GLOYD. 
Under the trees there.  Run, old man, run, run! 
You’ve got some one to wrestle with you now
Who’ll trip your heels up, with your Cornish hug. 
If there’s a Devil, he has got you now. 
Ah, there he goes!  His horse is snorting fire!

ONE OF THE MEN. 
John Gloyd, don’t talk so!  It’s a shame to talk so! 
He’s a good master, though you quarrel with him.

GLOYD. 
If hard work and low wages make good masters,
Then he is one.  But I think otherwise. 
Come, let us have our dinner and be merry,
And talk about the old man and the Witches. 
I know some stories that will make you laugh.

They sit down on the grass, and eat.

Now there are Goody Cloyse and Goody Good,
Who have not got a decent tooth between them,
And yet these children—­the Afflicted Children—­
Say that they bite them, and show marks of teeth
Upon their arms!

ONE OF THE MEN. 
      That makes the wonder greater. 
That’s Witchcraft.  Why, if they had teeth like yours,
’T would be no wonder if the girls were bitten!

GLOYD. 
And then those ghosts that come out of their graves
And cry, “You murdered us! you murdered us!”

ONE OF THE MEN. 
And all those Apparitions that stick pins
Into the flesh of the Afflicted Children!

GLOYD. 
Oh those Afflicted Children!  They know well
Where the pins come from.  I can tell you that. 
And there’s old Corey, he has got a horseshoe
Nailed on his doorstep to keep off the Witches,
And all the same his wife has gone to prison.

ONE OF THE MEN. 
Oh, she’s no Witch.  I’ll swear that Goodwife Corey
Never did harm to any living creature. 
She’s a good woman, if there ever was one.

GLOYD. 
Well, we shall see.  As for that Bridget Bishop,
She has been tried before; some years ago
A negro testified he saw her shape
Sitting upon the rafters in a barn,
And holding in its hand an egg; and while
He went to fetch his pitchfork, she had vanished. 
And now be quiet, will you?  I am tired,
And want to sleep here on the grass a little.

They stretch themselves on the grass.

ONE OF THE MEN. 
There may be Witches riding through the air
Over our heads on broomsticks at this moment,
Bound for some Satan’s Sabbath in the woods
To be baptized.

GLOYD. 
   I wish they’d take you with them,
And hold you under water, head and ears,
Till you were drowned; and that would stop your talking,
If nothing else will.  Let me sleep, I say.

ACT IV

SCENE I. —­ The Green in front of the village Meeting-house.  An excited crowd gathering.  Enter JOHN GLOYD.

A FARMER. 
Who will be tried to-day?

A SECOND. 
                       I do not know. 
Here is John Gloyd.  Ask him; he knows.