Stantia concutio cantu freta; nubila pello, Can you doubt me then, daughter; Than can make mountains tremble, miles of woods walk : Of the entomb'd to burst out from their marbles; Nay, draw yon Moon to my involv'd designs? Fire. I know as well as can be when my mother's mad, and our Great cat angry; for one spits French then, and the other spits Latin. Duch. I did not doubt you, mother. Hec. No! what, did you? My power's so firm, it is not to be question'd. Duch. Forgive what's past; and now I know th' offensiveness That vexes art, I'll shun the occasion ever. Hec. Leave all to me and my five sisters, daughter. It shall be convey'd in at howlet-time. Take you no care. My spirits know their moments : But they call in (I thank 'em) and they lose not by't. They shall have semina cum sanguine, Their gorge cramm'd full, if they come once to our house : Fire. They fare but too well when they come hither: they ate up as much the other night as would have made me a good conscionable pudding. Hec. Give me some lizard's brain, quickly, Firestone. Where's grannam Stadlin, and all the rest of the sisters? Fire. All at hand, forsooth. (The other Witches appear.) Hec. Give me Marmaritin; some Bear-breech: when? And fetch three ounces of the red-hair'd girl I kill'd last midnight. Fire. Whereabout, sweet mother? Hec. Hip; hip, or flank. Where's the Acopus? Hec. Stir, stir, about; whilst I begin the charm. A Charm Song about a Vessel. Hec. Black spirits and white, red spirits and grey; Fire-drake, Puckey, make it lucky; Liard, Robin, you must bob in. First Witch. The juice of toad; the oil of adder. Sec. Witch. Those will make the younker madder. Hec. Put in, there's all, and rid the stench. Fire. Nay, here's three ounces of the red-hair'd wench. Hec. So, so, enough into the vessel with it. There; 't hath the true perfection: I am so light1 At any mischief, there's no villany But is a tune methinks. Fire. A tune! 'tis to the tune of damnation then, I warrant you, And that song hath a villanous burthen. Hec. Come, my sweet sisters, let the air strike our tune; Whilst we show reverence to yon peeping moon. [The Witches dance, et Exeunt. [Act v., Sc. 2.2] Though some resemblance may be traced between the Charms in Macbeth and the Incantations in this Play, which is supposed to have preceded it, this coincidence will not detract much from the originality of Shakspeare. His Witches are distinguished from the Witches of Middleton by essential differences. These are creatures to whom man or woman plotting some dire mischief might resort for occasional consultation. Those originate deeds of blood, and begin bad impulses to men. From the moment that their eyes first meet with Macbeth's, he is spellbound. That meeting sways his destiny. He can never break the fascination. These Witches can hurt the body: those have power over the soul.-Hecate in Middleton has a Son, a low buffoon: the hags of Shakspeare have neither child of their own, nor seem to be descended from any parent. They are foul Anomalies, of whom we know not whence they are sprung, nor whether they have beginning or ending. As they are without human passions, so they seem to be without human relations. They come with thunder and lightning, and vanish to airy music. This is all we know of them.-Except Hecate, they have no names; which heightens their mysteriousness. Their names, and some of the properties, which Middleton 2[The entire Scene. For other extracts from Middleton alone see pages 413, 420, 557, 565, 567 and 568; in partnership see note on page 114.] has given to his Hags, excite smiles. The Weird Sisters are serious things. Their presence cannot co-exist with mirth. But in a lesser degree, the Witches of Middleton are fine creations. Their power too is, in some measure, over the mind. They raise jars, jealousies, strifes, like a thick scurf o'er life. THE WITCH OF EDMONTON. A TRAGI-COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1658: FIRST PERFORMED PROBABLY ABOUT 1622]. BY WILLIAM ROWLEY, THOMAS DECKER, JOHN FORD, &c. MOTHER SAWYER (before she turns Witch) alone. Saw. And why on me? why should the envious world Make me to credit it.1 BANKS, a Farmer, enters. Banks. Out, out upon thee, Witch. Saw. Dost call me Witch? Banks. I do, Witch, I do: And worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. What makest thou upon my ground? Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me. Banks. Down with them when I bid thee, quickly; I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else. Saw. You won't? churl, cut-throat, miser: there they be. Would they stuck cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, midriff Banks. Say'st thou me so? Hag, out of my ground. thy This Soliloquy anticipates all that Addison has said in the conclusion of the 117th Spectator. VOL. IV.-10 Saw. Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon? Now thy bones aches, thy joints cramps, And convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews. Banks. Cursing, thou hag? take that, and that. Saw. Strike, do: and wither'd may that hand and arm What is the name, where, and by what art learn'd? May the thing call'd Familiar be purchased?1 -I am shunn'd And hated like a sickness: made a scorn To all degrees and sexes. I have heard old beldams ⚫ Talk of Familiars in the shape of mice, Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what, That have appear'd; and suck'd, some say, their blood. Upon this churl, I'd go out of myself, Blasphemous speeches, oaths, detested oaths, That barks, and bites, and sucks the very blood Of me, and of my credit. "Tis all one To be a witch as to be counted one. [Exit. [Act ii., Sc. 1.2] She gets a Familiar which serves her in the likeness of a Black Dog. MOTHER SAWYER. Saw. I am dried up Familiar. 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? [Two and a quarter pages omitted.] 2 [Mermaid Series. Decker, ed. Rhys.] Famil. Yes, and nipt the sucking child. Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty, My little pearl. No lady loves her hound, Monkey, or parakeet, as I do thee. Famil. The maid has been churning butter nine hours, but it shall not come. Saw. Let'm eat cheese and choak. Famil. I had rare sport Among the clowns in the morrice. Saw. I could dance Out of my skin to hear thee. But, my curl-pate, That jade, that foul-tongued--Nan Ratcliff, Who, for a little soap lick'd by my sow, Struck, and had almost lamed it: did not I charge thee Saw. [Act iv., Sc. 1.] Her Familiar absents himself: she invokes him. -Not see me in three days? Raking my blood up, till my shrunk knees feel Thy curl'd head leaning on them. Come then, my darling. In some dark cloud; and, as I oft have seen Dragons and serpents in the elements, Appear thou now so to me. Art thou i' the sea? Muster up all the monsters from the deep, And be the ugliest of them: so that my bulch Shew but his swarth cheek to me, let earth cleave, And break from hell, I care not: could I run Though I lay ruin'd in it.-Not yet come? I must then fall to my old prayer: sanctibiceter nomen tuum.1 He comes in White. Saw. Why dost thou thus appear to me in white, As if thou wert the ghost of my dear love? Famil. I am dogged, list not to tell thee, yet to torment thee, My whiteness puts thee in mind of thy winding-sheet. 1 [Nine lines omitted.] |