GLOYD. Quick, or we shall be late!
A MAN.
That's not the way.
Come here; come up this lane.
GLOYD.
I wonder now
If the old man will die, and will not speak?
He's obstinate enough and tough enough
For anything on earth.
A bell tolls.
Hark! What is that?
A MAN. The passing bell. He's dead!
GLOYD.
We are too late.
[Exeunt in haste.
SCENE IV. — A field near the graveyard, GILES COREY lying dead, with a great stone on his breast. The Sheriff at his head, RICHARD GARDNER at his feet. A crowd behind. The bell tolling. Enter HATHORNE and MATHER.
HATHORNE. This is the Potter's Field. Behold the fate Of those who deal in Witchcrafts, and, when questioned, Refuse to plead their guilt or innocence, And stubbornly drag death upon themselves.
MATHER. O sight most horrible! In a land like this, Spangled with Churches Evangelical, Inwrapped in our salvations, must we seek In mouldering statute-books of English Courts Some old forgotten Law, to do such deeds? Those who lie buried in the Potter's Field Will rise again, as surely as ourselves That sleep in honored graves with epitaphs; And this poor man, whom we have made a victim, Hereafter will be counted as a martyr!