Magistrate. ‘Pray what ails these people?’
Martin. ‘I don’t know.’
Magistrate. ‘But what do you think ails them?’
Martin. ‘I do not desire to spend my judgment upon it.’
Magistrate. ‘Don’t you think they are bewitched?’
Martin. ‘No, I do not think they are.’
Magistrate. ‘Tell me your thoughts about them, then?’
Martin. ‘No: my thoughts are my own, when they are in, but when they are out, then another’s their master.’
Magistrate. ‘Their master! who do you think is their master?’
Martin. ‘If they be dealing in the black art you may know as well as I.’