Characters

Old Servant in the Family of Sir Francis Pairford. Stranger.

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SERVANT One summer night Sir Francis, as it chanced, Was pacing to and fro in the avenue That westward fronts our house, Among those aged oaks, said to have been planted Three hundred years ago By a neighb'ring prior of the Fairford name. Being o'er-task'd in thought, he heeded not The importunate suit of one who stood by the gate, And begged an alms. Some say he shoved her rudely from the gate With angry chiding; but I can never think (Our master's nature hath a sweetness in it) That he could use a woman, an old woman, With such discourtesy: but he refused her-- And better had he met a lion in his path Than that old woman that night; For she was one who practised the black arts, And served the devil, being since burnt for witchcraft. She looked at him as one that meant to blast him, And with a frightful noise, ('Twas partly like a woman's voice, And partly like the hissing of a snake,) She nothing said but this:-- (Sir Francis told the words)

A mischief, mischief, mischief, And a nine-times-killing curse, By day and by night, to the caitiff wight, Who shakes the poor like snakes from his door, And shuts up the womb of his purse.

And still she cried

A mischief, And a nine-fold-withering curse: For that shall come to thee that will undo thee, Both all that thou fearest and worse.

So saying, she departed, Leaving Sir Francis like a man, beneath Whose feet a scaffolding was suddenly falling; So he described it.

STRANGER A terrible curse! What followed?

SERVANT Nothing immediate, but some two months after Young Philip Fairford suddenly fell sick, And none could tell what ailed him; for he lay, And pined, and pined, till all his hair fell off, And he, that was full-fleshed, became as thin As a two-months' babe that has been starved in the nursing. And sure I think He bore his death-wound like a little child; With such rare sweetness of dumb melancholy He strove to clothe his agony in smiles, Which he would force up in his poor pale cheeks, Like ill-timed guests that had no proper dwelling there; And, when they asked him his complaint, he laid His hand upon his heart to shew the place, Where Susan came to him a-nights, he said, And prick'd him with a pin.-- And thereupon Sir Francis called to mind The beggar-witch that stood by the gateway And begged an alms.

STRANGER But did the witch confess?

SERVANT All this and more at her death.

STRANGER I do not love to credit tales of magic. Heaven's music, which is Order, seems unstrung, And this brave world (The mystery of God) unbeautified, Disorder'd, marr'd, where such strange things are acted.

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Mr. H----