HATHORNE. For one, I do not fear excess of zeal. What do we gain by parleying with the Devil? You reason, but you hesitate to act! Ah, reverend sir! believe me, in such cases The only safety is in acting promptly. 'T is not the part of wisdom to delay In things where not to do is still to do A deed more fatal than the deed we shrink from. You are a man of books and meditation, But I am one who acts.
MATHER.
God give us wisdom
In the directing of this thorny business,
And guide us, lest New England should become
Of an unsavory and sulphurous odor
In the opinion of the world abroad!
The clock strikes.
I never hear the striking of a clock Without a warning and an admonition That time is on the wing, and we must quicken Our tardy pace in journeying Heavenward, As Israel did in journeying Canaan-ward!
They rise.
HATHORNE. Then let us make all haste; and I will show you In what disguises and what fearful shapes The Unclean Spirits haunt this neighborhood, And you will pardon my excess of zeal.
MATHER.
Ah, poor New England! He who hurricanoed
The house of Job is making now on thee
One last assault, more deadly and more snarled
With unintelligible circumstances
Than any thou hast hitherto encountered!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A room in WALCOT'S House. MARY WALCOT seated in an arm-chair. TITUBA with a mirror.
MARY. Tell me another story, Tituba. A drowsiness is stealing over me Which is not sleep; for, though I close mine eyes, I am awake, and in another world. Dim faces of the dead and of the absent Come floating up before me,—floating, fading, And disappearing.
TITUBA.
Look into this glass.
What see you?