B 3 a 2. “I will burne the one of you and hang the other.”] The following extracts from that fine old play, “The Witch of Edmonton,” bear a strong resemblance to the scene described in the text.  Mother Sawyer, in whom the milk of human kindness is turned to gall by destitution, imbittered by relentless outrage and insult, and who, driven out of the pale of human fellowship, is thrown upon strange and fearful allies, would almost appear to be the counterpart of Mother Demdike.  The weird sisters of our transcendant bard are wild and wonderful creations, but have no close relationship to the plain old traditional witch of our ancestors, which is nowhere represented by our dramatic writers with faithfulness and truth except in the Witch of Edmonton:—­

Enter ELIZABETH SAWYER, gathering sticks.

Saw. And why on me? why should the envious world
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me? 
’Cause I am poor, deform’d, and ignorant,
And like a bow buckled and bent together,
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself,
Must I for that be made a common sink,
For all the filth and rubbish of men’s tongues
To fall and run into?  Some call me Witch,
And being ignorant of myself, they go
About to teach me how to be one; urging,
That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so)
Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn,
Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse. 
This they enforce upon me; and in part
Make me to credit it; and here comes one
Of my chief adversaries.

Enter Old BANKS.

Banks. Out, out upon thee, witch!

Saw. Dost call me witch?

Banks. I do, witch, I do; and worse I would, knew I a name more hateful.  What makest thou upon my ground?

Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.

Banks. Down with them when I bid thee, quickly; I’ll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else.

Saw. You won’t, churl, cut-throat, miser!—­there they be; [Throws them down.] would they stuck across thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff.

Banks. Say’st thou me so, hag?  Out of my ground! [Beats her.

Saw. Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon!  Now thy bones aches, thy joints cramps, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews!

Banks. Cursing, thou hag! take that, and that. [Beats her, and exit.

Saw. Strike, do!—­and wither’d may that hand and arm
Whose blows have lamed me, drop from the rotten trunk! 
Abuse me! beat me! call me hag and witch! 
What is the name? where, and by what art learn’d,
What spells, what charms or invocations? 
May the thing call’d Familiar be purchased?

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