Enter Old Thorney and Winnifred weeping.
O. Thor. Here let our sorrows wait him; to press nearer
The place of his sad death, some apprehensions
May tempt our grief too much, at height already.—
Daughter be comforted.
Win. Comfort and I
Are far too separated to be joined.
But in eternity: I share too much
Of him that’s going thither.
Car. Poor woman, ’twas not thy fault; I grieve to see thee weep for him that hath my pity too.
Win. My fault was lust, my punishment was shame.
Yet I am happy that my soul is free
Both from consent, foreknowledge, and intent
Of any murder but of mine own honour,
Restored again by a fair satisfaction,
And since not to be wounded.
O. Thor. Daughter, grieve not
For what necessity forceth;
Rather resolve to conquer it with patience.—
Alas, she faints!
Win. My griefs are strong upon me;
My weakness scarce can bear them.
[Within.] Away with her! hang her, witch!
Enter to execution Mother Sawyer; Officers with halberds, followed by a crowd of Country-people.
Car. The witch, that instrument of mischief! Did not she witch the devil into my son-in-law, when he killed my poor daughter? Do you hear, Mother Sawyer?