upon ye, ye magistrates! your hands be redder than your fine
trappings! Martha a witch! Ye yourselves be witches, and serving
Satan, and he a-tickling in his sleeve at ye. Send Martha in chains
to Salem jail, ye will, will ye? (_Forces his way to_ Martha, _and
throws his arm around her._) Be not afraid, good lass, thy man will
save thee. Thou shalt not go to jail! I say thou shalt not! I'll cut
my way through a whole king's army ere thou shalt. I'll raise the
devil myself ere thou shalt, and set him tooth and claw on the whole
brood of them. I'll--(_One of the afflicted shrieks._ Giles _turns
upon them._) Why, devil take ye, ye lying hussies, ye have done
this! Ye should be whipped through the town at the tail of a cart,
every one of ye. Ye ill-favored little jades, puling because no man
will have ye, and putting each other up to this d-- mischief for
lack of something better. Out upon ye, ye little--

_Mercy_ (_jumping up and screaming in agony_). Oh, Giles Corey is
upon me! He is afflicting me grievously! Oh, I will not! Chain him!
chain him! chain him!

_Ann._ Oh, this is worse than the others! This is dreadful! He's
strangling me! I--Oh--your--worships! Oh--help!--help! [_Falls upon
the floor._

_Afflicted Girls._ Chain him! chain him!

_Hathorne._ Marshal, take Giles Corey into custody and chain him.

[Marshal _and_ Constables _advance. Tableau--Curtain falls._

Act IV.

_The living-room in_ Giles Corey's _house._ Nancy Fox _and the
child_ Phoebe Morse _sit beside the hearth; each has her apron over
her face, weeping._

_Phoebe_ (_sobbing_). I--want my Aunt--Corey and--my Uncle Corey.
Why don't they come? Oh, deary me!

[Phoebe _jumps up and runs to the window._

_Nancy._ See you anybody coming?

_Phoebe._ There is a dame in a black hood coming past the
popple-trees. Oh, Nancy, come quick; see if it be Aunt Corey!

_Nancy._ Where be my spectacles--where be they? (_Runs about the
room searching._) Oh Lord, what's the use of living to be so old
that you're scattered all over the house like a seed thistle! Having
to hunt everywhere for your eyes and your wits whenever you want to
use 'em, and having other folks a-meddling with 'em! Where be the
spectacles? They be not in the cupboard; they be not on the dresser.
Where be they? I trow this be witch-work. I know well enough what
has become of my good horn spectacles. Goody Bishop hath witched
them away, thinking they would suit well w