MARSHAL (reads). 
“Every inhabitant of this Jurisdiction
Who shall defend the horrible opinions
Of Quakers, by denying due respect
To equals and superiors, and withdrawing
From Church Assemblies, and thereby approving
The abusive and destructive practices
Of this accursed sect, in opposition
To all the orthodox received opinions
Of godly men shall be forthwith commit ted
Unto close prison for one month; and then
Refusing to retract and to reform
The opinions as aforesaid, he shall be
Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death. 
By the Court.  Edward Rawson, Secretary.” 
Now, hangman, do your duty.  Burn those books.

Loud murmurs in the crowd.  The pile of books is lighted.

UPSALL. 
I testify against these cruel laws! 
Forerunners are they of some judgment on us;
And, in the love and tenderness I bear
Unto this town and people, I beseech you,
O Magistrates, take heed, lest ye be found
As fighters against God!

JOHN ENDICOTT (taking UPSALL’S hand). 
Upsall, I thank you
For speaking words such as some younger man,
I, or another, should have said before you. 
Such laws as these are cruel and oppressive;
A blot on this fair town, and a disgrace
To any Christian people.

MERRY (aside, listening behind them). 
                     Here’s sedition! 
I never thought that any good would come
Of this young popinjay, with his long hair
And his great boots, fit only for the Russians
Or barbarous Indians, as his father says!

THE VOICE. 
Woe to the bloody town!  And rightfully
Men call it the Lost Town!  The blood of Abel
Cries from the ground, and at the final judgment
The Lord will say, “Cain, Cain!  Where is thy brother?”

MERRY. 
Silence there in the crowd!

UPSALL (aside). 
                      ’T is Christison!

THE VOICE. 
O foolish people, ye that think to burn
And to consume the truth of God, I tell you
That every flame is a loud tongue of fire
To publish it abroad to all the world
Louder than tongues of men!

KEMPTHORN (springing to his feet). 
                Well said, my hearty! 
There’s a brave fellow!  There’s a man of pluck! 
A man who’s not afraid to say his say,
Though a whole town’s against him.  Rain, rain, rain,
Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this fire!

The drum beats.  Exeunt all but MERRY, KEMPTHORN, and COLE.

MERRY. 
And now that matter’s ended, Goodman Cole,
Fetch me a mug of ale, your strongest ale.

KEMPTHORN (sitting down). 
And me another mug of flip; and put
Two gills of brandy in it.
                         [Exit COLE.

MERRY. 
                         No; no more. 
Not a drop more, I say.  You’ve had enough.

KEMPTHORN. 
And who are you, sir?