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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
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Scene 4 SCENE, the Witch's Cave. Enter Mother Jordan, Hume, Southwel, and Bolingbroke.

Hume.

Come, my masters; the Dutchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises.

Boling.

Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?

Hume.

Ay, what else? fear not her courage.

Boling.

I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busie below; and so I pray you go in God's name, and leave us. [Exit. Hume.] Mother Jordan, be prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwel, read you, and let us to our work.

-- 219 --

Enter Eleanor, above.

Elean.

Well said, my masters, and welcome to all: to this geer, the sooner the better.

Boling.
Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
The time of night when Troy was set on fire,
The time, when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl;
When spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves;
That time best fits the work we have in hand.
Madam, Sit you, and fear not; whom we raise,
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.
[Here they perform the ceremonies, and make the circle; Bolingbroke or Southwel reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth.

Spirit.
Adsum.

M. Jord.
Asmuth, by the eternal God, whose name
And power thou tremblest at, tell what I ask;
For till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

Spirit.
Ask what thou wilt.—That I had said, and done!

Boling.
First, of the King: What shall of him become?

Spirit.
The Duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose:
But him out-live, and die a violent death.
[As the Spirit speaks, they write the answer.

Boling.
Tell me, what fates await the Duke of Suffolk?

Spirit.
By Water shall he die, and take his end.

Boling.
What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?

Spirit.
Let him shun Castles,
Safer shall he be on the sandy plains,
Than where Castles mounted stand.
Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

Boling.
Descend to darkness, and the burning lake:
False fiend, avoid!
[Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends.

-- 220 --

Enter the Duke of York, and the Duke of Buckingham, with their Guard, and break in.

York.
Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash:
Beldame, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
What, Madam, are you there? the King and Realm
Are deep indebted for this piece of pains;
My lord Protector will, I doubt it not,
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

Elean.
Not half so bad as thine to England's King,
Injurious Duke, that threat'st where is no cause.

Buck.
True, Madam, none at all: What call you this?
Away with them, let them be clap'd up close,
And kept apart. You, Madam, shall with us.
Stafford, take her to thee.
We'll see your Trinkets here forth-coming all.
[Exeunt Guards with Jordan, Southwel, &c.

York.
Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well;
A pretty Plot, well chose to build upon.
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's Writ.
What have we here? [Reads.
The Duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him out-live, and die a violent death.
Why, this is just, Aio te Æacida Romanos vincere posse.
Well, to the rest:
Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
By water shall he die, and take his end.
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
Let him shun castles,
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,
Than where castles mounted stand.
Come, come, my lords;
These Oracles are hardily attain'd,(5) note




And hardly understood.

-- 221 --


The King is now in progress tow'rds St. Albans;
With him, the husband of this lovely lady:
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them:
A sorry breakfast for my lord Protector.

Buck.
Your Grace shall give me leave, my lord of York,
To be the Post, in hope of his reward.

York.
At your pleasure, my good lord.
Who's within there, ho? Enter a Serving-man.
Invite my lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
To sup with me to morrow night. Away!
[Exeunt.

-- 222 --

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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
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