Act I

On the pulpit, an hour-glass; below, a box for contributions.JOHN NORTON in the pulpit. GOVERNOR ENDICOTT in a canopied seat,attended by four halberdiers. The congregation singing.

The Lord descended from above,And bowed the heavens high;And underneath his feet He castThe darkness of the sky.

On Cherubim and SeraphimRight royally He rode,And on the wings of mighty windsCame flying all abroad.

NORTON (rising and turning the hourglass on the pulpit).I heard a great voice from the temple sayingUnto the Seven Angels, Go your ways;Pour out the vials of the wrath of GodUpon the earth. And the First Angel wentAnd poured his vial on the earth; and straightThere fell a noisome and a grievous soreOn them which had the birth-mark of the Beast,And them which worshipped and adored his image.On us hath fallen this grievous pestilence.There is a sense of terror in the air;And apparitions of things horribleAre seen by many; from the sky above usThe stars fall; and beneath us the earth quakes!The sound of drums at midnight from afar,The sound of horsemen riding to and fro,As if the gates of the invisible worldWere opened, and the dead came forth to warn us,--All these are omens of some dire disasterImpending over us, and soon to fall,Moreover, in the language of the Prophet,Death is again come up into our windows,To cut off little children from without,And young men from the streets. And in the midstOf all these supernatural threats and warningsDoth Heresy uplift its horrid head;A vision of Sin more awful and appallingThan any phantasm, ghost, or apparition,As arguing and portending some enlargementOf the mysterious Power of Darkness!

EDITH, barefooted, and clad in sackcloth, with her hair hangingloose upon her shoulders, walks slowly up the aisle, followed byWHARTON and other Quakers. The congregation starts up inconfusion.

EDITH (to NORTON, raising her hand).Peace!

Anathema maranatha! The Lord cometh!

Yea, verily He cometh, and shall judgeThe shepherds of Israel who do feed themselves,And leave their flocks to eat what they have troddenBeneath their feet.

Be silent, babbling woman!St. Paul commands all women to keep silenceWithin the churches.

Yet the women prayedAnd prophesied at Corinth in his day;And, among those on whom the fiery tonguesOf Pentecost descended, some were women!

The Elders of the Churches, by our law,Alone have power to open the doors of speechAnd silence in the Assembly. I command you!

The law of God is greater than your laws!Ye build your church with blood, your town with crime;The heads thereof give judgment for reward;The priests thereof teach only for their hire;Your laws condemn the innocent to death;And against this I bear my testimony!

What testimony?

That of the Holy Spirit,Which, as your Calvin says, surpasseth reason.

The laborer is worthy of his hire.

Yet our great Master did not teach for hire,And the Apostles without purse or scripWent forth to do his work. Behold this boxBeneath thy pulpit. Is it for the poor?Thou canst not answer. It is for the PriestAnd against this I bear my testimony.

Away with all these Heretics and Quakers!Quakers, forsooth! Because a quaking fellOn Daniel, at beholding of the Vision,Must ye needs shake and quake? Because IsaiahWent stripped and barefoot, must ye wail and howl?Must ye go stripped and naked? must ye makeA wailing like the dragons, and a mourningAs of the owls? Ye verify the adageThat Satan is God's ape! Away with them!

Thus freely do the Reprobates commitSuch measure of iniquity as fits themFor the intended measure of God's wrathAnd even in violating God's commandsAre they fulfilling the divine decree!The will of man is but an instrumentDisposed and predetermined to its actionAccording unto the decree of God,Being as much subordinate theretoAs is the axe unto the hewer's hand!

The omens and the wonders of the time,Famine, and fire, and shipwreck, and disease,The blast of corn, the death of our young men,Our sufferings in all precious, pleasant things,Are manifestations of the wrath divine,Signs of God's controversy with New England.These emissaries of the Evil One,These servants and ambassadors of Satan,Are but commissioned executionersOf God's vindictive and deserved displeasure.We must receive them as the Roman BishopOnce received Attila, saying, I rejoiceYou have come safe, whom I esteem to beThe scourge of God, sent to chastise his people.This very heresy, perchance, may serveThe purposes of God to some good end.With you I leave it; but do not neglectThe holy tactics of the civil sword.

And what more can be done?

The hand that cutThe Red Cross from the colors of the kingCan cut the red heart from this heresy.Fear not. All blasphemies immediateAnd heresies turbulent must be suppressedBy civil power.

But in what way suppressed?

The Book of Deuteronomy declaresThat if thy son, thy daughter, or thy wife,Ay, or the friend which is as thine own soul,Entice thee secretly, and say to thee,Let us serve other gods, then shalt thine eyeNot pity him, but thou shalt surely kill him,And thine own hand shall be the first upon himTo slay him.

Four already have been slain;And others banished upon pain of death.But they come back again to meet their doom,Bringing the linen for their winding-sheets.We must not go too far. In truth, I shrinkFrom shedding of more blood. The people murmurAt our severity.

Then let them murmur!Truth is relentless; justice never wavers;The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy;The noble order of the MagistracyCometh immediately from God, and yetThis noble order of the MagistracyIs by these Heretics despised and outraged.

To-night they sleep in prison. If they die,They cannot say that we have caused their death.We do but guard the passage, with the swordPointed towards them; if they dash upon it,Their blood will be on their own heads, not ours.

Enough. I ask no more. My predecessorCoped only with the milder heresiesOf Antinomians and of Anabaptists.He was not born to wrestle with these fiends.Chrysostom in his pulpit; AugustineIn disputation; Timothy in his house!The lantern of St. Botolph's ceased to burnWhen from the portals of that church he cameTo be a burning and a shining lightHere in the wilderness. And, as he layOn his death-bed, he saw me in a visionRide on a snow-white horse into this town.His vision was prophetic; thus I came,A terror to the impenitent, and DeathOn the pale horse of the ApocalypseTo all the accursed race of Heretics!

SCENE II. -- A street. On one side, NICHOLAS UPSALL's house; onthe other, WALTER MERRY's, with a flock of pigeons on the roof.UPSALL seated in the porch of his house.

O day of rest! How beautiful, how fair,How welcome to the weary and the old!Day of the Lord! and truce to earthly cares!Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!Ah, why will man by his austeritiesShut out the blessed sunshine and the light,And make of thee a dungeon of despair!

WALTER MERRY (entering and looking round him).All silent as a graveyard! No one stirring;No footfall in the street, no sound of voices!By righteous punishment and perseverance,And perseverance in that punishment,At last I have brought this contumacious townTo strict observance of the Sabbath day.Those wanton gospellers, the pigeons yonder,Are now the only Sabbath-breakers left.I cannot put them down. As if to taunt me,They gather every Sabbath afternoonIn noisy congregation on my roof,Billing and cooing. Whir! take that, ye Quakers.