A witch? Ay, wise men always carry witch-bane
When they’ve to do with women. Witch, say you?
Eh, lad, but you’ve been walking widdershins:
You’d best turn deazil, crook your thumbs, my callant,
And gather cowgrass, if you’d break the spell,
And send the old witch skiting on her broomstick.
They said that you’d make tracks for Krindlesyke:
And they’d cop you here, for certain—dig you out
Like a badger from his earth. I left them talking.
Jim:
Where, you hell-hag?
Bell:
Ah, where? You’d like to learn?
It’s well to keep a civil tongue with witches,
If you’ve no sliver of rowan in your pocket:
Though it won’t need any witch, my jackadandy,
To clap the clicking jimmies round your wrists.
To think I fashed myself to give you warning:
And this is all the thanks I get! Well, well—
They’ll soon be here. As I came up Bloodysyke ...
Jim:
Up Bloodysyke: and they were following?
I’d best cut over Gallows Rigg. My God,
The hunt’s afoot ... But it may be a trap—
And you ... And you ...
Bell:
Nay: but I’m no ratcatcher.
You’d best turn tail, before the terriers sight you.
(As Jim bolts past her and through the open door)