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Hec. Boil it well.
Hec. Are the flames blue enough,
Stad. The nips of fairies upon maids' white hips Are not more perfect azure.
Hec. Tend it carefully.
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.
Stad. Where be the magical herbs ?
Hec. They're down his throat, *
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
paring for their midnight journey through the air.
Hec. Ay, is’t not, wenches,
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
Hec. You are fortunate still:
furnished? Have you your ointments ?
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. Here's pannax too : I thank thee, my pan aches, I am sure, with kneeling down to cut 'em.
Hec. And selago,
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.
Hecate, Hecate, come away!
come, With all the speed I may,
* Probably the true reading is after 't.
With all the speed I may !
[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?
Spirit. All goes still to our delight:
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,