Cud. No, on my conscience, she would not hurt a devil of two years
Re-enter RATCLIFFE. How now? what's become of her?
Rat. Nothing; she's become nothing, but the miserable trunk of a wretched woman. We were in her hands as reeds in a mighty tempest: spite of our strengths, away she brake; and nothing in her mouth being heard, but “the devil, the witch, the witch, the devil!” she beat out her own brains, and so died.
Cud. It's any man's case, be he never so wise, , to die when his brains go a wool-gathering.
Banks. Masters, be ruled by me; let's all to a Justice. Hag, thou hast done this, and thou shalt answer it.
Saw. Banks, I defy thee.
Banks. Get a warrant first to examine her, then ship her to Newgate; here's enough, if all her other villanies were pardon'd, to burn her for a witch. You have a spirit, they say, comes to you in the likeness of a dog; we shall see your cur at one time or other: if we do, unless it be the devil himself, he shall go howling to the gaol in one chain, and thou in another.
5. You see your work, mother Bumby.] Farmer Banks is very familiar with the names of our old plays. Mother Bombie is the title of one of Lyly's comedies, of which she is the heroine ; as is Gammer Gurton (as he calls the witch just below) of the farcical drama which takes its naine from her, and her needle.
Saw. Be hang'd thou in a third, and do thy worst!
Cud. How, father? you send the poor dumb thing howling to the gaol? he that makes him howl, makes me roar.
Banks. Why, foolish boy, dost thou know him?
Cud. No matter if I do or not; he's bailable, I am sure, by law;—but if the dog's word will not be taken, mine shall.
Banks. Thou bail for a dog!
Cud. Yes, or bitch either, being my friend. I'll lie by the heels myself, before puppison shall; his dog-days are not come yet, I hope.
Banks. What manner of dog is it? didst ever
Cud. See him? yes, and given him a bone to gnaw twenty times. The dog is no court-foisting hound, that fills his belly full by base wagging his tail; neither is it a citizen's water-spaniel, enticing his master to go a-ducking twice or thrice a week, whilst his wife makes ducks and drakes at home: this is no Paris-garden bandogo neither, that keeps a bow-wow-wowing, to have butchers bring their curs thither; and when all comes to all, they run
Paris-garden bandog.] A fierce kind of mastiff kept to bait bears. Paris-garden, where these brutal sports were regularly exhibited, was situated on the Bank-side in Southwark, close to the Globe Theatre, so that there was a delectable communion of amusements. Jonson adverts to this with great bitterness. The garden is said to have had its me from one de Paris, who built a house there in the reign of Richard II.