Witch

  Now why didst thou plot such a wicked thing? 
  The children no harm have done.

Ogre

  But I have a grudge ’gainst their father, the King,
  A grudge that is old as the sun. 
  And hark ye, old hag, I must have thy aid
  Before the new moon be risen. 
  Now brew me a charm in thy caldron black,
  That shall keep them fast in their prison!

Witch

  I’ll brew thee no charm, thou Ogre dread! 
  Knowest thou not full well
  The Princess thou hast stolen away
  Is guarded by Fairy spell? 
  Her godmother over her cradle bent. 
  “O Princess Winsome,” she said,
  “I give thee this gift:  thou shalt deftly spin,
  As thou wishest, Love’s golden thread.” 
  So I dare not brew thee a spell ’gainst her. 
  My caldron would grow acold
  And never again would bubble up,
  If touched by her thread of gold.

Ogre

  Then give me a charm to bind the prince. 
  Thou canst do that much at least. 
  I’ll give thee more gold than hands can hold,
  If thou’lt change him into some beast.

Witch

  I have need of gold—­so on the fire
  I’ll pile my fagots higher and higher,
  And in the bubbling water stir
  This hank of hair, this patch of fur
  This feather and this flapping fin,
  This claw, this bone, this dried snake skin! 
      Bubble and boil
      And snake skin coil,
      This charm shall all plans
      But the Ogre’s foil.

[As Witch stirs and sings, the Ogre, stalking to the side, calls.

Ogre

  Ho, Frog-eye Fearsome, let the sport begin! 
  Hence to the tower!  Drag the captives in!

[Frog-eye Fearsome drags Prince Hero and Princess Winsome across the stage, and into the door leading up the tower stair.  They are bound by ropes.  Prince tries to reach his sword.  Princess shrieks.

Princess

  Oh, save us, good, wise witch,
  In pity, save us, pray. 
  The King, our royal father,
  Thy goodness will repay.

[Pulls back, wringing hand.

  Oh, I cannot, cannot mount the tower! 
  Oh, save us from the bloody Ogre’s power!

[They are dragged into the tower, door bangs and Ogre locks it with key a yard long.  Goes back to Witch, who hands him vial filled from caldron with black mixture.

Witch

  Pour drop by drop upon Prince Hero’s tongue. 
  First he will bark.  His hands and feet
  Will turn to paws, and he will seem a dog. 
  Seven drops will make the change complete. 
  The poison has no antidote save one,
  And he a prince again can never be,
  Unless seven silver plums he eats,
  Plucked from my golden apple-tree.

Ogre

  Revenge is sweet,
  And soon ’twill be complete! 
  Then to my den I’ll haste for gold to delve. 
  I’ll bring it at the black, bleak hour of twelve!