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GLOBE QUARTOS

THE WITCHES OF LANCASHIRE

RICHARD BROME and THOMAS HEYWOOD

First printed: London, 1634

This edition prepared by Gabriel Egan

GLOBE EDUCATION

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NICK HERN BOOKS

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GLOBE QUARTOS

This edition of The Witches of Lancashire

first published in Great Britain

as a paperback original in 2001

by Nick Hern Books Limited

14 Larden Road, London W3 7ST

in association with

Globe Education

Shakespeare’s Globe, New Globe Walk

London SE1 9DT

International Shakespeare Globe Centre Ltd

Typeset in Aldine-401 by the editor

Printed by LSL Press, Bedford MK41 0TX

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from

the British Library

ISBN 1 85459 664 0

PREFACE

Over 400 plays written between 1567 and 1642 have survived in print. Few are now read and even fewer are performed. In 1995 Globe Education initiated a 30-year project to stage readings with professional casts of all the surviving texts so that audiences may once again hear plays by Barnes, Haughton, Shirley, Wilkins et al.

In 1997 Mark Rylance, Artistic Director of Shakespeare’s Globe, included full productions of Beaumont and Fletcher’s The Maid’s Tragedy and Middleton’s A Chaste Maid in Cheapside as part of the Globe Theatre’s opening season. Over 30,000 people came to hear and see the two plays.

The popularity of the readings and the productions prompted Globe Education to approach Nick Hern to publish the texts being revived at the Globe to enable more people to read, study and, ideally, to produce them. Developments in computer typesetting have enabled editions to be published economically and quickly as Globe Quartos.

The first Globe Quartos were edited in 1998 by Nick de Somogyi. In 1999 an Editorial Board, composed of David Scott Kastan, Gordon McMullan and Richard Proudfoot, was established to oversee the series.

Globe Education is indebted to all those who have helped give new life to old plays: production teams, actors, audiences, directors, editors, publishers and readers.

Patrick Spottiswoode

Director, Globe Education

EDITORIAL BOARD’S PREFACE

The aim of the series is to make once more available English plays of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries that have long been out of print in affordable form or have been available to readers only in scholarly editions in academic libraries. The Globe Quartos texts are based on the most reliable surviving forms of these plays (usually the first printed editions). These have been fully edited and modernized so as to make them easily usable by actors and readers today. Editorial correction and emendation are undertaken where required by the state of the original. Extra stage directions added by editors and needed to make the action clear are enclosed in square brackets. Apostrophes in verse speeches indicate elision of syllables and reflect the metrical pattern of the line. Prefatory matter includes notes from the director or co-ordinator of the production or reading of the play at the Globe and a brief factual introduction by the editor. Glossarial notes (keyed to the text by line numbers) explain difficult or obsolete usages and offer brief comment on other points of interest or obscurity. Departures from the wording of the original are recorded in textual notes that identify the source of corrections or editorial emendations. The opening page of the text in the original on which the edition is based is reproduced in reduced facsimile. Extra material relevant to the understanding of the play may occasionally be included in an Appendix.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The editor wishes to thank his postgraduate students on the Globe Education/King’s College London MA ‘Shakespearean Studies: Text and Playhouse’ for their seminar discussions of this play. The early modern performance expertise of the Globe Education practitioners led by James Wallace brought the play to life in a staged reading that illuminated hitherto murky parts of it. Editing those parts afresh after the performance, I was glad to include a number of Wallace’s suggestions. I am grateful to the British Library for permission to reprint the first text page of one of their two copies of the 1634 quarto. The Globe Quartos general editors, past and present, each helped with one or more of the problems I encountered. Most especially, David Scott Kastan and Gordon McMullan comprehensively mixed their labour with mine not only by advising on points of interpretation and editorial procedure, but also by indicating every occasion upon which I had failed to turn this seventeenth-century play script into proper modern English. What they missed, my student Alexandra London-Thompson caught. Having promised to absorb their lessons, I am grateful to be allowed pass off these people’s improvements as my own.

This edition is dedicated to my wife, Joan Fitzpatrick.

Gabriel Egan

A NOTE ON THE STAGED READING

My first impression of this play was of an excuse for spectacle and amusement and little else. The witches are not particularly diabolical, as they are in Macbeth, nor is witchcraft placed in a social context of small-town poverty with its attendant prejudice and ignorance, as in The Witch of Edmonton. It neither frightened nor enlightened. That the real women involved were, at the time of writing, still suffering in jail for these supposed crimes seemed to add little urgency to the drama. Nathaniel Tomkyns’s ‘review’ of an early performance at the Globe in 1634 appeared accurate enough: ‘there be not in it . . . any poetical genius, or art, or language . . . or tenet of witches’, but with its ‘ribaldry’, ‘fopperies’, and songs and dances, it is still a ‘merry and excellent . . . play’.

The preparation for, and the experience of, rehearsal and performance of a staged reading revealed much more. The prologue’s modest claim that a lack of foreign news was the occasion for a dramatization of domestic issues is disingenuous: Heywood was known for his domestic drama and, like his master Ben Jonson, Brome used realistic characters in contemporary local settings. Conscious art, not default, selected the dramatists’ material. In all likelihood the labour was divided thus: Heywood wrote the spectacles of witch mischief and ancient village ritual, and Brome wrote about the inversion of social order in the Seely household, which is similar to the fun he had in The Antipodes. Brome’s characteristic humour arising from character interplay is evident also in the subtly-executed scenes of the three young gallants. Whetstone is no caricature of a boasting fool but rather is fully developed, and the differing reactions to him from other characters and from the audience repay careful exploration. Master Generous too revealed more depth than expected. An audience is apt first to regard him as a pompous bore, but will become increasingly engaged with his struggle to think and act in accordance with God’s law for the preservation of a Christian soul. The repentance of Mistress Generous is genuinely moving and her subsequent betrayal is all the more shocking for the effect she produced by her plausible act of contrition. The play is full of ideas about belief and disbelief, lies and truth, appearance and reality, and honest speaking and flattery. Over-credulity can spring from vice (the foolish Whetstone) or virtue (the good-hearted Generous).

Not witchcraft but witch-hunting is the play’s serious matter. Doughty moves from scepticism to determination (his name suits both conditions) when frustrated in his lust for Moll Spencer, whose quarto name ‘Mal’ I kept for its connotation of maleficence. The play darkens with this witch-finder’s zeal to see all the witches ‘handsomely hanged’, and we should credit the dramatists’ observation of the psychosexual impulses underlying the witch-hunting craze.

Witchcraft shares with dramatic performance a concern for fortuitous timing, and our staged reading gained knife-edge immediacy by the presence, hot-foot from the Globe stage, of the First Witch from the Globe Theatre’s 2001 season production of Macbeth. This provided an appropriate analogue to the link between the two King’s men’s plays which was clearly in the dramatists’ conception of their work. The long theatrical tradition of bad luck associated with uttering the ‘Scottish play’ appears to have begun with The Witches of Lancashire: merely mentioning ‘the Scottish wayward sisters’ (as the quarto spelling has it) gives Winny Seely impaired vision and a ‘hiccup’ of the heart. Since they are all from Lancashire, the characters should logically all have northern accents, and I instructed the actors accordingly. The dramatists, however, chose to give only Lawrence and Parnell the necessary and nearly incomprehensible accents. Those wishing to reconstruct the early performances are referred for this detail to the 1634 quarto’s difficult but amusing representation of dialect.

In performance it becomes clear that this is not simply an anti-witch play, since their victims suffer little physical harm. Millers were notoriously corrupt and here one is tied naked to his sails (on a very cold night) and another is pinched and scratched; such indignities scarcely exceed the likely fantasies of their customers. For these misdemeanours the witches suffer a variety of excesses from beating and amputation to arrest and threatened execution. In performance the final scene chilled those on stage and in the audience as the historical reality became immediate. Brome and Heywood explicitly name ‘mercy’ in their epilogue and throughout they present witchcraft unseriously while attending to the excessive response of state power. Perhaps this made a difference: unlike their unfortunate predecessors of 1612, there is no evidence that these Pendle witches were executed.

James Wallace

THE WITCHES OF LANCASHIRE

Cast of the staged reading co-ordinated by James Wallace at the Globe Education Centre on 12 August 2001

Prologue	Liza Hayden
Arthur, a young gentleman	Nicholas Rowe
Tom Shakestone, a young gentleman	Tom Cornford
Bantam, a young gentleman	Dan Hawksford
Whetstone, nephew to Generous	Richard Lumsden
Generous, a wealthy squire	David Delve
Mistress Generous, Generous’s wife and a witch	Beverley Klein
Robert, Generous’s groom	Tony Bell
Mal Spencer, Robert’s sweetheart and a witch	Lou Gish
Meg Johnson, a witch	Cherry Morris
Mawd Hargreave, a witch	Olivia MacDonald
Gillian Dickinson, a witch	Caroline Harris
Doughty	Michael Cronin
Seely, a wealthy squire whose household is bewitched	Robert Wilby
Gregory Seely, his son	James Wallace
Lawrence, his servant	Mike Rogers
Joan Seely, his wife	Virginia Denham
Winny Seely, his daughter	Karen Hayley
Parnell, his serving-woman	Sabina Netherclift
Soldier	Karl Stimpson
Miller	James Marsh
Boy, the Miller’s son	Nicholas Kollgaard
Epilogue	Liza Hayden

Spirits, Musicians, Country Rustics and Officers played by members of the company

EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION

On 16 August 1634 Nathaniel Tomkyns wrote a business letter to his acquaintance Sir Robert Phelips, and to lighten the tone at the end Tomkyns turned to some ‘merriment’ which he thought might interest Phelips. In London, he wrote, ‘hath been lately a new comedy at the Globe called The Witches of Lancashire, acted by reason of the great concourse of people three days together’. For a repertory company like the King’s men to perform a play three times in succession indicates enormous popularity, and Tomkyns explained that the subject matter was sensational: ‘the slights and passages done or supposed to be done by these witches sent from thence hither’, and moreover the supposed witches were ‘still visible and in prison here’. Unlike most drama of the period, the play was about contemporary, indeed ongoing, events: the apprehension, conviction, and summoning to London for sentencing of four women from Pendle Forest in Lancashire found guilty of witchcraft at the Lancaster assizes. Tomkyns’s 400-word eyewitness account of the Globe performance is reproduced in Appendix 1.

While the Lancashire women languished in jail in London in the summer of 1634, two seasoned dramatists, Thomas Heywood and Richard Brome, planned a play based on the case. Somehow they obtained transcripts of the witness’s and defendants’ depositions which were intended only for privy council use, and they drew upon these for journalistic details. One of these depositions, as published in 1677, is Appendix 2. When their play was nearly ready, the King’s men successfully petitioned the lord chamberlain to prevent other companies performing witch plays, so preserving their ‘scoop’, and on 11, 12, or 13 August (we cannot be sure which), The Witches of Lancashire opened at the Globe.

In the autumn of 1634 a quarto of the play appeared under the title The Late Lancashire Witches, the word ‘late’ indicating that this was the recent story of Pendle witches, not a similar case originating from the same place in 1612. One of the British Library copies of this 1634 quarto, whose running header ‘The Witches of Lancashire’ confirms the play’s proper title, is the control text for this edition. Brome and Heywood’s play effectively takes the prosecution’s side in the case, showing the women to be guilty of witchcraft and showing those who doubt this or worse, doubt the existence of witchcraft altogether, to be naïve. The most sustained bewitching of which they are guilty is the inversion of social order within the Seely household so that son and daughter (Gregory and Winny) bully their parents but are in turn bullied by their servants (Lawrence and Parnell). Although all the characters are from Lancashire, the dramatists chose to give only Lawrence and Parnell distinctive northern, provincial accents, represented in the quarto by inconsistent use of almost indecipherably non-standard spelling. It seems that a London audience could be expected to delight in regional stereotyping, at least among low class characters.

The Witches of Lancashire is the only surviving collaboration by Brome. Heywood had been writing plays for more than thirty years but Brome’s rise was relatively recent, having had two hits in his first year writing for the stage, 1629: The Lovesick Maid and The Northern Lass, both for the King’s men. To the partnership Heywood brought not only his extensive dramatic experience (he claimed to already have written or contributed to some 220 plays) but also his knowledge of witch-lore. The topsy-turvydom of the Seely household is an exploration of the comedy of inversion which Brome was to develop fully in his The Antipodes.

The play is highly comic but for a modern spectator or reader, knowledge of the serious predicament of the real subjects – most of whom denied the charges – can darken the atmosphere of its reception. Such qualms seem not to have troubled Tomkyns, for whom it was merely ‘full of ribaldry’, ‘fopperies to provoke laughter’, and ‘diverse songs and dances’, making in all a ‘merry and excellent new play’. The historical record of the accused women fades into obscurity; although their accuser confessed to inventing his story, no pardon is recorded and the women were still in jail when they disappear from our view in 1637. Tomkyns’s end is better recorded: on 5 July 1643 he was hanged for counter-parliamentary treason.

Gabriel Egan

THE

WITCHES

LANCASHIRE

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The Persons in the Play

[PROLOGUE]
ARTHUR
SHAKESTONE	three young gentlemen, and friends
BANTAM
GENEROUS	a wealthy and generous squire
MISTRESS GENEROUS	Generous’s wife, and a witch
WHETSTONE	her dimwitted young nephew
ROBERT	Generous’s groom
MOLL Spencer	Robert’s sweetheart, and a witch
GILLIAN Dickinson
MAWD Hargreave	three witches
MEG Johnson
SEELY	a wealthy squire whose household is bewitched
DOUGHTY	his friend
JOAN	Seely’s wife
GREGORY	Seely’s son
WINNY	Seely’s daughter
LAWRENCE	Gregory’s servant
PARNELL	Winny’s servant
MILLER
BOY	the Miller’s son
SOLDIER
RABBLE of hoydens
Piper, Drummer, Demon-child, Constable, and Officers

	[Enter] the PROLOGUE

	Corrantoes failing, and no foot-post late
	Possessing us with news of foreign state,
	No accidents abroad worthy relation
	Arriving here, we are forc’d from our own nation
	To ground the scene that’s now in agitation.
	The project unto many here well known,
	Those witches the fat jailer brought to town,
	An argument so thin, persons so low,
	Can neither yield much matter, nor great show.
	Expect no more than can from such be rais’d,		10
	So may the scene pass pardon’d, though not prais’d . [Exit]

	ACT 1, SCENE 1

	Enter ARTHUR, SHAKESTONE, and
	BANTAM, as from hunting

Arthur	Was ever sport of expectation
	Thus cross’d in th’ height?
Shakestone	Tush, these are accidents
	All game is subject to.
Arthur	So you may call them
	Chances or crosses or what else you please,
	But for my part I’ll hold them prodigies,
	As things transcending Nature.
Bantam	Oh, you speak this
	Because a hare hath cross’d you.
Arthur	A hare?
	A witch, or rather a devil, I think!
	For tell me, gentlemen, was’t possible
	In such a fair course and no covert near,		10
	We in pursuit and she in constant view,
	Our eyes not wandering but all bent that way,
	The dogs in chase, she ready to be ceas’d,
	And at the instant, when I durst have laid
	My life to gage my dog had pinch’d her, then
	To vanish into nothing?
Shakestone	Somewhat strange,
	But not as you enforce it.
Arthur	Make it plain
	That I am in an error! Sure I am
	That I about me have no borrow’d eyes;
	They are mine own and matches.
Bantam	She might find		20
	Some muse as then not visible to us
	And escape that way.
Shakestone	Perhaps some fox had
	Earth’d there, and though it be not common,
	For I seldom have known or heard the like,
	There squat herself, and so her ’scape appear
	But natural which you proclaim a wonder.
Arthur	Well, well, gentlemen,
	Be you of your own faith, but what I see
	And is to me apparent, being in sense,
	My wits about me, no way toss’d or troubled,		30
	To that will I give credit.
Bantam	Come, come, all men
	Were never of one mind, nor I of yours.
Shakestone	To leave this argument, are you resolv’d
	Where we shall dine today?
Arthur	Yes, where we purpos’d.
Bantam	That was with Master Generous.
Arthur	True, the same,
	And where a loving welcome is presum’d,
	Whose liberal table’s never unprepar’d,
	Nor he of guests unfurnish’d. Of his means,
	There’s none can bear it with a braver port
	And keep his state unshaken. One who sells not		40
	Nor covets he to purchase, holds his own
	Without oppressing others, always press’d
	To endear to him any known gentleman
	In whom he finds good parts.
Bantam	A character
	Not common in this age.
Arthur	I cannot wind him up
	Unto the least part of his noble worth;
	’Tis far above my strength.

	Enter WHETSTONE

Shakestone	See who comes yonder:
	A fourth to make us a full mess of guests
	At Master Generous’ table.
Arthur	Tush, let him pass.
	He is not worth our luring – a mere coxcomb.		50
	It is a way to call our wits in question
	To have him seen amongst us.
Bantam	He hath spied us;
	There is no way to evade him.
Arthur	That’s my grief.
	A most notorious liar: out upon him!
Shakestone	Let’s set the best face on’t.
Whetstone	What, gentlemen? All mine old acquaintance? A
	whole triplicity of friends together? Nay then, ’tis
	three to one we shall not soon part company.
Shakestone	Sweet Master Whetstone!
Bantam	Dainty Master Whetstone!		60
Arthur	Delicate Master Whetstone!
Whetstone	You say right! Master Whetstone I have been,
	Master Whetstone I am, and Master Whetstone I
	shall be, and those that know me know withal
	that I have not my name for nothing. I am he
	whom all the brave blades of the country use to
	whet their wits upon. Sweet Master Shakestone,
	dainty Master Bantam, and dainty Master
	Arthur! And how? And how? What, all lustick?
	All froligozone? I know you are going to my		70
	uncle’s to dinner, and so am I too. What, shall we
	all make one rendezvous there? You need not
	doubt of your welcome.
Shakestone	No doubt at all, kind Master Whetstone, but we
	have not seen you of late – you are grown a great
	stranger amongst us. I desire sometimes to give
	you a visit. I pray, where do you lie?
Whetstone	Where do I lie? Why, sometimes in one place and
	then again in another – I love to shift lodgings but
	most constantly. Wheresoever I dine or sup, there		80
	do I lie!
Arthur	[aside] I never heard that word proceed from him
	I durst call truth till now.
Whetstone	But wheresoever I lie, ’tis no matter for that – I
	pray you say, and say truth, are not you three now
	going to dinner to my uncle’s?
Bantam	I think you are a witch, Master Whetstone.
Whetstone	How! A witch, gentlemen? I hope you do not
	mean to abuse me, though at this time (if report
	be true) there are too many of them here in our		90
	country. But I am sure I look like no such ugly
	creature.
Shakestone	It seems, then, you are of opinion that there are
	witches. For mine own part, I can hardly be
	induced to think there is any such kind of people.
Whetstone	No such kind of people? I pray you tell me
	gentlemen, did never any one of you know my
	mother?
Arthur	Why, was your mother a witch?
Whetstone	I do not say as witches go nowadays, for they for		100
	the most part are ugly old beldams, but she was a
	lusty young lass and, by her own report, by her
	beauty and fair looks bewitched my father.
Bantam	It seems then your mother was rather a young
	wanton wench than an old withered witch.
Whetstone	You say right, and know withal I come of two
	ancient families, for as I am a Whetstone by the
	mother side, so I am a By-blow by the father’s.
Arthur	It appears then, by your discourse, that you came
	in at the window.		110
Whetstone	I would have you think I scorn, like my
	grandam’s cat, to leap over the hatch.
Shakestone	[To ARTHUR] He hath confess’d himself to be a bastard.
Arthur	[To SHAKESTONE] And I believe’t as a notorious truth.
Whetstone	Howsoever I was begot, here you see I am. And if
	my parents went to it without fear or wit, what
	can I help it?
Arthur	[To SHAKESTONE] Very probable, for as he was
	got without fear, so it is apparent he was born
	without wit.		120
Whetstone	Gentlemen, it seems you have some private
	business amongst yourselves which I am not
	willing to interrupt. I know not how the day goes
	with you, but for mine own part my stomach is
	now much upon twelve. You know what hour my
	uncle keeps, and I love ever to be set before the
	first grace. I am going before. Speak, shall I
	acquaint him with your coming after?
Shakestone	We mean this day to see what fare he keeps.
Whetstone	And you know it is his custom to fare well, and in		130
	that respect I think I may be his kinsman. And so
	farewell gentlemen. I’ll be your forerunner to give
	him notice of your visit.
Bantam	And so entire us to you.
Shakestone	Sweet Master Whetstone!
Arthur	Kind Master By-blow!
Whetstone	I see you are perfect both in my name and
	surname. I have been ever bound unto you, for
	which I will at this time be your noverint and give
	him notice that you universi will be with him per		140
	*præsentes, and that I take to be presently. Exit*
Arthur	Farewell As in præsenti.
Shakestone	It seems he’s piece of a scholar.
Arthur	What, because he hath read a little scrivener’s
	Latin? He never proceeded farther in his
	Accidence than to Mentiri non est meum and that
	was such a hard lesson to learn that he stuck at
	mentiri and could never reach to non est meum.
	Since, a mere Ignaro and not worth
	acknowledgement.		150
Bantam	Are these then the best parts he can boast of?
Arthur	As you see him now, so shall you find him ever –
	all in one strain. There is one only thing which I
	wonder he left out.
Shakestone	And what might that be?
Arthur	Of the same affinity with rest: at every second
	word he is commonly boasting either of his aunt
	or his uncle.

	Enter GENEROUS

Bantam	You name him in good time; see where he comes.
Generous	Gentlemen, welcome! ’Tis a word I use;		160
	From me expect no further compliment.
	Nor do I name it often at one meeting;
	Once spoke (to those that understand me best
	And know I always purpose as I speak)
	Hath ever yet sufficed, so let it you.
	Nor do I love that common phrase of guests
	As ‘we make bold’, or ‘we are troublesome’,
	‘We take you unprovided’, and the like.
	I know you understanding gentlemen
	And, knowing me, cannot persuade yourselves		170
	With me you shall be troublesome or bold,
	But still provided for my worthy friends
	Amongst whom you are listed.
Arthur	Noble sir,
	You generously instruct us and to express
	We can be your apt scholars – in a word
	We come to dine with you.
Generous	And, gentlemen,
	Such plainness doth best please me. I had notice
	Of so much by my kinsman, and, to show
	How lovingly I took it, instantly
	Rose from my chair to meet you at the gate		180
	And be myself your usher. Nor shall you find,
	Being set to meat, that I’ll excuse your fare
	Or say ‘I am sorry it falls out so poor’
	And ‘had I known your coming we’d have had
	Such things and such’, nor blame my cook, to say
	‘This dish or that had not been sauc’d with care’ –
	Words fitting best a common hostess’ mouth
	When there’s perhaps some just cause of dislike
	But not the table of a gentleman;
	Nor is it my wife’s custom. In a word,		190
	Take what you find and so.
Arthur	Sir, without flattery
	You may be call’d the sole surviving son
	Of long since banish’d hospitality.
Generous	In that you please me not. But, gentlemen,
	I hope to be beholden unto you all,
	Which if I prove I’ll be a grateful debtor.
Bantam	Wherein, good sir?
Generous	I ever studied plainness
	And truth withal.
Shakestone	I pray express yourself.
Generous	In few I shall.
	I know this youth to whom my wife is aunt		200
	Is, as you needs must find him, weak and shallow,
	Dull as his name and what for kindred sake
	We note not, or at least are loath to see,
	Is unto such well-knowing gentlemen
	Most grossly visible. If for my sake
	You will but seem to wink at these his wants,
	At least at table before us his friends.
	I shall receive it as a courtesy
	Not soon to be forgot.
Arthur	Presume it, sir.
Generous	Now when you please pray enter, gentlemen.		210
Arthur	Would these my friends prepare the way before.
	To be resolv’d of one thing before dinner
	Would something add unto mine appetite.
	[To BANTAM and SHAKESTONE] Shall I
	entreat you so much?
Bantam	Oh sir, you may command us.

	Exit BANTAM and SHAKESTONE

Generous	I’th’ meantime
	Prepare your stomachs with a bowl of sack;
	My cellar can afford it. Now, Master Arthur,
	Pray freely speak your thoughts.
Arthur	I come not, sir
	To press a promise from you – take’t not so –		220
	Rather to prompt your memory in a motion
	Made to you not long since.
Generous	Was’t not about
	A manor, the best part of your estate,
	Mortgag’d to one slips no advantages
	Which you would have redeem’d?
Arthur	True sir, the same.
Generous	And as I think, I promis’d at that time
	To become bound with you, or if the usurer
	(A base, yet the best, title I can give him)
	Perhaps should question that security
	To have the money ready. Was’t not so?		230
Arthur	It was to that purpose we discoursed.
Generous	Provided – To have the writings in my custody.
	Else how should I secure mine own estate?
Arthur	To deny that I should appear to th’ world
	Stupid and of no brain.
Generous	Your money’s ready.
Arthur	And I remain a man oblig’d to you
	Beyond all utterance.
Generous	Make then your word good
	By speaking it no further, only this:
	It seems your uncle you trusted in so far
	Hath failed your expectation.
Arthur	Sir, he hath.		240
	Not that he is unwilling or unable
	But at this time unfit to be solicited;
	For, to the country’s wonder and my sorrow,
	He is much to be pitied.
Generous	Why, I entreat you?
Arthur	Because he’s late become the sole discourse
	Of all the country, for, of a man respected
	For his discretion and known gravity,
	As master of a govern’d family,
	The house – as if the ridge were fix’d below
	And groundsills lifted up to make the roof –		250
	All now turn’d topsy-turvy.
Generous	Strange! But how?
Arthur	In such a retrograde and preposterous way
	As seldom hath been heard of – I think never.
Generous	Can you discourse the manner?
Arthur	The good man
	In all obedience kneels unto his son;
	He, with an austere brow, commands his father.
	The wife presumes not in the daughter’s sight
	Without a prepar’d curtsy. The girl she
	Expects it as a duty, chides her mother,
	Who quakes and trembles at each word she speaks.		260
	And, what’s as strange, the maid she domineers
	O’er her young mistress who is aw’d by her.
	The son to whom the father creeps and bends
	Stands in as much fear of the groom his man.
	All in such rare disorder that, in some
	As it breeds pity and in others wonder,
	So in the most part laughter.
Generous	How think you might this come?
Arthur	’Tis thought by witchcraft.
Generous	They that think so dream,
	For my belief is no such thing can be;		270
	A madness you may call it. Dinner stays;
	That done the best part of the afternoon
	We’ll spend about your business. Exeunt
[1.2]
	Enter SEELY and DOUGHTY

Seely	Nay, but understand me, neighbour Doughty!
Doughty	Good Master Seely, I do understand you, and over
	and over understand you so much that I could
	e’en blush at your fondness. And had I a son to
	serve me so, I would conjure a devil out of him.
Seely	Alas, he is my child.
Doughty	No, you are his child to live in fear of him. Indeed
	they say old men become children again, but
	before I would become my child’s child, and make
	my foot my head, I would stand upon my head		10
	and kick my heels at the skies.

	Enter GREGORY

Seely	You do not know what an only son is. Oh see, he
	comes! Now if you can appease his anger toward
	me, you shall do an act of timely charity.
Doughty	It is an office that I am but weakly versed in, to
	plead to a son in the father’s behalf. [aside] Bless
	me what looks the devilish young rascal frights the
	poor man withal!
Gregory	I wonder at your confidence and how you dare
	appear before me.		20
Doughty	[aside] A brave beginning!
Seely	Oh son, be patient.
Gregory	It is right reverend counsel; I thank you for it. I
	shall study patience, shall I, while you practice
	ways to beggar me, shall I?
Doughty	[aside] Very handsome!
Seely	If ever I transgress in the like again –
Gregory	I have taken your word too often, sir, and neither
	can nor will forbear you longer.
Doughty	What, not your father, Master Gregory?
Gregory	What’s that to you, sir?		30
Doughty	Pray tell me then, sir, how many years has he to
	serve you?
Gregory	What, do you bring your spokesman now, your
	advocate? What fee goes out of my estate now for
	his oratory?
Doughty	Come, I must tell you, you forget yourself,
	And in this foul unnatural strife wherein
	You trample on your father, you are fall’n
	Below humanity. You’re so beneath
	The title of a son you cannot claim		40
	To be a man, and let me tell you, were you mine,
		Thou shouldst not eat but on thy knees before me!
Seely	Oh, this is not the way!
	This is to raise impatience into fury.
	I do not seek his quiet for my ease:
	I can bear all his chidings and his threats
	And take them well, very exceeding well,
	And find they do me good on my own part –
	Indeed they do reclaim me from those errors
	That might impeach his fortunes – but I fear		50
	Th’unquiet strife within him hurts himself
	And wastes or weakens nature by the breach
	Of moderate sleep and diet; and I can
	No less than grieve to find my weaknesses
	To be the cause of his affliction
	And see the danger of his health and being.
Doughty	Alas poor man! [To GREGORY] Can you stand open-eyed
	Or dry-eyed either at this now in a father?
Gregory	Why, if it grieve you, you may look off on’t.
	I have seen more than this twice twenty times,		60
	And have as often been deceived by his
	Dissimulations. I can see nothing mended.
Doughty	He is a happy sire that has brought up his son to
	this!
Seely	All shall be mended. Son, content yourself.
	But this time forget but this last fault.
Gregory	Yes, for a new one tomorrow!
Doughty	Pray, Master Gregory, forget it. You see how
	submissive your poor penitent is. Forget it,
	forget it! Put it out o’ your head; knock it out of		70
	your brains. I protest, if my father, nay, if my
	father’s dog should have said as much to me, I
	should have embraced him. What was the
	trespass? It could not be so heinous.
Gregory	Well, sir, you now shall be a judge for all your
	jeering. Was it a fatherly part, think you, having a
	son, to offer to enter in bonds for his nephew, so
	to endanger my estate to redeem his mortgage?
Seely	But I did it not, son!
Gregory	I know it very well, but your dotage had done it if		80
	my care had not prevented it.
Doughty	Is that the business? Why if he had done it, had he
	not been sufficiently secured in having the
	mortgage made over to himself?
Gregory	He does nothing but practice ways to undo
	himself and me. A very spendthrift, a prodigal sire,
	he was at the ale but t’other day and spent a
	fourpenny club.
Seely	’Tis gone and past, son.
Gregory	Can you hold your peace, sir? And not long ago at		90
	the wine he spent his tester and two pence to the
	piper. That was brave was it not?
Seely	Truly, we were civilly merry, but I have left it.
Gregory	Your civility, have you not? For no longer ago
	than last holiday evening he gamed away eight
	double-ringed tokens on a rubbers at bowls with
	the curate and some of his idle companions.
Doughty	Fie! Master Gregory Seely, is this seemly in a
	son? You’ll have a rod for the child your father
	shortly, I fear. ‘Alas, did he make it cry?’ ‘Give me		100
	a stroke and I’ll beat him!’ Bless me, they make me
	almost as mad as themselves.
Gregory	’Twere good you would meddle with your own
	matters, sir.
Seely	Son, son.
Gregory	Sir, sir, as I am not beholden to you for house or
	land – for it has stood in the name of my ancestry
	the Seelys above two hundred years – so will I
	look you leave all as you found it.

	Enter LAWRENCE

Lawrence	What is the matter, can you tell?		110
Gregory	O Lawrence, welcome, thou wilt make all well, I
	am sure.
Lawrence	Yea, which way, can you tell? But what the foul
	evil do you, here’s such a din?
Doughty	Art thou his man, fellow, ha, that talkest thus to
	him?
Lawrence	Yea sir, and what ma’ you o’ that? He maintains
	me to rule him ,and I’ll do’t – or ma’ the heart
	weary o’ the womb of him.
Doughty	[aside] This is quite upside down: the son controls		120
	the father and the man overcrows his master’s
	coxcomb – sure they are all bewitched.
Gregory	’Twas but so, truly Lawrence. The peevish old
	man vexed me, for which I did my duty in telling
	him his own, and Master Doughty here maintains
	him against me.
Lawrence	I forboden you to meddle with the old carl, and let
	me alone with him, yet you still be at him. He
	served you but well to baste ye for’t, an he were
	strong enough, but an I fall foul with ye, and I		130
	swaddle ye not savourly, may my guts brast.
Seely	Prithee, good Lawrence, be gentle and do not
	fright thy master so.
Lawrence	Yea, at your command anon!
Doughty	Enough, good Lawrence; you have said enough.
Lawrence	How trow you that? A fine world when a man
	cannot be quiet at home for busy-brained
	neighbours.
Doughty	[aside] I know not what to say to anything here;
	this cannot be but witchcraft.		140

	Enter JOAN and WINNY

Winny	I cannot endure it nor I will not endure it!
Doughty	[aside] Hey day! The daughter upon the mother,
	too!
Winny	One of us two – choose you which – must leave
	the house. We are not to live together, I see that,
	but I will know, if there be law in Lancashire for’t,
	which is fit first to depart the house or the world,
	the mother or the daughter.
Joan	Daughter, I say –
Winny	Do you say the ‘daughter’? For that word I say the		150
	‘mother’! Unless you can prove me the eldest, as
	my discretion almost warrants it, I say the mother
	shall out of the house or take such courses in it as
	shall sort with such a house and such a daughter.
Joan	Daughter, I say I will take any course so thou wilt
	leave thy passion; indeed it hurts thee, child. I’ll
	sing and be merry, wear as fine clothes and as
	delicate dressings as thou wilt have me, so thou
	wilt pacify thyself and be at peace with me.
Winny	Oh, will you so? In so doing I may chance to look		160
	upon you! Is this a fit habit for a handsome young
	gentlewoman’s mother, as I hope to be a lady? You
	look like one o’ the Scottish weird sisters. Oh,
	my heart has got the hiccup and all looks green
	about me! A merry song now, mother, and thou
	shalt be my white girl.
Joan	Ha, ha, ha! She’s overcome with joy at my
	conversion.
Doughty	[aside] She is most evidently bewitched.
Joan	(sings) There was a deft lad and a lass fell in love,		170
	With a fa la la, fa la la, langtidown dilly.
	With kissing and toying this maiden did prove,
	With a fa la la, fa la la, langtidown dilly,
	So wide i’ th’ waist and her belly so high,
	That unto her mother the maiden did cry.
	Oh langtidown dilly, Oh langtidown dilly,
	Fa la la langtidown, langtidown dilly.

	Enter PARNELL

Parnell	Thus would you do an I were dead. But while I
	live you fadge not on it. Is this all the work you
	can find?		180
Doughty	[aside] Now comes the maid to set her mistresses
	to work!
Winny	Nay, prithee, sweet Parnell, I was but chiding the
	old wife for her unhandsomeness, and would have
	been at my work presently. She tells me now she
	will wear fine things, and I shall dress her head as
	I list.
Doughty	[aside] Here’s a house well governed!
Parnell	Dress me no dressings, lessen I dress you both and
	learn a new lesson with a wanion right now. Ha’		190
	I been a servant here this half dozen o’ years, and
	can I see you idler than myself?
Joan & Winny	Nay, prithee, sweet Parnell, content and hark thee –
	[JOAN and WINNY talk to Parnell aside]
Doughty	[aside] I have known this, and till very lately, as
	well governed a family as the country yields, and
	now what a nest of several humours it is grown,
	and all devilish ones! Sure, all the witches in the
	country have their hands in this homespun
	medley, and there be no few, ’tis thought.
Parnell	Yea, yea, ye shall, ye shall, another time but not		200
	now, I thank you. You shall as soon piss and
	paddle in’t as slap me in the mouth with an old
	petticoat or a new pair o’ shoen to be quiet. I
	cannot be quiet, nor I will not be quiet to see sicky
	doings, I.
Lawrence	Hold thy prattle, Parnell; all’s come about as ween
	’a’ had it. Wot’st thou what, Parnell? Wot’st thou
	what? Oh dear, wot’st thou what?
Parnell	What’s the fond waxen wild, trow I.
Lawrence	We ha’ been in love these three years, and ever		210
	we had not enough. Now is it come about that our
	love shall be at an end for ever and a day, for we
	mu’ wed, my honey, we mu’ wed.
Parnell	What the devil ails thee, limmer loon? Been thy
	brains broke loose, trow I.
Lawrence	Such a wedding was there never i’ Lancashire as
	we’ll couple at on Monday next.
Parnell	Aw, aw, say you this sickerly or done you but jam
	me?
Lawrence	I jam thee not nor flam thee not; ’tis all as true as		220
	book. [Shows a paper] Here’s both our masters
	have consented and concluded, and our mistresses
	mu’ yield to’t, to put all house and land and all
	they have into our hands.
Parnell	Aw, aw!
Lawrence	And we mu’ marry and be master and dame of
	all!
Parnell	Aw, aw!
Lawrence	And they be our sojourners, because they are
	weary of the world, to live in friendliness and see		230
	what will come on’t
Parnell	Aw, aw, go on!
Seely & Gregory		Nay, ’tis true, Parnell; here’s both our hands on’t,
	and give you joy!
Joan & Winny	And ours too, and ’twill be fine i’fackins.
Parnell	Aw, aw, aw, aw!
Doughty	[aside] Here’s a mad business towards!
Seely	I will bespeak the guests.
Gregory	And I the meat.
Joan	I’ll dress the dinner, though I drip my sweat.
Lawrence	My care shall sumptuous ’pparelments provide.		240
Winny	And my best art shall trickly trim the bride.
Parnell	Aw, aw, aw, aw!
Gregory	I’ll get choice music for the merriment.
Doughty	[aside] And I will wait with wonder the event!
Parnell	Aw, aw, aw, aw! Exeunt

	ACT 2, SCENE 1

	Enter four witches severally

All	Ho! Well met, well met.
Meg	What new device, what dainty strain,
	More for our mirth now than our gain,
	Shall we in practice put?
Moll	Nay, dame,
	Before we play another game
	We must a little laugh and thank
	Our feat familiars for the prank
	They played us last.
Mawd	Or they will miss
	Us in our next plot, if for this
	They find not their reward.
Meg	’Tis right.			10
Gillian	Therefore sing, Mawd, and call each sprite.

	Enter four spirits

Mawd	[Sings] Come away, and take thy duggy.
Meg	Come, my Mamilion, like a puggy.
Mawd	And come, my Puckling, take thy teat,
	Your travails have deserv’d your meat.
Meg	Now, upon the churl’s ground
	On which we’re met, let’s dance a round,
	That cockle, darnell, poppia wild
	May choke his grain and fill the field.
Gillian	Now spirits fly about the task			20
	That we projected in our masque. Exit spirits
Meg	Now let us laugh to think upon
	The feat which we have so lately done,
	In the distraction we have set
	In Seely’s house, which shall beget
	Wonder and sorrow ’mongst our foes,
	Whilst we make laughter of their woes.
All	Ha, ha, ha!
Meg	I can but laugh now to foresee
	The fruits of their perplexity.			30
Gillian	Of Seely’s family?
Meg	Ay, ay, ay!
	The father to the son doth cry,
	The son rebukes the father old,
	The daughter at the mother scold,
	The wife the husband check and chide.
	But that’s no wonder, through the wide
	World ’tis common!
Gillian	But to be short,
	The wedding must bring on the sport
	Betwixt the hare-brain’d man and maid,
	Master and dame that oversway’d.			40
All	Ha, ha, ha!
Meg	Enough, enough!
	Our sides are charm’d or else this stuff
	Would laughter-crack them. Let’s away
	About the jig: we dance today
	To spoil the hunters’ sport.
Gillian	Ay, that
	Be now the subject of our chat.
Meg	Then list ye well: the hunters are
	This day by vow to kill a hare,
	Or else the sport they will foreswear			50
	And hang their dogs up.
Mawd	Stay, but where
	Must the long-threaten’d hare be found?
Gillian	They’ll search in yonder meadow ground.
Meg	There will I be, and like a wily wat,
	Until they put me up, I’ll squat.
Gillian	I and my Puckling will a brace
	Of greyhounds be, fit for the race,
	And linger where we may be ta’en
	Up for the course in the by-lane.
	Then will we lead their dogs a-course,			60
	And every man and every horse,
	Until they break their necks, and say –
All	‘The devil on Dun is rid this way!’
	Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Meg	All the doubt can be but this,
	That if by chance of me they miss
	And start another hare.
Gillian	Then we’ll not run,
	But find some way how to be gone.
	I shall know thee, Peg, by thy grizzled gut.
Meg	And I you, Gillian, by your gaunt thin gut.			70
	But where will Mawd bestow herself today?
Mawd	O’ th’ steeple-top I’ll sit and see you play. Exeunt

[2.2]
	Enter GENEROUS, ARTHUR, BANTAM,
	SHAKESTONE, and WHETSTONE

Generous	At meeting and at parting, gentlemen,
	I only make use of that general word
	So frequent at all feasts, and that but once:
	You’re ‘welcome!’
	You are so, all of you, and I entreat you
	Take notice of that special business
	Betwixt this gentleman (my friend) and I
	About the mortgage, to which writings drawn
	Your hands are witness.
Bantam & Shakestone		We acknowledge it.
Whetstone	My hand is there too, for a man cannot set to his			10
	mark but it may be call’d his hand. I am a
	gentleman both ways, and it hath been held that it
	is the part of a gentleman to write a scurvy hand.
Bantam	You write, sir, like yourself.
Generous	Pray take no notice of his ignorance;
	You know what I foretold you.
Arthur	’Tis confess’d.
	But for that word by you so seldom spoke,
	By us so freely on your part perform’d,
	We hold us much engag’d.
Generous	I pray, no compliment;
	It is a thing I do not use myself			20
	Nor do I love’t in others.
Arthur	For my part,
	Could I at once dissolve myself to words
	And after turn them into matter, such
	And of that strength as to attract the attention
	Of all the curious and most itching ears
	Of this our critic age, it could not make
	A theme amounting to your noble worth.
	You seem to me to supererogate,
	Supplying the defects of all your kindred,
	To ennoble your own name. I now have done, sir.			30
Whetstone	Hey day! This gentleman speaks like a country
	parson that had took his text out of Ovid’s
	Metamorphoses.
Generous	[To ARTHUR] Sir, you hyperbolize.
	And I could chide you for’t, but whilst you connive
	At this my kinsman I shall wink at you;
	’Twill prove an equal match.
Arthur	Your name proclaims
	To be such as it speaks you: generous.
Generous	Still in that strain!
Arthur	Sir, sir, whilst you persevere to be good			40
	I must continue grateful.
Generous	Gentlemen,
	The greatest part of this day you see is spent
	In reading deeds, conveyances, and bonds,
	With sealing and subscribing – will you now
	Take part of a bad supper?
Arthur	We are like travellers,
	And where such bait they do not use to inn.
	Our love and service to you.
Generous	The first I accept;
	The last I entertain not. Farewell, gentlemen.
Arthur	We’ll try if we can find in our way home,			50
	When hares come from their coverts to relieve,
	A course or two.
Whetstone	Say you so, gentlemen? Nay then I am for your
	company still. ’Tis said hares are like
	hermaphrodites – one while male and another
	female – and that which begets this year brings
	young ones the next, which some think to be the
	reason that witches take their shapes so oft. Nay, if
	I lie, Pliny lies too – but come, now I have light
	upon you, I cannot so lightly leave you. Farewell,			60
	uncle.
Generous	Cousin, I wish you would consort yourself
	With such men ever and make them your precedent
	For a more gentle carriage.
Arthur	Good Master Generous – Exeunt all but Generous

	Enter ROBERT

Generous	Robin!
Robert	Sir?
Generous	Go call your mistress hither.
Robert	My mistress, sir? I do call her ‘mistress’ as I do call
	you ‘master’, but if you would have me call my
	mistress to my master I may call loud enough
	before she can hear me.			70
Generous	Why, she’s not deaf, I hope. I am sure since dinner
	she had her hearing perfect.
Robert	And so she may have at supper too for ought I
	know, but I can assure you she is not now within
	my call.
Generous	Sirrah, you trifle. Give me the key o’ th’ stable,
	I will go see my gelding. I’ th’ meantime
	Go seek her out, say she shall find me there.
Robert	To tell you true, sir, I shall neither find
	My mistress here, nor you your gelding there.			80
Generous	Ha? How comes that to pass?
Robert	Whilst you were busy about your writings, she
	came and commanded me to saddle your beast
	and said she would ride abroad to take the air.
Generous	Which of your fellows did she take along to wait
	on her?
Robert	None, sir.
Generous	None? Hath she us’d it often?
Robert	Oftener I am sure than she goes to church, and
	leave out Wednesdays and Fridays.			90
Generous	And still alone?
Robert	If you call that alone, when nobody rides in her
	company.
Generous	But what times hath she sorted for these journeys?
Robert	Commonly when you are abroad, and sometimes
	when you are full of business at home.
Generous	To ride out often and alone! What saith she
	When she takes horse, and at her back return?
Robert	Only conjures me that I shall keep it from you,
	then claps me in the fist with some small piece of			100
	silver, and then a fish cannot be more silent that I.
Generous	I know her a good woman and well bred,
	Of an unquestion’d carriage, well reputed
	Amongst her neighbours, reckon’d with the best
	And o’er me most indulgent, though in many
	Such things might breed a doubt and jealousy,
	Yet I hatch no such frenzy. Yet to prevent
	The smallest jar that might betwixt us happen,
	Give her no notice that I know thus much.
	Besides, I charge thee, when she craves him next			110
	He be denied. If she be vex’d or mov’d,
	Do not thou feare: I’ll interpose myself
	Betwixt thee and her anger. As you tender
	Your duty and my service, see this done.
Robert	Now you have expressed your mind I know what
	I have to do: first, not to tell her what I have told
	you, and next to keep her side-saddle from
	coming upon your gelding’s back. But, howsoever,
	it is like to hinder me of many a round tester.
Generous	As oft as thou deny’st her, so oft claim			120
	That tester from me; ’t shall be roundly paid.
Robert	You say well in that, sir. I dare take your word –
	you are an honest gentleman and my master – and
	now take mine as I am your true servant: before
	she shall back your gelding again in your absence,
	while I have the charge of his keeping, she shall
	ride me or I’ll ride her!
Generous	So much for that. Sirrah, my butler tells me
	My cellar is drunk dry – I mean those bottles
	Of sack and claret are all empty grown			130
	And I have guests tomorrow, my choice friends.
	Take the grey nag i’ th’ stable and those bottles
	Fill at Lancaster, there where you use to fetch it.
Robert	[aside] Good news for me! – I shall sir.
Generous	Oh Robin, it comes short of that pure liquor
	We drunk last term in London at the Mitre
	In Fleet Street – thou rememberest it? Methought
	It was the very spirit of the grape,
	Mere quintessence of wine!
Robert	Yes, sir, I so remember it that most certain it is I			140
	never shall forget it; my mouth waters ever since
	when I but think on’t. Whilst you were at supper
	above, the drawer had me down into the cellar
	below – I know the way in again if I see’t – but at
	that time to find the way out again I had the help
	of more eyes than mine own. Is the taste of that
	Ipsitate still in your palate, sir?
Generous	What then? But vain are wishes. Take those bottles
	And see them fill’d where I command you, sir.
Robert	I shall. [aside] Never could I have met with such a			150
	fair opportunity, for just in the mid way lies my
	sweetheart, as lovely a lass as any is in Lancashire,
	and kisses as sweetly. I’ll see her going or coming;
	I’ll have one smooch at thy lips and be with thee
	to bring, Moll Spencer. Exit
Generous	Go, hasten your return. What he hath told me
	Touching my wife is somewhat strange. No matter.
	Be’t as it will, it shall not trouble me.
	She hath not lain so long so near my side
	That now I should be jealous.			160

	Enter a SOLDIER

Soldier	You seem, sir, a gentlemen of quality and no
	doubt but in your youth have been acquainted
	with affairs military. In your very looks there
	appears bounty and in your person humanity.
	Please you to vouchsafe the tender of some small
	courtesy to help to bear a soldier into his country.
Generous	Though I could tax you friend, and justly too,
	For begging ’gainst the statute in that name,
	Yet I have ever been of that compassion,
	Where I see want, rather to pity it			170
	Than to use power. Where hast thou served?
Soldier	With the Russian against the Polack, a heavy war
	and hath brought me to this hard fate. I was took
	prisoner by the Pole and, after some few weeks of
	durance, got both my freedom and pass. I have it
	about me to show; please you to vouchsafe the
	perusal?
Generous	It shall not need. What countryman?
Soldier	Yorkshire, sir. Many a sharp battle by land, and
	many a sharp storm at sea, many a long mile, and			180
	many a short meal, I have travelled and suffered
	ere I could reach thus far. I beseech you, sir, take
	my poor and wretched case into your worship’s
	noble consideration.
Generous	Perhaps thou lov’st this wandering life,
	To be an idle loitering beggar, than
	To eat of thine own labour.
Soldier	I, sir? Loitering I defy, sir! I hate laziness as I do
	leprosy; it is the next way to breed the scurvy. Put
	me to hedge, ditch, plough, thresh, dig, delve,			190
	anything: your worship shall find that I love
	nothing less than loitering.
Generous	Friend, thou speakest well.

	Enter MILLER, his hands and face scratched and bloody

Miller	‘Your mill’, quoth he! If ever you take me in your
	mill again, I’ll give you leave to cast my flesh to
	the dogs and grind my bones to powder betwixt
	the millstones. ‘Cats’ do you call them? For their
	hugeness they might be cat o’ mountains, and for
	their claws I think I have it here in red and white
	to show. I pray look here, sir. A murrain take			200
	them. I’ll be sworn they have scratched where I
	am sure it itched not.
Generous	How camest thou in this pickle?
Miller	You see, sir, and what you see I have felt, and am
	come to give you to understand I’ll not endure
	such another night if you would give me your mill
	for nothing. They say we millers are thieves, but I
	could as soon be hanged as steal one piece of a nap
	all the night long. Good landlord, provide yourself
	of a new tenant. The noise of such caterwauling,			210
	and such scratching and clawing, before I would
	endure again, I’ll be tied to the sail when the wind
	blows sharpest and they fly swiftest till I be torn
	torn into as many fitters as I have toes and fingers.
Soldier	I was a miller myself before I was a soldier. What
	one of my own trade should be so poorly spirited,
	frighted with cats?
	Sir, trust me with the mill that he forsakes.
	Here is a blade that hangs upon this belt
	That spite of all these rats, cats, weasels, witches,		220
	Or dogs, or devils, shall so conjure them
	I’ll quiet my possession.
Generous	Well spoke, soldier!
	I like thy resolution. [To MILLER] Fellow, you then
	Have given the mill quite over?
Miller	Over and over. Here I utterly renounce it, nor
	would I stay in it longer if you would give me
	your whole estate. Nay, if I say it you may take my
	word, landlord.
Soldier	I pray, sir, dare you trust your mill with me?
Generous	I dare, but I am loath, my reasons these:			230
	For many months scarce anyone hath lain there
	But have been strangely frighted in his sleep,
	Or from his warm bed drawn into the floor,
	Or claw’d and scratch’d as thou see’st this poor man,
	So much that it stood long untenanted,
	Till he late undertook it. Now thine eyes
	Witness how he hath sped.
Soldier	Give me the keys; I’ll stand it all danger.
Generous	’Tis a match. [To MILLER] Deliver them.
Miller	Marry, with all my heart, and I am glad I am so rid			240
	of ’em. Exeunt

[2.3]
	Enter BOY with a switch

Boy	Now I have gathered bullace and filled my belly
	pretty well, I’ll go see some sport. There are
	gentlemen coursing in the meadow hard by,
	and ’tis a game I love better than going to school,
	ten to one.

	Enter an invisible spirit (John Adson) with a brace
	of greyhounds

	What have we here – a brace of greyhounds broke
	loose from their masters? It must needs be so, for
	they have both their collars and slips about their
	necks. Now I look better upon them, methinks I
	should know them, and so I do: these are Master			10
	Robinson’s dogs, that dwells some two miles off.
	I’ll take them up and lead them home to their
	master; it may be something in my way for he is
	as liberal a gentlemen as any is in our country. [To
	one of the dogs] Come, Hector, come. Now if I
	could but start a hare by the way, kill her and carry
	her home to my supper, I should think I had made
	a better afternoon’s work of it than gathering
	bullace. Come, poor curs, along with me. Exeunt

[2.4]
	Enter ARTHUR, BANTAM, SHAKESTONE,
	and WHETSTONE

Arthur	My dog as yours.
Shakestone	For what?
Arthur	A piece.
Shakestone	’Tis done.
Bantam	I say the pied dog shall outstrip the brown.
Whetstone	And I’ll take the brown dog’s part against the pied.
Bantam	Yes, when he’s at his lap you’ll take his part.
Arthur	Bantam, forbear him prithee.
Bantam	He talks so like an ass; I have not patience to
	endure his nonsense!
Whetstone	The brown dog for two pieces.
Bantam	Of what?
Whetstone	Of what you dare! Name them from the last			10
	farthings, with the double rings, to the late-coined
	pieces which they say are all counterfeit.
Bantam	Well, sir, I take on. [Shows him coins] Will you
	cover these? Give them into the hands of either
	of those two gentlemen.