Discovery of Witches Part 3

[Footnote 47: What Mr. Robinson is intended does not appear. It was a common name in Pendle. It is, however, a curious fact, that a family of this name, _with the alias of Swyer_, (see Potts, confession of Elizabeth Device,) is even now, or very recently was, to be met with in Pendle, of whom the John Robinson, _alias_ Swyer, one of the supposed victims of Witchcraft, was probably an ancestor. There are few instances of an _alias_ being similarly transmitted in families for upwards of two centuries.]

[Footnote 48: Mother d.i.c.kenson, as Sir Walter Scott remarks, brings to mind the magician Queen in the Arabian Tales.]

[Footnote 49: This house is still standing, and though it has undergone some modernizations, has every appearance of having been built about this period.]

[Footnote 50: The old barn, so famous as the scene of these exploits, is no longer extant. A more modern and very substantial one has now been erected on its site.]

[Footnote 51: Syleing, from the verb sile or syle, to strain, to pa.s.s through a strainer. See Jamieson, under "sile."]

[Footnote 52: Frightened.]

[Footnote 53: Boggard Hole lies in a hollow, near to h.o.a.rstones, and is still known by that name.]

[Footnote 54: "It is the sport to see the engineer hoist with his own petar." Her old occupation as witness having got into other hands, Janet or Jennet Davies, or Device, for the person spoken of appears to be the same with the grand-daughter of Old Demdike, on whose evidence three members of her family were executed, has now to take her place amongst the witnessed against.]

[Footnote 55: Seale, from sele, _s._ a yoke for binding cattle in the stall. Sal (A.S.) denotes "a collar or bond." Somner. Sile (Isl.) seems to bear the very same sense with our sele, being exp. a ligament of leather by which cattle and other things are bound. Vide Jamieson, under "sele."]

[Footnote 56: Heywood and Broome, in their play, "The late Lancashire Witches," 1634, 4to, follow the terms of this deposition very closely.

It is very probable that they had seen and conversed with the boy, to whom, when taken up to London, there was a great resort of company.

The Lancashire dialect, as given in this play, and by no means unfaithfully, was perhaps derived from conversations with some of the actors in this drama of real life, a drama quite as extraordinary as any that Heywood's imagination ever bodied forth from the world of fiction.

"_Enter Boy with a switch._

_Boy._ Now I have gathered Bullies, and fild my bellie pretty well, i'le goe see some sport. There are gentlemen coursing in the medow hard by; and 'tis a game that I love better than going to Schoole ten to one.

_Enter an invisible spirit. J. Adson[D] with a brace of greyhounds._

What have we here a brace of Greyhounds broke loose from their masters: it must needs be so, for they have both their Collers and slippes about their neckes. Now I looke better upon them, me thinks I should know them, and so I do: these are Mr. Robinsons dogges, that dwels some two miles off, i'le take them up, and lead them home to their master; it may be something in my way, for he is as liberall a gentleman, as any is in our countrie, Come Hector, come. Now if I c'ud but start a Hare by the way, kill her, and carry her home to my supper, I should thinke I had made a better afternoones worke of it than gathering of bullies. Come poore curres along with me.

_Exit._"

"_Enter Boy with the Greyhounds._

A Hare, a Hare, halloe, halloe, the Divell take these curres, will they not stir, halloe, halloe, there, there, there, what are they growne so lither and so lazie? Are Mr. Robinsons dogges turn'd tykes with a wanion? the Hare is yet in sight, halloe, halloe, mary hang you for a couple of mungrils (if you were worth hanging,) and have you serv'd me thus? nay then ile serve you with the like sauce, you shall to the next bush, there will I tie you, and use you like a couple of curs as you are, and though not lash you, yet lash you whilest my switch will hold, nay since you have left your speed, ile see if I can put spirit into you, and put you in remembrance what halloe, halloe meanes.

_As he beats them, there appeared before him Gooddy_ d.i.c.kison, _and the Boy upon the dogs, going in._

Now blesse me heaven, one of the Greyhounds turn'd into a woman, the other into a boy! The lad I never saw before, but her I know well; it is my gammer _d.i.c.kison_.

_G. d.i.c.k._ Sirah, you have serv'd me well to swindge me thus. You yong rogue, you have vs'd me like a dog.

_Boy._ When you had put your self into a dogs skin, I pray how c'ud I help it; but gammer are not you a Witch? if you bee, I beg upon my knees you will not hurt me.

_d.i.c.kis._ Stand up my boie, for thou shalt have no harme, Be silent, speake of nothing thou hast seene.

And here's a shilling for thee.

_Boy._ Ile have none of your money, gammer, because you are a Witch; and now she is out of her foure leg'd shape, ile see if with my two legs I can out-run her.

_d.i.c.kis._ Nay sirra, though you be yong, and I old, you are not so nimble, nor I so lame, but I can overtake you.

_Boy._ But Gammer what do you meane to do with me Now you have me?

_d.i.c.kis._ To hugge thee, stroke thee, and embrace thee thus, And teach thee twentie thousand prety things, So thou tell no tales; and boy this night Thou must along with me to a brave feast.

_Boy._ Not I gammer indeed la, I dare not stay out late, My father is a fell man, and if I bee out long, will both chide and beat me.

_d.i.c.kis._ Not sirra, then perforce thou shalt along, This bridle helps me still at need, And shall provide us of a steed.

Now sirra, take your shape and be Prepar'd to hurrie him and me.

_Exit._

Now looke and tell mee wher's the lad become.

_Boy._ The boy is vanisht, and I can see nothing in his stead But a white horse readie sadled and bridled.

_d.i.c.kis._ And thats the horse we must bestride, On which both thou and I must ride, Thou boy before and I behinde, The earth we tread not, but the winde, For we must progresse through the aire, And I will bring thee to such fare As thou ne're saw'st, up and away, For now no longer we can stay.

_She catches him up, and turning round._

_Boy._ Help, help.

_Exit._"

"_Rob._ What place is this? it looks like an old barne: ile peep in at some cranny or other, and try if I can see what they are doing. Such a bevy of beldames did I never behold; and cramming like so many Cormorants: Marry choke you with a mischiefe.

_Gooddy d.i.c.kison._ Whoope, whurre, heres a sturre, Never a cat, never a curre, But that we must have this demurre.

_Mal._ A second course.

_Mrs. Gen._ Pull, and pull hard For all that hath lately him prepar'd For the great wedding feast.

_Mall._ As chiefe Of Doughtyes Surloine of rost Beefe.

_All._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Meg._ 'Tis come, 'tis come.

_Mawd._ Where hath it all this while beene?

_Meg._ Some Delay hath kept it, now 'tis here, For bottles next of wine and beere, The Merchants cellers they shall pay for't.

_Mrs. Gener._ Well, What sod or rost meat more, pray tell.

_Good. d.i.c.k._ Pul for the Poultry, Foule, and Fish, For emptie shall not be a dish.