You know 'tis pretious to transfer
Our 'noynted flesh into the aire,

In moone-light nights, ore fteeple-topps,

Mountaines, and pine-trees, that like pricks, or stopps,
Seeme to our height: high towres, and roofes of princes,
Like wrinckles in the earth: whole provinces
Appeare to our fight then, ev'n leeke

A ruffet-moale upon fome ladies cheeke.
When hundred leagues in aire we feast and fing,
Daunce, kiffe, and coll, ufe every thing:

What yong-man can we wish to pleasure us
But we enioy him in an Incubus?
Thou know'ft it Stadlin?

Stad. Ufually that's don.

Hec. Last night thou got'ft the Maior of Whelplies fon,
I knew him by his black cloake lyn'd with yallow;'

I thinck thou haft fpoild the youth: hee's but feaventeene.
I'll have him the next mounting: away, in.

Goe feed the vessell for the second howre.

Sta. Where be the magicall herbes ?

Hec. They're downe his throate.

His mouth cramb'd full; his eares, and nofthrills ftufft.
I thruft in Eleofelinum, lately

Aconitum, frondes populeus, and foote,

You may fee that, he looks fo black i'th' mouth:
Then Sium, Acharum, Vulgaro too

Dentaphillon, the blood of a flitter-mowfe,
Solanum fomnificum et oleum.

Stad. Then ther's all Heccat?
Hec. Is the hart of wax

Stuck full of magique needles?
Stad. 'Tis don Heccat.

Hec. And is the Farmer's picture, and his wives,
Lay'd downe to th' fire yet?

Stad. They are a roafting both too.

Hec. Good;

Then their marrowes are a melting fubtelly,

And three monethes ficknes fucks up life in 'em.
They denide me often flowre, barme, and milke,
Goofe-greaze and tar, when I nere hurt their churnings,
Their brew-locks nor their batches, nor fore-fpoake
Any of their breedings. Now I'll be-meete with 'em.
Seaven of their yong piggs I have be-witch'd already
Of the laft litter, nine ducklyngs, thirteene gofelings and a
hog

Fell lame laft Sonday after even-fong too.

And mark how their theepe profper; or what foupe

Each milch-kine gives to th' paile: I'll fend thefe fnakes

Shall milke 'em all before hand: the dew'd-fkirted dayrie

wenches

Shall ftroak dry duggs for this, and goe home curffing:

I'll mar their fillabubs, and fwathie feastings

Under cowes bellies, with the parish-youthes :

Enter FIRESTONE.

Wher's Firestone? our fon Firestone,

Fire. Here am I mother.

Hec. Take in this brazen difh full of deere ware,

Thou fhalt have all when I die, and that wilbe

Ev'n juft at twelve a clock at night come three yeere.

Fire. And may you not have one a-clock in to th' dozen (Mother?)

Hec. Noh.

Fire. Your fpirits are then more unconscionable then bakers: You'll have liv'd then (Mother) fix-fcore yeare to the hundred; and me-thincks after fix-fcore yeares the devill might give you a caft; for he's a fruiterer too, and has byn from the beginning: the firft apple that ere was eaten, came through his fingers: The Coftermongers then I hold to be the auncienteft trade, though fome would have the Tailor prick'd downe before him.

Hec. Goe and take heed you fhed not by the way: The howre muft have her portion, 'tis deere firrop. Each charmed drop is able to confound

A famely confifting of nineteene,

Or one and twentie feeders.

Fire. Mary, heere's stuff indeed! Deere furrup call you it? a little thing would make me give you a dram on't in a poffett, and cutt you three yeares shorter.

Hec. Thou'rt now about fome villany.

Fire. Not I (forfooth) Truly the devill's in her I thinck. How one villanie smells out an other ftraight: Ther's no knavery but is nofde like a dog, and can fmell out a doggs meaning. (Mother) I pray give me leave to ramble a-broad to-night with the night-mare, for I have a great mind to over-lay a fat parfon's daughter.

Hec. And who fhail lye with me then?

Fire. The great cat for one night (Mother). 'Tis but a night: make fhift with him for once.

Hec. You're a kind fon :

But 'tis the nature of you all, I fee that:

You had rather hunt after ftrange women ftill,

Then lye with your owne mother: Gett thee gon;

Sweatt thy fix ounces out about the veffell,

And thou fhalt play at mid-night: the night-mare

Shall call thee when it walkes.

Fire. Thancks most sweet Mother.

Enter SEBASTIAN.

[Exit.

Hec. Urchins, Elves, Haggs, Satires, Pans, Fawnes, filence. Kitt with the candleftick; Tritons, Centaures, Dwarfes, Imps, the Spoone, the Mare, the Man i'th'oake; the Hell-waine, the Fire-drake, the Puckle. A. Ab. Hur. Hus.

Seb. Heaven knowes with what unwillingnes and hate

I enter this dambd place: but fuch extreemes

Of wrongs in love, fight 'gainft religion's knowledge,
That were I ledd by this disease to deaths

As numberles as creatures that must die,

I could not fhun the way: I know what 'tis
To pitty mad-men now; they're wretched things
That ever were created, if they be

Of woman's making, and her faithles vowes:
I fear they're now a kiffing: what's a clock ?
'Tis now but fupper-time: But night will come,
And all new-married copples make fhort fuppers.
What ere thou art, I have no fpare time to feare thee;
My horrors are fo ftrong and great already,
That thou feem'ft nothing: Up and laze not:
Hadft thou my bufynes, thou couldst nere fit foe;
'Twould firck thee into ayre a thousand mile,
Beyond thy oynetments: I would, I were read
So much in thy black powre, as mine owne greifes!
I'me in great need of help: wil't give me any?

Hec. Thy boldnes takes me bravely: we are all fworne
To fweatt for fuch a fpirit: See; I regard thee,

I rife, and bid thee wellcome. What's thy with now?

It

Seb. Oh my heart fwells with't. I must take breath first.

Hec. Is't to confound fome enemie on the feas?

may be don to night. Stadlin's within;

She raises all your fodaine ruinous stormes

That fhipwrack barks, and teares up growing oakes,

Flyes over houfes, and takes Anno Domini

Out of a rich man's chimney (a fweet place for't)

He would be hang'd ere he would fet his owne yeares there,
They must be chamber'd in a five-pound picture,

A greene filk curtaine drawne before the eies on't,
(His rotten difeasd yeares)! Or dost thou envy
The fat profperitie of any neighbour?

I'll call forth Hoppo, and her incantation
Can ftraight destroy the yong of all his cattell:

Blaft vine-yards, orchards, meadowes; or in one night

VOL. VII.

Qq

Transport his doong, hay, corne, by reekes, whole ftacks,
Into thine owne ground.

Seb. This would come moft richely now

To many a cuntry grazier: But my envy
Lies not fo lowe as cattell, corne, or vines:
'Twill trouble your beft powres to give me ease.

Hec. Is yt to ftarve up generation?

To ftrike a barrennes in man or woman?

Seb. Hah!

Hec. Hah! did you feele me there? I knew your griefe.
Seb. Can there be fuch things don?

Hec. Are theis the skins

Of ferpents? theis of fnakes?

Seb. I fee they are.

Hec. So fure into what houfe theis are convay'd
Knitt with theis charmes, and retentive knotts,
Neither the man begetts, nor woman breeds;
No, nor performes the leaft defire of wedlock,
Being then a mutuall dutie: I could give thee
Chiroconita, Adincantida,

Archimadon, Marmaritin, Calicia,

Which I could fort to villanous barren ends,

But this leades the fame way: More I could inftance:
As the fame needles thrust into their pillowes
That foawes and focks up dead men in their sheets:
A privy grizzel of a man that hangs

After fun-fett: Good, excellent: yet all's there (Sir).
Seb. You could not doe a man that speciall kindnes
part them utterly, now? Could you doe that?

Το

Hec. No: time must do't: we cannot disioyne wedlock : 'Tis of heaven's faftning: well may we raife jarrs,

Jealouzies, ftriffes, and hart-burning difagreements,
Like a thick fkurff ore life, as did our mafter

Upon that patient miracle: but the work itself
Our powre cannot dis-joynt.

Seb. I depart happy

In what I have then, being constrain❜d to this :

And graunt you (greater powres) that difpofe men,

That I may never need this hag agen.

[Exit.

Hec. I know he loves me not, nor there's no hope on't;

'Tis for the love of mifcheif I doe this,

And that we are fworne to the first oath we take.

Fire. Oh mother, mother.

Hec. What's the newes with thee now?

Fire. There's the braveft yong gentleman within, and the finelieft drunck: I thought he would have falne into the veffel: he ftumbled at a pipkin of childes greaze; reelde against Stadlin, over

threw her, and in the tumbling caft, ftruck up old Puckles heeles with her clothes over her eares.

Hec. Hoy-day!

Fire. I was fayne to throw the cat upon her, to fave her honestie; and all litle enough: I cryde out ftill, I pray be coverd. See where he comes now (Mother.)

Enter ALMACHILDES.

Alm. Call you theis witches?

They be tumblers me-thinckes, very flat tumblers.
Hec. 'Tis Almachildes: fresh blood ftirrs in me-
The man that I have lufted to enjoy :

I have had him thrice in Incubus already.
Al. Is your name gooddy Hag?

Hec. "Tis any thing.

Call me the horridft and unhallowed things

That life and nature trembles at; for thee

I'll be the fame. Thou com'ft for a love-charme now?
Al. Why thou'rt a witch, I thinck.

Hec. Thou fhalt have choice of twentie, wett, or drie.
Al. Nay let's have drie ones.

Hec. Yf thou wilt ufe't by way of cup and potion,

I'll give thee a Remora fhall be-witch her straight.
Al. A Remora? what's that?

Hec. A litle fuck-ftone,

Some call it a ftalamprey, a fmall fish.

Al. And muft 'be butter'd?

Hec. The bones of a greene frog too: wondrous pretious,

The flesh confum'd by pize-mires.

Al. Pize-mires! give me a chamber-pot.

Fire. You fhall fee him goe nighe to be fo unmannerly, hee'll

make water before my mother anon.

Al. And now you talke of frogs, I have fomewhat here:

I come not emptie pocketted from a bancket.

(I learn'd that of my haberdashers wife.)

Looke, gooddy witch, there's a tond in marchpane for you.
Hec. Oh fir, y'have fitted me.

Al. And here's a spawne or two

Of the fame paddock-brood too, for your fon.

Fire. I thanck your worship, fir: how comes your handkercher

fo fweetely thus beray'd? fure tis wett fucket, fir.

Al. 'Tis nothing but the firrup the toad fpit,

Take all I pree-thee.

Hec. This was kindly don, fir,

And you shall sup with me to-night for this.