Act III: Scene IV. — Meadows on Ipswich River, Corey and His Men Mowing; Corey in Advance

COREY.Well done, my men. You see, I lead the field!I'm an old man, but I can swing a scytheBetter than most of you, though you be younger.

GLOYD (aside to the others).How strong he is! It's supernatural.No man so old as he is has such strength.The Devil helps him!

COREY (wiping his forehead).Now we'll rest awhile,And take our nooning. What's the matter with you?You are not angry with me,--are you, Gloyd?Come, come, we will not quarrel. Let's be friends.It's an old story, that the Raven said,"Read the Third of Colossians and fifteenth."

GLOYD.You're handier at the scythe, but I can beat youAt wrestling.

COREY.Well, perhaps so. I don't know.I never wrestled with you. Why, you're vexed!Come, come, don't bear a grudge.

GLOYD.You are afraid.

COREY.What should I be afraid of? All bear witnessThe challenge comes from him. Now, then, my man.

That's a fair fall.

ANOTHER.'T was nothing but a foil!

OTHERS.You've hurt him!

COREY (helping GLOYD rise).No; this meadow-land is soft.You're not hurt,--are you, Gloyd?

GLOYD (rising).No, not much hurt.

COREY.Well, then, shake hands; and there's an end of it.How do you like that Cornish hug, my lad?And now we'll see what's in our basket here.

GLOYD (aside).The Devil and all his imps are in that man!The clutch of his ten fingers burns like fire!

COREY (reverentially taking off his hat).God bless the food He hath provided for us,And make us thankful for it, for Christ's sake!

GLOYD.Do you see that? Don't tell me it's not WitchcraftTwo of us could not lift that cask as he does!

VOICE.Ho! Corey, Corey!

COREY.What is that? I surelyHeard some one calling me by name!

VOICE.Giles Corey!

BOY.Is Master Corey here?

COREY.Yes, here I am.BOY.O Master Corey!

COREY.Well?

BOY.Your wife--your wife--

COREY.What's happened to my wife?

BOY.She's sent to prison!

COREY.The dream! the dream! O God, be merciful!

BOY.She sent me here to tell you.

COREY (putting on his jacket).Where's my horse?Don't stand there staring, fellows.Where's my horse?

GLOYD.Under the trees there. Run, old man, run, run!You've got some one to wrestle with you nowWho'll trip your heels up, with your Cornish hug.If there's a Devil, he has got you now.Ah, there he goes! His horse is snorting fire!

John Gloyd, don't talk so! It's a shame to talk so!He's a good master, though you quarrel with him.

GLOYD.If hard work and low wages make good masters,Then he is one. But I think otherwise.Come, let us have our dinner and be merry,And talk about the old man and the Witches.I know some stories that will make you laugh.

Now there are Goody Cloyse and Goody Good,Who have not got a decent tooth between them,And yet these children--the Afflicted Children--Say that they bite them, and show marks of teethUpon their arms!

That makes the wonder greater.That's Witchcraft. Why, if they had teeth like yours,'T would be no wonder if the girls were bitten!

GLOYD.And then those ghosts that come out of their gravesAnd cry, "You murdered us! you murdered us!"

And all those Apparitions that stick pinsInto the flesh of the Afflicted Children!

GLOYD.Oh those Afflicted Children! They know wellWhere the pins come from. I can tell you that.And there's old Corey, he has got a horseshoeNailed on his doorstep to keep off the Witches,And all the same his wife has gone to prison.

Oh, she's no Witch. I'll swear that Goodwife CoreyNever did harm to any living creature.She's a good woman, if there ever was one.

GLOYD.Well, we shall see. As for that Bridget Bishop,She has been tried before; some years agoA negro testified he saw her shapeSitting upon the rafters in a barn,And holding in its hand an egg; and whileHe went to fetch his pitchfork, she had vanished.And now be quiet, will you? I am tired,And want to sleep here on the grass a little.

There may be Witches riding through the airOver our heads on broomsticks at this moment,Bound for some Satan's Sabbath in the woodsTo be baptized.

GLOYD.I wish they'd take you with them,And hold you under water, head and ears,Till you were drowned; and that would stop your talking,If nothing else will. Let me sleep, I say.