Witch. Why, ’tis impossible; I’ve no such Art
As People think, to call up Spirits to me;
Nor know I any thing, but what is told me.
Jasp. Now you dissemble, Aunt, for han’t you often
Rais’d Storms, have rent up Trees, and shook strong
Towers? Seeming to threaten Nature with it’s end;
And at such times have sent strange shaped
Spirits, who have restored to owners stolen Goods.
These things so many know, it is impossible
For you to keep it private; but I find,
Rather then trust me with your mighty secrets,
Or help me with your Art, you’l see my Ruine.
Witch. These things you speak of, people think I do,
And so I’de have e’m; for tis the only way I have to Live:
The Vulgar People love to be deluded;
And things the most unlikely they most dote on;
A strange Disease in Cattle, Hogs or Pigs,
Or any Accident in Cheese or Butter;
Though’t be but Natural, or a Sluts fault,
Must strait be Witchcraft! Oh, the Witch was here!
The Ears or Tail is burn’d, the Churn is burn’d;
And this to hurt the Witch, when all the while
They’re likest Witches that believe such Cures;
Could I do all that People think I can,
I’de ne’re take pains to find out stolen Goods,
Or hold intelligence with Thieves to bring e’m,
Meerly to get my Bread; no, I would make
The Universe pay Tribute to my power,
And all the Bug-bear Lords Inquisitors
More tremble at my Name then I do now
At theirs: Ah, Jasper, would I raise
Storms when I would, blast Corn, turn Rivers backward
Change shapes, mov’d where I pleas’d i’th’ Air,
And that so fast, as thought it self would
Hardly overtake me:
What is’t I could not do? if all were true
The Foolish People think, the Pope himself would
Quickly lose Respect,
And none be thought infallible but I.
Jasp. I’m sure I tremble for your want of power,
More then I should to see Hells dreadfull’st shape,
For I must flye the Town.
Witch. Jasper, not so; though I can raise no Devils,
Yet I Confederate with Rogues and Juglers,
Things that can shape themselves like Elves,
And Goblins—
And often do like Spirits haunt great Houses,
Most times to steal, but many times for mirth;
Enter a little Devil, and tumbles the Summerset. These I’le soon send for; arise, my Pincula.
Jasp. Heav’ns bless me! save me, good Aunt.
Witch. From what? You Fool, ’tis but a little Boy,
Which I instruct to carry on my Cheats:
Come, leave your Fooling, I have bus’ness for you;
Uncase your self, and quickly go and find
Ranter, and Swash, Dive, Fob, Snap, Gilt, and Pick-lock,
Those are my Archest Devils; as you go
Call upon Dog’rell the Ballad-maker, and say
I want him strait, bid them be sure
To bring home half a dozen more with them,
For I shall need their help, let e’m not fail,
For money’s to be got.
Devil. ’Tis that will make e’m come; I’le haste, forsooth.
[Exit.
Jasp. I’m glad it’s gone, for surely it was a Devil,
What ever you pretend.