Sir Arth. But these men-witches
Are not in trading with hell’s merchandise,
Like such as you are, that for a word, a look,
Denial of a coal of fire, kill men,
Children, and cattle.
M. Saw. Tell them, sir, that do so:
Am I accused for such an one?
Sir Arth. Yes; ’twill be sworn.
M. Saw. Dare any swear I ever tempted maiden
With golden hooks flung at her chastity
To come and lose her honour; and being lost,
To pay not a denier[447] for’t? Some slaves have done it.
Men-witches can, without the fangs of law
Drawing once one drop of blood, put counterfeit pieces
Away for true gold.
Sir Arth. By one thing she speaks
I know now she’s a witch, and dare no longer
Hold conference with the fury.
Just. Let’s, then, away.—
Old woman, mend thy life; get home and pray. [Exeunt Sir Arthur and Justice.
M. Saw. For his confusion.
Enter the Dog.
My dear Tom-boy, welcome!
I’m torn in pieces by a pack of curs
Clapt all upon me, and for want of thee:
Comfort me; thou shall have the teat anon.