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these serpents,

Hec. Boil it well.
Hop. It gallops now!

Hec. Are the flames blue enough,
Or shall I use a little seeten* more?

Stad. The nips of fairies upon maids' white hips Are not more perfect azure.

Hec. Tend it carefully.
Send Stadlin to me with a brazen dish,
That I may fall to work upon
And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour,
Why! when ?

Stad. Here's Stadlin, and the dish.

Hec. Here, take this unbaptized brat! Boil it well-preserve the fat: You know 'tis precious to transfer Our 'nointed flesh into the air, In moonlight nights, o'er steeple-tops, Mountains, and pine-trees, that like pricks, or stops, Seem to our height: high towers, and roofs of princes, Like wrinkles in the earth : whole provinces Appear to our sight then even like A russet mole upon some lady's cheek. When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing, Dance, kiss, and coll, use every thing: What young man can we wish to pleasure us, But we enjoy him in an incubus ? Thou know'st it, Stadlin?

Stad. Usually that's done.

Hec. Away ! in! Go feed the vessel for the second hour.

* Seething.

Stad. Where be the magical herbs ?

Hec. They're down his throat, *
His mouth crammed full; his ears and nostrils stuffed.
I thrust in eleaselinum, lately
Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot.
You may see that, he looks so black i'th' mouth.
Then sium, acharum, vulgaro too,
Dentaphillon, the blood of a flitter-mouse,
Solanum somnificum et oleum.

Stad. Then there's all, Hecate.

Hec. Is the heart of wax Stuck full of magic needles ?

Stad. 'Tis done, Hecate.

Hec. And is the farmer's picture, and his wife's, Laid down to the fire yet ?

Stad. They are a-roasting both, too.

Hec. Good! Then their marrows are a-melting subtilly, And three months' sickness sucks up life in 'em. They denied me often flour, barm, and milk, Goose-grease and tar, when I ne'er hurt their churnings, Their brew-locks nor their batches, nor forespoke Any of their breedings. Now I'll be meet with 'em. Seven of their young pigs I have bewitched already Of the last litter, nine ducklings, thirteen goslings, and a hog, Fell lame last Sunday, after even-song too. And mark how their sheep prosper; or what soup Each milch-kine gives to th' pail : I'll send these snakes Shall milk'em all beforehand; the dewed skirted dairy-wench Shall stroke dry dugs for this, and go home cursing !

* The dead child's.

I'll mar their sillabubs, and swarthy feastings
Under cows' bellies, with the parish youths.
HeCATE, STADLIN, Hoppo, with the other Witches, pre-

paring for their midnight journey through the air.
FIRESTONE, Hecate's Son.
Hec. The Moon's a gallant: see how brisk she rides !
Stad. Here's a rich evening, Hecate.

Hec. Ay, is’t not, wenches,
To take a journey of five thousand mile?

Hop. Ours will be more to-night.

Hec. Oh, 'twill be precious ! Heard


the owl yet? Stad. Briefly in the copse, As we came through now.

Hec. 'Tis high time for us, then.

Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times
As we came through the woods, and drank her fill.
Old Puckle saw her.

Hec. You are fortunate still:
The very screech-owl lights upon your shoulder,
And woos you like a pigeon. Are you

furnished? Have you your ointments ?

Stad. All.

Hec. Prepare to fight, then I'll overtake you swiftly.

Stad. Hie thee, Hecate ! We shall be up betimes.

Hec. I'll reach you quickly. [The other Witches mount.

Fire. They are all going a-birding to-night. They talk of fowls in the air, that Ay by day; I am sure, they'll be a company of foul sluts there to-night. If we have not mor

tality offered, * I'll be hanged; for they are able to putrefy it, to infect a whole region.—She spies me now.

Hec. What! Firestone, our sweet son ?

Fire. A little sweeter than some of you; or a dunghill were too good for me.

Hec. How much hast here?

Fire. Nineteen, and all brave plump ones ; besides six lizards, and three serpentine eggs.

Hec. Dear and sweet boy, what herbs hast thou ?
Fire. I have some marmartin and mandragon.
Hec. Marmaritin and mandragora, thou wouldst say.

Fire. Here's pannax too : I thank thee, my pan aches, I am sure, with kneeling down to cut 'em.

Hec. And selago,
Hedge-hyssop too: how near he goes my cuttings !
Were they all cropped by moonlight?
Fire. Every blade of 'em, or I am a moon-

on-calf, mother.
Hec. Hie thee home with 'em.
Look well to the house to-night; I am for aloft.
Fire. Aloft, quoth you? I would you

would break your neck once, that I might have all quickly. Hark! hark, mother! they are above the steeple already, flying over your head with a noise of musicians.

Hec. They are indeed. Help me, help me! I'm too late else.

Song in the Air.
Come away, come away!

Hecate, Hecate, come away!
Hec. I come,




come, With all the speed I may,

* Probably the true reading is after 't.

I inuse,

With all the speed I may !
Where's Stadlin?

[Above.] Here!
Hec. Where's Puckle ?

[Above.] Here!
And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too:
We lack but you, we lack but you ;
Come away! make up

the count.
Hec. I will but ’noint, and then I mount.

[A Spirit like a cat descends. [Above.] There's one come down to fetch his dues ; A kiss, a coll, a slip of blood : And why thou stay’st so long, I muse, Since the air's so sweet and good.

Hec. Oh, art thou come?
What news? what news ?

Spirit. All goes still to our delight:
Either come, or else
Refuse, refuse.

Hec. Now I am furnished for the flight.

Fire. Hark, hark! the cat sings a brave treble in her own language.

Hec. [Going up.] Now I go, now I fly,
Malkin my sweet Spirit and I.
Oh, what a dainty pleasure 'tis
To ride in the air
When the moon shines fair,
And sing, and dance, and toy, and kiss !
Over woods, high rocks, and mountains,
Over seas (our mistress' fountains),
Over steep towers and turrets,
We fly by night ’mongst troops of spirits.

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