THE WITCH.
A Tragi-Coomodie, called The Witch; Long since acted by His
Maties Servants at the Black-Friers. Written by Tho. Middleton.
The MS., from which this drama is now given, forms part
of Malone’s Collection in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. In
1778 a small impression of The Witch was printed by Isaac
Reed, for distribution among his friends: it was intended
to exhibit the original text verbatim et literatim; but from a
collation which was obligingly made for me by the Rev.
Stephen Reay, I find that it is not without some errors and
omissions.
On the disputed question, whether this drama was composed
before or after the appearance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, see
the Account of Middleton and his writings.
Some of the incidents in The Witch were suggested by the
following passage of Machiavel’s Florentine History. “Their
[the Lombards’] kingdom descending upon Alboinus a bold
and warlike man, they passed the Danube, and encountering
Comundus King of the Lepides then possessed of Pannonia,
overthrew and slew him. Amongst the captives Alboinus
finds Rosamund the daughter of Comundus, and taking her
to wife becomes Lord of Pannonia; but out of a brutish fierceness
in his nature, he makes a drinking cup of Comundus’s
skull, and out of it used to carouse in memory of that victory.
Invited now by Narsetes, with whom he had been in league
during the Gothick war, he leaves Pannonia to the Huns, who,
as we have said, were after the death of Attila returned into
their own Countrey, and comes into Italy, which finding so
strangely divided, he in an instant possesses himself of Pavia,
Milan, Verona, Vicenza, all Tuscany, and the greatest part
of Flaminia, at this day called Romania. So that by these
great and sudden victories judging himself already Conquerour
of Italy, he makes a solemn feast at Verona, and in
the heat of wine growing merry, causes Comundus’s skull to
be filled full of wine, and would needs have it presented to
Queen Rosamund, who sate at table over against him, telling
her so loud that all might hear, that in such a time of mirth
he would have her drink with her father; those words were
as so many darts in the poor ladies bosome, and consulting
with revenge, she bethought her self, how Almachildis a noble
Lombard, young and valiant, courted one of the Ladies of her
bed-chamber; with her she contrives that she should promise
Almachildis the kindness of admitting him by night to her
chamber; and Almachildis according to her assignation being
received into a dark room, lyes with the Queen, whilest he
thought he lay with the Lady, who after the fact discovers
herself, offering to his choice either the killing of Alboinus
and enjoying her and the Crown, or the being made his sacrifice
for defiling his bed. Almachildis consents to kill Alboinus;
but they seeing afterwards their designs of seizing the kingdom
prove unsuccessful, nay rather fearing to be put to death
by the Lombards (such love bore they to Alboinus) they fled
with all the Royal Treasure to Longinus at Ravenna,” &c.
English translation, 1674, pp. 17, 18.
See also Histoires Tragiques de Belleforest, 1616, t. iv.
Hist. lxxiii.
TO THE
TRULY WORTHY AND GENEROUSLY AFFECTED
THOMAS HOLMES, Esquire.
Noble Sir,
As a true testimony of my ready inclination
to your service, I have, merely upon a taste of your
desire, recovered[465] into my hands, though not without
much difficulty, this ignorantly ill-fated labour
of mine.
Witches are, ipso facto, by the law condemned,
and that only, I think, hath made her lie so long in
an imprisoned obscurity. For your sake alone she
hath thus far conjured herself abroad, and bears no
other charms about her but what may tend to your
recreation, nor no other spell but to possess you
with a belief, that as she, so he that first taught
her to enchant, will always be
Your devoted
THO. MIDDLETON.
- Duke.
- Lord Governor of Ravenna.
- Sebastian, contracted to Isabella.
- Fernando, his friend.
- Antonio, husband to Isabella.
- Aberzanes,
Almachildes, gentlemen.
- Gasparo,
Hermio, servants to Antonio..
- Firestone, Hecate’s son.
- Servants, &c.
- Duchess.
- Isabella, wife to Antonio, and niece to the governor.
- Francisca, sister to Antonio.
- Amoretta, the duchess’s woman.
- Florida, a courtesan.
- Hecate, the chief witch.
- Stadlin,
Hoppo, witches.
- Other Witches, &c.
Scene, Ravenna and its neighbourhood.
ACT I. SCENE I.
An Apartment in the House of the Lord Governor: a banquet set out.
Enter Sebastian and Fernando.
Seb. My three years spent in war has now undone
My peace for ever.
Fer. Good, be patient, sir.
Seb. She is my wife by contract before heaven
And all the angels, sir.
Fer. I do believe you;
But where’s the remedy now? you see she’s gone,
Another has possession.
Seb. There’s the torment!
Fer. This day, being the first of your return,
Unluckily proves the first too of her fastening.
Her uncle, sir, the governor of Ravenna,
Holding a good opinion of the bridegroom,
As he’s fair-spoken, sir, and wondrous mild——
Seb. There goes the devil in a sheep-skin!
Fer. With all speed
Clapp’d it up suddenly: I cannot think, sure,
That the maid over-loves him; though being married,
Perhaps, for her own credit, now she intends
Performance of an honest, duteous wife.
Seb. Sir, I’ve a world of business: question nothing;
You will but lose your labour; ’tis not fit
For any, hardly mine own secrecy,
To know what I intend. I take my leave, sir.
I find such strange employments in myself,
That unless death pity me and lay me down,
I shall not sleep these seven years; that’s the least, sir.
[Exit.
Fer. That sorrow’s dangerous can abide no counsel;
’Tis like a wound past cure: wrongs done to love
Strike the heart deeply; none can truly judge on’t
But the poor sensible sufferer whom it racks
With unbelieved pains, which men in health,
That enjoy love, not possibly can act,
Nay, not so much as think. In troth, I pity him:
His sighs drink life-blood in this time of feasting.
A banquet towards
[466] too! not yet hath riot
Play’d out her last scene? at such entertainments still
Forgetfulness obeys, and surfeit governs:
Here’s marriage sweetly honour’d in gorg’d stomachs
And overflowing cups!
Enter Gasparo and Servant.
Gas. Where is she, sirrah?
Ser. Not far off.
Gas. Prithee, where? go fetch her hither:
I’ll rid him away straight.— [Exit Servant.
The duke’s
[467] now risen, sir.
Fer. I am a joyful man to hear it, sir,
It seems has drunk the less; though I think he
That has the least has certainly enough. [Exit.
Gas. I have observ’d this fellow: all the feast-time
He hath not pledg’d one cup, but look’d most wickedly
Upon good Malaga; flies to the black-jack still,
And sticks to small drink like a water-rat.
O, here she comes:
Alas, the poor whore weeps!
’Tis not for grace now, all the world must judge;
It is for spleen and madness 'gainst this marriage:
I do but think how she could beat the vicar now,
Scratch the man horribly that gave the woman,
The woman worst of all, if she durst do it. [Aside.
Why, how now, mistress? this weeping needs not; for though
My master marry for his reputation,
He means to keep you too.
Flo. How, sir?
Gas. He doth indeed;
He swore’t to me last night. Are you so simple,
And have been five years traded, as to think
One woman would serve him? fie, not an empress!
Why, he’ll be sick o’ th’ wife within ten nights,
Or never trust my judgment.
Flo. Will he, think’st thou?
Gas. Will he!
Flo. I find thee still so comfortable,
Beshrew my heart, if I know
[468] how to miss thee:
They talk of gentlemen, perfumers, and such things;
Give me the kindness of the master’s man
In my distress, say I.
Gas. ’Tis your great love, forsooth.
Please you withdraw yourself to yond private parlour;
I’ll send you venison, custard, parsnip-pie;
For banqueting stuff, as suckets,
[469] jellies, sirups,
I will bring in myself.
Flo. I’ll take 'em kindly, sir. [Exit.
Gas. Sh’as your grand strumpet’s complement to a tittle.
’Tis a fair building: it had need; it has
Just at this time some one and twenty inmates;
But half of 'em are young merchants, they’ll depart shortly;
They take but rooms for summer, and away they
When’t grows foul weather: marry, then come the termers,
[470]And commonly they’re well-booted for all seasons.
But peace, no word; the guests are coming in. [Retires.
Enter Almachildes and Amoretta.
Alm. The fates have bless’d me; have I met you privately?
Am. Why, sir, why, Almachildes!——
Alm. Not a kiss?
Am. I’ll call aloud, i’faith.
Alm. I’ll stop your mouth.
Am. Upon my love to reputation,
I’ll tell the duchess once more.
Alm. ’Tis the way
To make her laugh a little.
Am. She’ll not think
That you dare use a maid of honour thus.
Alm. Amsterdam
[471] swallow thee for a puritan,
And Geneva cast thee up again! like she that sunk
[472]At Charing Cross, and rose again at Queenhithe!
Am. Ay, these are the silly fruits of the sweet vine, sir. [Retires.
Alm. Sweet venery be with thee, and I at the tail
Of my wish! I am a little headstrong, and so
Are most of the company. I will to the witches.
They say they have charms
[473] and tricks to make
A wench fall backwards, and lead a man herself
To a country-house,
[474] some mile out of the town,
Like a fire-drake. There be such whoreson kind girls
And such bawdy witches; and I’ll try conclusions.
[475]
Enter Duke, Duchess, Lord Governor, Antonio, Isabella, and Francisca.
Duke. A banquet
[476] yet! why surely, my lord governor,
Bacchus could ne’er boast of a day till now,
To spread his power, and make his glory known.
Duch. Sir, you’ve done nobly; though in modesty
You keep it from us, know, we understand so much,
All this day’s cost ’tis your great love bestows,
In honour of the bride, your virtuous neice.
Gov. In love to goodness and your presence, madam;
So understood, ’tis rightly.
Duke. Now will I
Have a strange health after all these.
Gov. What’s that, my lord?
Duke. A health in a strange cup; and 't shall go round.
Gov. Your grace need not doubt that, sir, having seen
So many pledg’d already: this fair company
Cannot shrink now for one, so it end there.
Duke. It shall, for all ends here: here’s a full period.
[Produces a skull set as a cup.
Gov. A skull, my lord?
Duke. Call it a soldier’s cup, man:
Fie, how you fright the women! I have sworn
It shall go round, excepting only you, sir,
For your late sickness, and the bride herself,
Whose health it is.
Isa. Marry, I thank heaven for that!
Duke. Our duchess, I know, will pledge us, though the cup
Was once her father’s head, which, as a trophy,
We’ll keep till death in memory of that conquest.
He was the greatest foe our steel e’er strook at,
And he was bravely slain: then took we thee
Into our bosom’s love: thou mad’st the peace
For all thy country, thou, that beauty, did.
We’re dearer than a father, are we not?
Duch. Yes, sir, by much.
Duke. And we shall find that straight.
Ant. That’s an ill bride-cup for a marriage-day,
I do not like the face on’t.
Gov. Good my lord,
The duchess looks pale: let her not pledge you there.
Duke. Pale?
Duch. Sir, not I.
Duke. See how your lordship fails now;
The rose not fresher, nor the sun at rising
More comfortably pleasing.
Duch. Sir, to you,
The lord of this day’s honour. [Drinks.
Ant. All first moving
From your grace, madam, and the duke’s great favour,
Since it must. [Drinks.
Fran. This the worst fright that could come
To a conceal’d great belly! I’m with child;
And this will bring it out, or make me come
Some seven weeks sooner than we maidens reckon.
[Aside.
Duch. Did ever cruel barbarous art match this?
Twice have
[477] his surfeits brought my father’s memory
Thus spitefully and scornfully to mine eyes;
And I’ll endure’t no more; ’tis in my heart since:
I’ll be reveng’d as far as death can lead one.
[Aside.
Alm. Am I the last man, then? I may deserve
To be first one day. [Drinks.
Gov. Sir, it has gone round now.
Duke. The round?
[478] an excellent way to train up soldiers!
Where’s bride and bridegroom?
Ant. At your happy service.
Duke. A boy to-night, at least; I charge you look to’t,
Or I’ll renounce you for industrious subjects.
Ant. Your grace speaks like a worthy and tried soldier.
Gas. And you’ll do well for one that ne’er toss’d pike, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Hec. Titty and Tiffin, Suckin and Pidgen, Liard
and Robin! white spirits, black spirits, grey spirits,
red spirits! devil-toad, devil-ram, devil-cat, and
devil-dam! why, Hoppo and Stadlin,[480] Hellwain[481]
and Puckle![482]
Stad. [within] Here, sweating at the vessel.
Hec. Boil it well.
Hop. [within] It gallops now.
Hec. Are the flames blue enough?
Or shall I use a little seething more?
Stad. [
within] The nips of fairies
[483] 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 these serpents,
And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour:
Enter Stadlin with a dish.
Stad. Here’s Stadlin and the dish.
Hec. There, take this unbaptised brat;
[485]
[Giving the dead body of a child.
Boil it well; preserve the fat:
You know ’tis precious to transfer
Our 'nointed flesh into the air,
In moonlight nights, on 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 leek
[486]A russet mole upon some lady’s cheek.
When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing,
Dance, kiss, and coll,
[487] 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. Last night thou got’st the mayor of Whelplie’s
[488] son;
I knew him by his black cloak lin’d with yellow;
I think thou’st spoil’d the youth, he’s but seventeen:
I’ll have him the next mounting. Away, in:
Go, feed the vessel for the second hour.
Stad. Where be the magical herbs?
Hec. They’re down his throat;
[489]
His mouth cramm’d full, his ears and nostrils stuff’d.
I thrust in eleoselinum lately,
Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot—
You may see that, he looks so b[l]ack i’ th’ mouth—
Then sium, acorum vulgare too,
Pentaphyllon,
[490] the blood of a flitter-mouse,
[491]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 th’ fire yet?
Stad. They’re a-roasting both too.
Hec. Good [exit Stadlin]; then their marrows are a-melting subtly,
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,
[492]Their brew-locks, nor their batches, nor forespoke
Any of their breedings. Now I’ll be meet
[493] with 'em:
Seven of their young pigs I’ve bewitch’d 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 sup
Each milch-kine gives to th’ pail: I’ll send these snakes
Shall milk 'em all
Beforehand; the dew-skirted
[494] dairy-wenches
Shall stroke dry dugs for this, and go home cursing;
I’ll mar their sillabubs and swathy feastings
[495]Under cows’ bellies with the parish-youths.
Where’s Firestone, our son Firestone?
Fire. Here am I, mother.
Hec. Take in this brazen dish full of dear ware:
[Gives dish.
Thou shalt have all when I die; and that will be
Even just at twelve a’ clock at night come three year.
Fire. And may you not have one a’ clock in to
th’ dozen, mother?
Hec. No.
Fire. Your spirits are, then, more unconscionable
than bakers. You’ll have lived then, mother, sixscore
year to the hundred; and, methinks, after
sixscore years, the devil might give you a cast, for
he’s a fruiterer too, and has been from the beginning;
the first apple that e’er was eaten came
through his fingers: the costermonger’s,[496] then, I
hold to be the ancientest trade, though some would
have the tailor pricked down before him.
Hec. Go, and take heed you shed not by the way;
The hour must have her portion: ’tis dear sirup;
Each charmed drop is able to confound
A family consisting of nineteen
Or one-and-twenty feeders.
Fire. Marry, here’s stuff indeed!
Dear sirup call you it? a little thing
Would make me give you a dram on’t in a posset,
And cut you three years shorter. [Aside.
Hec. Thou art now
About some villany.
Fire. Not I, forsooth.—
Truly the devil’s in her, I think: how one villain
smells out another straight! there’s no knavery
but is nosed like a dog, and can smell out a dog’s
meaning. [Aside.]—Mother, I pray, give me leave
to ramble abroad to-night with the Nightmare, for
I have a great mind to overlay a fat parson’s
daughter.
Hec. And who shall lie with me, then?
Fire. The great cat
For one night, mother; ’tis but a night:
Make shift with him for once.
Hec. You’re a kind son!
But ’tis the nature of you all, I see that;
You had rather hunt after strange women still
Than lie with your own mothers. Get thee gone;
Sweat thy six ounces out about the vessel,
And thou shalt play at midnight; the Nightmare
Shall call thee when it walks.
Fire. Thanks, most sweet mother. [Exit.
Hec. Urchins, Elves, Hags, Satyrs, Pans, Fawns,
Sylvans,
[497] Kitt-with-the-candlestick, Tritons, Centaurs,
Dwarfs, Imps, the Spoo[r]n, the Mare, the
Man-i’-th’-oak, the Hellwain, the Fire-drake, the
Puckle! A ab hur hus!
Seb. Heaven knows with what unwillingness and hate
I enter this damn’d place: but such extremes
Of wrongs in love fight 'gainst religion’s knowledge,
That were I led by this disease to deaths
As numberless as creatures that must die,
I could not shun the way. I know what ’tis
To pity madmen now; they’re wretched things
That ever were created, if they be
Of woman’s making, and her faithless vows.
I fear they’re now a-kissing: what’s a’clock?
’Tis now but supper-time; but night will come,
And all new-married couples make short suppers.—
Whate’er thou art, I’ve no spare time to fear thee;
My horrors are so strong and great already,
That thou seemest nothing. Up, and laze not:
Hadst thou my business, thou couldst ne’er sit so;
'Twould firk thee into air a thousand mile,
Beyond thy ointments. I would I were read
So much in thy black power as
[498] mine own griefs!
I’m in great need of help; wilt give me any?
Hec. Thy boldness takes me bravely; we’re all sworn
To sweat for such a spirit: see, I regard thee;
I rise and bid thee welcome. What’s thy wish now?
Seb. O, my heart swells with’t! I must take breath first.
Hec. Is’t to confound some enemy on the seas?
It may be done to-night: Stadlin’s within;
[499]She raises all your sudden ruinous storms,
That shipwreck barks, and tear
[500] up growing oaks,
Fly over houses, and take
Anno Domini[501]Out of a rich man’s chimney—a sweet place for’t!
He’d be hang’d ere he would set his own years there;
They must be chamber’d in a five-pound picture,
A green silk curtain drawn before the eyes on’t;
His rotten, diseas’d years!—or dost thou envy
The fat prosperity of any neighbour?
I’ll call forth Hoppo, and her incantation
Can straight destroy the young of all his cattle;
Blast vineyards, orchards, meadows; or in one night
Transport his dung, hay, corn, by reeks,
[502] whole stacks,
Into thine own ground.
Seb. This would come most richly now
To many a country grazier; but my envy
Lies not so low as cattle, corn, or vines:
'Twill trouble your best powers to give me ease.
Hec. Is it to starve up generation?
To strike a barrenness in man or woman?
Seb. Hah!
Hec. Hah, did you feel me there? I knew your grief.
Seb. Can there be such things done?
Hec. Are these the skins
Of serpents? these of snakes?
Seb. I see they are.
Hec. So sure into what house these are convey’d,
[Giving serpent-skins, &c. to Sebastian.
Knit with these charms
[503] and retentive knots,
Neither the man begets nor woman breeds,
No, nor performs the least desires of wedlock,
Being then a mutual duty. I could give thee
Chirocineta,
[504] adincantida,
Archimedon, marmaritin, calicia,
Which I could sort to villanous barren ends;
But this leads the same way. More I could instance;
As, the same needles thrust into their pillows
That sew and sock
[505] up dead men in their sheets;
A privy gristle of a man that hangs
After sunset; good, excellent; yet all’s there, sir.
Seb. You could not do a man that special kindness
To part 'em utterly now? could you do that?
Hec. No, time must do’t: we cannot disjoin wedlock;
’Tis of heaven’s fastening. Well may we raise jars,
Jealousies, strifes, and heart-burning disagreements,
Like a thick scurf o’er life, as did our master
Upon that patient miracle;
[506] but the work itself
Our power cannot disjoint.
Seb. I depart happy
In what I have then, being constrain’d to this.—
And grant, you greater powers that dispose men,
That I may never need this hag agen!
[507]
