Upon this simple folk “with fire and flame,”
Saith the old chronicle, “the Devil came;
Scattering his firebrands and his poisonous darts,
To set on fire of Hell all tongues and hearts! 
And ’t is no wonder; for, with all his host,
There most he rages where he hateth most,
And is most hated; so on us he brings
All these stupendous and portentous things!”

Something of this our scene to-night will show;
And ye who listen to the Tale of Woe,
Be not too swift in casting the first stone,
Nor think New England bears the guilt alone,
This sudden burst of wickedness and crime
Was but the common madness of the time,
When in all lands, that lie within the sound
Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned or drowned.

ACT I.

SCENE I. —­ The woods near Salem Village.  Enter TITUBA, with a basket of herbs.

TITUBA. 
Here’s monk’s-hood, that breeds fever in the blood;
And deadly nightshade, that makes men see ghosts;
And henbane, that will shake them with convulsions;
And meadow-saffron and black hellebore,
That rack the nerves, and puff the skin with dropsy;
And bitter-sweet, and briony, and eye-bright,
That cause eruptions, nosebleed, rheumatisms;
I know them, and the places where they hide
In field and meadow; and I know their secrets,
And gather them because they give me power
Over all men and women.  Armed with these,
I, Tituba, an Indian and a slave,
Am stronger than the captain with his sword,
Am richer than the merchant with his money,
Am wiser than the scholar with his books,
Mightier than Ministers and Magistrates,
With all the fear and reverence that attend them! 
For I can fill their bones with aches and pains,
Can make them cough with asthma, shake with palsy,
Can make their daughters see and talk with ghosts,
Or fall into delirium and convulsions;
I have the Evil Eye, the Evil Hand;
A touch from me and they are weak with pain,
A look from me, and they consume and die. 
The death of cattle and the blight of corn,
The shipwreck, the tornado, and the fire,—­
These are my doings, and they know it not. 
Thus I work vengeance on mine enemies
Who, while they call me slave, are slaves to me!

Exit TITUBA.  Enter MATHER, booted and spurred, with a riding-whip in his hand.

MATHER. 
Methinks that I have come by paths unknown
Into the land and atmosphere of Witches;
For, meditating as I journeyed on,
Lo!  I have lost my way!  If I remember
Rightly, it is Scribonius the learned
That tells the story of a man who, praying
For one that was possessed by Evil Spirits,
Was struck by Evil Spirits in the face;
I, journeying to circumvent the Witches,
Surely by Witches have been led astray. 
I am persuaded there are few affairs
In which the Devil doth not interfere. 
We cannot undertake a journey even,
But Satan will be there to meddle with it
By hindering or by furthering.  He hath led me
Into this thicket, struck me in the face
With branches of the trees, and so entangled
The fetlocks of my horse with vines and brambles,
That I must needs dismount, and search on foot
For the lost pathway leading to the village.