Faith, I did hope You'd not have used me so: And yet, if not for my sake, have some pity Upon the child I go with, that's your own: And 'less you'll be a cruel-hearted father, You cannot but remember that. To quit which fear at once, As by the ceremony late performed I plighted thee a faith as free from challenge As any double thought; once more, in hearing Of Heaven and thee, I vow that never henceforth Disgrace, reproof, lawless affections, threats, Or what can be suggested 'gainst our marriage, Shall cause me falsify that bridal oath That binds me thine.
And, Winnifred, whenever The wanton heat of youth, by subtle baits Of beauty, or what woman's art can practise, Draw me from only loving thee, let Heaven Inflict upon my life some fearful ruin! I hope thou dost believe me. Swear no more; I am confirmed, and will resolve to do What you think most behoveful for us. Thus, then; Make thyself ready; at the furthest house Upon the green without the town, your uncle Expects you. For a little time, farewell! Sweet, We shall meet again as soon as thou canst possibly?
All the country whispers How shamefully thou hast undone a maid, Approved for modest life, for civil carriage, Till thy prevailing perjuries enticed her To forfeit shame. Will you be honest yet, Make her amends and marry her? You should have thought on this before, and then Your reason would have overswayed the passion Of your unruly lust.
I know Sir Arthur Clarington deserves the credit Report hath lent him, and presume you are A debtor to your promise: Excuse me For being somewhat rude. Sir Arth It is but reason. Well, Frank, what think'st thou of two hundred pounds And a continual friend? Sir, we shall every day have need to employ The use of what you please to give.
Thou shall have 't. Then I claim Your promise. And more than so, sir, I have promised her Free entertainment in her uncle's house Near Waltham Abbey, where she may securely Sojourn, till time and my endeavours work My father's love and liking. I hope, sir, you will think I cannot keep her Without a daily charge. As for the money, 'Tis all thine own! Nay, nay, Talk not of your occasions; trust my bounty; It shall not sleep. Frank, Thou hast a jewel; love her; she'll deserve it.
And when to Waltham? She is making ready; Her uncle stays for her. Frank, I will be thy friend, and such a friend! Sir, I cannot; newly My father sent me word I should come to him. Marry, and do; I know thou hast a wit To handle him. I have a suit t'ye. Anything, Frank; command it.
That you'll please By letters to assure my father that I am not married. Some one or other Hath certainly informed him that I purposed To marry Winnifred; on which he threatened To disinherit me: But what is there to quit My knowledge of the marriage? Why, you were not A witness to it. I conceive; and then— His land confirmed, thou wilt acquaint him throughly With all that's past. I mean no less. Provided I never was made privy to't. Alas, sir, Am I a talker? Draw thyself the letter, I'll put my hand to't.
I commend thy policy; Thou'rt witty, witty, Frank; nay, nay, 'tis fit: I shall write effectually. Go thy way, cuckoo;—have I caught the young man? One trouble, then, is freed. He that will feast At other's cost must be a bold-faced guest. Win, I have heard the news; all now is safe; The worst is past: I must bid Farewell, for fashion's sake; but I will visit thee Suddenly, girl.
This was cleanly carried; Ha! Then were my happiness, That I in heart repent I did not bring him The dower of a virginity. Sir, forgive me; I have been much to blame: Dear, dear Win, I hug this art of thine; it shows how cleanly Thou canst beguile, in case occasion serve To practise; it becomes thee: Come, tell me, when Wilt thou appoint a meeting? Good, good, to con the lesson of our loves, Our secret game. O, blush to speak it further! As you're a noble gentleman, forget A sin so monstrous: I know you speak For trial; 'troth, you need not.
Not I, by this good sunshine! Can you name That syllable of good, and yet not tremble To think to what a foul and black intent You use it for an oath? Let me resolve you: I will change my life From a loose whore to a repentant wife. Wilt thou turn monster now? My resolution Is built upon a rock.
This very day Young Thorney vowed, with oaths not to be doubted, That never any change of love should cancel The bonds in which we are to either bound Of lasting truth: Sir Arthur, do not study To add to your lascivious lust the sin Of sacrilege; for if you but endeavour By any unchaste word to tempt my constancy You strive as much as in you lies to ruin A temple hallowed to the purity Of holy marriage. I have said enough; You may believe me.
Get you to your nunnery; There freeze in your cold cloister: Good angels guide me! Sir, you'll give me leave To weep and pray for your conversion? Pox on your honesty! Had you no other trick to fool me? None that I'll send for To you, for hire of a damnation. When I am gone, think on my just complaint: I was your devil; O, be you my saint!
Go, go thy ways; as changeable a baggage As ever cozened knight: I'm glad I'm rid of her. Thorney is my debtor; I thought to have paid him too; but fools have fortune. You offer, Master Carter, like a gentleman; I cannot find fault with it, 'tis so fair. Master is a title my father, nor his before him, were acqainted with; honest Hertfordshire yeomen; such an one am I; my word and my deed shall be proved one at all times. I mean to give you no security for the marriage money.
Men, the proverb says, are mortal; else, for my part, I distrust you not, were the sum double. Double, treble, more or less, I tell you, Master Thorney, I'll give no security. Bonds and bills are but terriers to catch fools, and keep lazy knaves busy; my security shall be present payment.
And we here about Edmonton hold present payment as sure as an alderman's bond in London, Master Thorney. I cry you mercy, sir; I understood you not. I like young Frank well, so does my Susan too; the girl has a fancy to him, which makes me ready in my purse. There be other suitors within, that make much noise to little purpose. If Frank love Sue, Sue shall have none but Frank.
You speak your mind freely and honestly. I marvel my son comes not; I am sure he will be here some time to-day. To-day or to-morrow, when he comes he shall be welcome to bread, beer, and beef, yeoman's fare; we have no kickshaws: Should I diet three days at one of the slender city-suppers, you might send me to Barber-Surgeons' hall the fourth day, to hang up for an anatomy.
Valentine's day too, all by couples? Thus will young folks do when we are laid in our graves, Master Thorney; here's all the care they take. And how do you find the wenches, gentlemen? Win 'em and wear 'em; they shall choose for themselves by my consent. You speak like a kind father. Wilt thou be mine? I dare swear Never your wife. Canst thou be so unkind, Considering how dearly I affect thee, Nay, dote on thy perfections? You are studied, Too scholar-like, in words I understand not.
I am too coarse for such a gallant's love As you are. Good sir, no swearing; yea and nay with us Prevail above all oaths you can invent. Take a false oath! Dost thou despise me? Let 'em talk on, Master Thorney; I know Sue's mind. The fly may buzz about the candle, he shall but singe his wings when all's done; Frank, Frank is he has her heart. But shall I live in hope, Kate? Better so Than be a desperate man. Perhaps thou think'st it is thy portion I level at: Master Somerton, It is an easy labour to deceive A maid that will believe men's subtle promises, Yet I conceive of you as worthily As I presume you to deserve.
Which is, As worthily in loving thee sincerely As thou art worthy to be so beloved. I shall find time to try you. Do, Kate, do; And when I fail, may all my joys forsake me! Warbeck and Sue are at it still. I laugh to myself, Master Thorney, to see how earnestly he beats the bush, while the bird is flown into another's bosom. A very unthrift, Master Thorney; one of the country roaringlads: Sue knows the rascal to an hair's-breadth, and will fit him accordingly.
What is the other gentleman? One Somerton; the honester man of the two by five pound in every stone-weight. A civil fellow; he has a fine convenient estate of land in West Ham, by Essex: Master Ranges, that dwells by Enfield, sent him hither. He likes Kate well; I may tell you I think she likes him as well: But that Warbeck is such another—I use him kindly for Master Somerton's sake; for he came hither first as a companion of his: Three hundred a-year jointure, Sue.
By sea or by land? I think by sea. Do I look like a captain? Not a whit, sir. Should all that use the seas be reckoned captains, There's not a ship should have a scullion in her To keep her clean. Do you scorn me, Mistress Susan? Am I a subject to be jeered at? Neither Am I a property for you to use As stale to your fond wanton loose discourse: Pray, sir, be civil.
Wilt be angry, wasp? Master Francis Thorney, you are welcome indeed; your father expected your coming. How does the right worshipful knight, Sir Arthur Clarington, your master? In health this morning. Now You come as I could wish. You must excuse me. The like to you. Gentlemen all, there's within a slight dinner ready, if you please to taste of it; Master Thorney, Master Francis, Master Somerton. We'll follow presently; my son and I Have a few words of business.
I think you guess the reason, Frank, for which I sent for you. I need not tell you With what a labyrinth of dangers daily The best part of my whole estate's encumbered; Nor have I any clue to wind it out But what occasion proffers me; wherein If you should falter, I shall have the shame, And you the loss.
On these two points rely Our happiness or ruin. If you marry With wealthy Carter's daughter, there's a portion Will free my land; all which I will instate, Upon the marriage, to you: You hear the sum? I told you thus before; have you considered on't? I have, sir; and however I could wish To enjoy the benefit of single freedom,— For that I find no disposition in me To undergo the burthen of that care That marriage brings with it,—yet, to secure And settle the continuance of your credit, I humbly yield to be directed by you In all commands.
You have already used Such thriving protestations to the maid That she is wholly yours; and — speak the truth— You love her, do you not? Better you'd been unborn. But is your love so steady that you mean, Nay, more, desire, to make her your wife? Else, sir, It were a wrong not to be righted. Heaven prosper it, I do intend it. O, thou art a villain!
A devil like a man! Wherein have I Offended all the powers so much, to be Father to such a graceless, godless son? To me, sir, this! O, my cleft heart! To thee, Son of my curse. Speak truth and blush, thou monster! Hast thou not married Winnifred, a maid Was fellow-servant with thee?
Frank [ Aside ]. Some swift spirit Has blown this news abroad; I must outface it. D' you study for excuse? With your licence, 'tis not charitable, I'm sure it is not fatherly, so much To be o'erswayed with credulous conceit Of mere impossibilities; but fathers Are privileged to think and talk at pleasure. Why, canst thou yet deny thou hast no wife? What do you take me for? One that nor hopes the blessedness of life Hereafter, neither fears the vengeance due To such as make the marriage-bed an inn, Which travellers, day and night, After a toilsome lodging, leave at pleasure?
Am I become so insensible of losing The glory of creation's work, my soul? O, I have lived too long! I believe thee not; Get from my sight! Sir, though mine innocence Needs not a stronger witness than the clearness Of an unperished conscience, yet for that I was informed how mainly you had been Possessed of this untruth,—to quit all scruple, Please you peruse this letter; 'tis to you. Sir Arthur Clarington, my master.
On every side I am distracted: Am waded deeper into mischief Than virtue can avoid; but on I must: Fate leads me; I will follow. Yes, and wonder at it. Forgive me, Frank; credulity abused me. My tears express my joy; and I am sorry I injured innocence. I knew Your rage and grief proceeded from your love To me; so I conceived it. My good son, I'll bear with many faults in thee hereafter; Bear thou with mine.
The peace is soon concluded. Why, Master Thorney, d'ye mean to talk out your dinner? What must it be, Master Frank? I am plain Dunstable. Son, brother, if your daughter like to have it so. I dare be confident she is not altered From what I left her at our parting last: Which now I challenge. Marry, and much good may it do thee, son. Take her to thee; get me a brace of boys at a burthen, Frank; the nursing shall not stand thee in a pennyworth of milk; reach her home and spare not: To-morrow, if you please. To use ceremony Of charge and custom were to little purpose; Their loves are married fast enough already.
We'll e'en have an household dinner, and let the fiddlers go scrape: We are on all sides pleased, I hope. Pray Heaven I may deserve the blessing sent me: Now my heart is settled. Your marriage-money shall be received before your wedding-shoes can be pulled on. Blessing on you both! No man can hide his shame from Heaven that views him; In vain he flees whose destiny pursues him.
And why on me? Some call me witch, And being ignorant of myself, they go About to teach me how to be one; urging That my bad tongue—by their bad usage made so — Forspeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn, Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse. This they enforce upon me, and in part Make me to credit it; and here comes one Of my chief adversaries.
Out, out upon thee, witch! Dost call me witch? I do, witch, I do; and worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. What makest thou upon my ground? Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me. Down with them when I bid thee quickly; I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else. You won't, churl, cut-throat, miser! Sayest thou me so, hag? Out of my ground! Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon! Now, thy bones ache, thy joints cramp, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews! What is the name, where and by what art learned, What spells, what charms, or invocations, May the thing called Familiar be purchased?
A new head for the tabor, and silver tipping for the pipe; remember that: Double bells;— Crooked Lane —ye shall have 'em straight in Crooked Lane: The morris is so cast, we'll have neither mean nor base in our company, fellow Rowland. By no means, no hunting counter; leave that to Enfield Chase men: Now for the disposing of parts in the morris, little or no labour will serve. If you that be minded to follow your leader know me—an ancient honour belonging to our house—for a fore-horse i' th' team and fore-gallant in a morris, my father's stable is not unfurnished.
So much for the fore-horse; but how for a good hobby-horse? Midsummer-moon, let me see ye. Use your best skill; your morris will suffer an eclipse. Yes, and most sudden. Remember the fore-gallant, and forget the hobby-horse! The whole body of your morris will be darkened. Suffer may ye all! Seek your hobby-horse where you can get him. The old horse shall have a new bridle. The caparisons new painted. The snaffle and the bosses new saffroned o'er. To show I am not flint, but affable, as you say, very well stuffed, a kind of warm dough or puff-paste, I relent, I connive, most affable Jack.
Let the hobby-horse provide a strong back, he shall not want a belly when I am in him—but [ Seeing Sawyer ]—'uds me, Mother Sawyer! The old Witch of Edmonton! Bless us, Cuddy, and let her curse her t'other eye out. The devil cannot abide to be crossed. And scorns to come at any man's whistle. Away with the Witch of Edmonton! I have heard old beldams Talk of familiars in the shape of mice, Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what, That have appeared, and sucked, some say, their blood; But by what means they came acquainted with them I am now ignorant.
Would some power, good or bad, Instruct me which way I might be revenged Upon this churl, I'd go out of myself, And give this fury leave to dwell within This ruined cottage ready to fall with age, Abjure all goodness, be at hate with prayer, And study curses, imprecations, Blasphemous speeches, oaths, detested oaths, Or anything that's ill: Vengeance, shame, ruin light upon that canker!
The Black Witch (The Black Witch Chronicles, #1) by Laurie Forest
Enter a Black Dog. He thou hast so often Importuned to appear to thee, the devil. Come, do not fear; I love thee much too well To hurt or fright thee; if I seem terrible, It is to such as hate me. I have found Thy love unfeigned; have seen and pitied Thy open wrongs; and come, out of my love, To give thee just revenge against thy foes. May I believe thee? To confirm't, command me Do any mischief unto man or beast, And I'll effect it, on condition That, uncompelled, thou make a deed of gift Of soul and body to me. My soul and body?
And that instantly, And seal it with thy blood: I know not where to seek relief: The devil is no liar to such as he loves: Didst ever know or hear the devil a liar To such as he affects? Art mine or no? Seal't with thy blood. For proof, command me; instantly I'll run To any mischief; goodness can I none. And I desire as little. That wronged thee, lamed thee, called thee witch. The same; first upon him I'd be revenged. Thou shalt; do but name how. Go, touch his life.
Hast thou not vowed? Go, kill the slave! I'll cancel, then, my gift. Why wilt not kill him? Fool, because I cannot. Though we have power, know it is circumscribed And tied in limits: His cattle And corn I'll kill and mildew; but his life— Until I take him, as I late found thee, Cursing and swearing—I've no power to touch. Work on his corn and cattle, then. The Witch of Edmonton shall see his fall; If she at least put credit in my power, And in mine only; make orisons to me, And none but me.
Say how and in what manner. Our first-made promises We'll put in execution against Banks. I'm an expert scholar; Speak Latin, or I know not well what language, As well as the best of 'em—but who comes here? The son of my worst foe. What's that she mumbles? Your father knows I am by this.
I would he did. And so in time may you. I would I might else! But, witch or no witch, you are a motherly woman; and though my father be a kind of God-bless-us, as they say, I have an earnest suit to you; and if you'll be so kind to ka me one good turn, I'll be so courteous as to kob you another. I am ashamed to own him.
If he has hurt the head of thy credit, there's money to buy thee a plaster [ Gives her money ]; and a small courtesy I would require at thy hands.
You seem a good young man, and—[ Aside ] I must dissemble, The better to accomplish my revenge. No, by no means; I am bewitched already: I would have thee so good as to unwitch me, or witch another with me for company. I understand thee not; be plain, my son. As a pike-staff, mother. You know Kate Carter? The wealthy yeoman's daughter? That same party has bewitched me. Bewitched me, hisce auribus. I saw a little devil fly out of her eye like a burbolt, which sticks at this hour up to the feathers in my heart.
Now, my request is, to send one of thy what-d'ye-call-'ems either to pluck that out, or stick another as fast in hers: Up to the very hilts, mother. And thou wouldst have me make her love thee too? But dost thou think that I can do't, and I alone? Truly, Mother Witch, I do verily believe so; and, when I see it done, I shall be half persuaded so too. Turn to the west, and whatsoe'er thou hear'st Or seest, stand silent, and be not afraid. An her little devil should be hungry, come sneaking behind me, like a cowardly catchpole, and clap his talons on my haunches—'Tis woundy cold, sure—I dudder and shake like an aspen-leaf every joint of me.
How now, my son, how is't? Scarce in a clean life, Mother Witch. A kind of charm I work by; didst thou hear me? I heard I know not the devil what mumble in a scurvy base tone, like a drum that had taken cold in the head the last muster. Very comfortable words; what were they? A great learned man.
Thou knowest the stile at the west end of thy father's peasfield: The first living thing I meet, you say, shall bring me to her? To a sight of her, I mean. She will seem wantonly coy, and flee thee; but follow her close and boldly: A ball well bandied! I know, Master Warbeck, you are in a fog about my daughter's marriage. And can you blame me, sir?
Begone the Raggedy Witches
Nor you me justly. Wedding and hanging are tied up both in a proverb; and destiny is the juggler that unties the knot. My hope is, you are reserved to a richer fortune than my poor daughter. Is a kind of debt, I confess it. Which honest men should pay. Yet some gentlemen break in that point now and then, by your leave, sir. I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the wench; but patience is the only salve to cure it.
Since Thorney has won the wench, he has most reason to wear her. Love in this kind admits no reason to wear her. Then Love's a fool, and what wise man will take exception? You hold yours in a string, though: In my love to her sister Katherine?
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Look for the same mercy at my hands as I have received at thine. She'll keep a surer compass; I have too strong a confidence to mistrust her. And that confidence is a wind that has blown many a married man ashore at Cuckold's Haven, I can tell you; I wish yours more prosperous though. Whate'er your wish, I'll master my promise to him. Yes, as you did to me. No more of that, if you love me: Leave the manage of the rest to my care. But see, the bridegroom and bride come; the new pair of Sheffield knives, fitted both to one sheath.
No harsh language, if thou lovest me. No more than I, or thou, or any man, things so standing, would have attempted. Come, give thee joy: I thank ye, gentlemen; kind Master Warbeck, I find you loving. Thorney, that creature,—much good do thee with her! Love her, Thorney; 'Tis nobleness in thee, in her but duty.
The match is fair and equal; the success I leave to censure. Till now elected, thy old scorn deride. Nay, you shall not part till you see the barrels run a-tilt, gentlemen. Why change you your face, sweetheart? Dear, say not so; a spirit of your constancy Cannot endure this change for nothing. I have observed strange variations in you. Awake, you seem to dream, and in your sleep You utter sudden and distracted accents, Like one at enmity with peace. Dear loving husband, If I May dare to challenge any interest in you, Give me the reason fully; you may trust My breast as safely as your own.
Come, you shall not, Indeed you shall not, shut me from partaking The least dislike that grieves you; I'm all yours. And I all thine. You are not, if you keep The least grief from me: In me or my behaviour: I know I do; knew I as well in what, You should not long be sullen. Prithee, love, If I have been immodest or too bold, Speak't in a frown; if peevishly too nice, Show't in a smile: Wherefore dost weep now? You, sweet, have the power To make me passionate as an April-day; Now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red: You are the powerful moon of my blood's sea, To make it ebb or flow into my face, As your looks change.
Change thy conceit, I prithee; Thou art all perfection: Diana herself Swells in thy thoughts and moderates thy beauty. Within thy left eye amorous Cupid sits, Feathering love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipped In thy chaste breast; in the other lies Blushing Adonis scarfed in modesties; And still as wanton Cupid blows love-fires, Adonis quenches out unchaste desires; And from these two I briefly do imply A perfect emblem of thy modesty.
Then, prithee, dear, maintain no more dispute, For when thou speak'st, it's fit all tongues be mute.
The Black Witch
Come, come, these golden strings of flattery Shall not tie up my speech, sir; I must know The ground of your disturbance. Then look here; For here, here is the fen in which this hydra Of discontent grows rank. In mine own bosom, here the cause has root; The poisoned leeches twist about my heart, And will, I hope, confound me. You're afraid to bury me? No, no, my Winnifred. No, I forget myself! Talking of wives, I pretend Winnifred, A maid that at my mother's waited on me Before thyself. I hope, sir, she may live To take my place: Yet why should this Raise mutiny within you?
That I should have another wife? Yes, many; If they be good, the better. Never any Equal to thee in goodness. Sir, I could wish I were much better for you; Yet if I knew your fate Ordained you for another, I could wish— So well I love you and your hopeful pleasure— Me in my grave, and my poor virtues added To my successor. Prithee, prithee, talk not Of deaths or graves; thou art so rare a goodness As Death would rather put itself to death Than murder thee: Yet you still move In your first sphere of discontent.
Sweet, chase Those clouds of sorrow, and shine clearly on me. At my return I will. Will you, then, leave me? For a time I must: As birds their young, or loving bees Their hives, to fetch home richer dainties. Now has my fear met its effect. You shall not; Cost it my life, you shall not. Like to the lapwing have you all this while With your false love deluded me, pretending Counterfeit senses for your discontent; And now at last it is by chance stole from you.
Your pre-appointed meeting Of single combat with young Warbeck. Then in his look I read it: Till he and you be friends. Was this your cunning? You're not so kind, indeed, as I imagined. You shall have no just cause. Dear Sue, I shall not. Nay, Cuddy, prithee do not leave us now; if we part all this night, we shall not meet before day. I prithee, Banks, let's keep together now. If you were wise, a word would serve; but as you are, I must be forced to tell you again, I have a little private business, an hour's work; it may prove but an half hour's, as luck may serve; and then I take horse, and along with you.
Have we e'er a witch in the morris? No, no; no woman's part but Maid Marian and the Hobby-horse. I'll have a witch; I love a witch. They say we have three or four in Edmonton besides Mother Sawyer. I would she would dance her part with us. So would not I; for if she comes, the devil and all comes along with her. Well, I'll have a witch; I have loved a witch ever since I played at cherry-pit. Leave me, and get my horse dressed; give him oats: Whither do we foot it first?
To Sir Arthur Clarington's first; then whither thou wilt. Well, I am content; but we must up to Carter's, the rich yeoman; I must be seen on hobby-horse there. O, I smell him now! Go to, no more of that: Well, 'twas I, I'll not deny it; I meant no hurt in't. I have seen you walk up to Carter's of Chessum: Banks, were not you there last Shrovetide? Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrovetide.
How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week? I reckon stila nova as a traveller; thou understandest as a fresh-water farmer, that never sawest a week beyond sea. Ask any soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he'll tell thee there are eight days in the week there hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places?
Ay, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet. No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee look but in the lover's almanac: When he comes to her again and embraces her, "O," says he, "now me-thinks I am in Heaven;" and that's a pretty step! He that can get up to Heaven in ten days need not repent his journey; you may ride a hundred days in a caroche, and be further off than when you set forth. But, I pray you, good morris-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight. Well, since he will be alone, we'll back again and trouble him no more.
All the Clowns But remember, Banks. The hobby-horse shall be remembered. But hark you; get Poldavis, the barber's boy, for the witch, because he can show his art better than another. Well, now to my walk. I am near the place where I should meet—I know not what: I must follow him, if to the gallows; say I meet a horse, or hare, or hound? I am thy first man, sculler; I go with thee; ply no other but myself. Away with the boat! We go a-ducking, spaniel; thou shalt fetch me the ducks, pretty kind rascal.
Enter a Spirit vizarded. Thus throw I off mine own essential horror, And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid Whom this fool dotes on: We'll sport with him; but when we reckoning call, We know where to receive; the witch pays for all. And have I met thee, sweet Kate? I will teach thee to walk so late. O, see, we meet in metre. O, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble! Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you. I am drowned, I am drowned! Ha, ha, ha, ha! This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I find it now in Pond's almanac: I'll never go to a wench in the dog-days again; yet 'tis cool enough.
I'll throw you in at Limehouse in some tanner's pit or other. Take heed how thou trustest the devil another time. I hope you have not your reading tongue about you? Yes, I can speak. The devil you can! Pray you, let me catechise you a little; what might one call your name, dog? My dame calls me Tom. Well, Tom, give me thy fist, we are friends; you shall be mine ingle: I love you; but I pray you let's have no more of these ducking devices.
Not, if you love me. Dogs love where they are beloved; cherish me, and I'll do anything for thee. Well, you shall have jowls and livers; I have butchers to my friends that shall bestow 'em: Any thing; I'll help thee to thy love. O, best of all; the sweetest bits those. You shall not starve, Ningle Tom, believe that: One thing I would request you, ningle, as you have played the knavish cur with me a little, that you would mingle amongst our morris-dancers in the morning.
Yes, yes, any thing; I'll be there, but unseen to any but thyself. Get thee gone before; fear not my presence. I have work to-night; I serve more masters, more dames than one. He can serve Mammon and the devil too. It shall concern thee and thy love's purchase. There is a gallant rival loves the maid, And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief, Before the morris ends, shall light on him! O, sweet ningle, thy neuf once again; friends must part for a time. Farewell, with this remembrance; shalt have bread too when we meet again.
If ever there were an honest devil, 'twill be the Devil of Edmonton, I see. Farewell, Tom; I prithee dog me as soon as thou canst [ Exit. I'll not miss thee, and be merry with thee. Those that are joys denied must take delight In sins and mischiefs; 'tis the devil's right. I have not shown this cheek in company; Pardon me now: Your second adulterous marriage leads; That is the sad eclipse, th' effects must follow, As plagues of shame, spite, scorn, and obloquy.
Why, hast thou not left one hour's patience To add to all the rest? Are we not now set forward in the flight, Provided with the dowry of my sin To keep us in some other nation? While we together are, we are at home In any place. Let My father, then, make the restitution, Who forced me to take the bribe: He would not bless, nor look a father on me, Until I satisfied his angry will: When I was sold, I sold myself again— Some knaves have done't in lands, and I in body— For money, and I have the hire.
But, sweet, no more, 'Tis hazard of discovery, our discourse; And then prevention takes off all our hopes: For only but to take her leave of me My wife is coming. No, no; thou art here: Go lead The horses to th' hill's top; there I'll meet thee. Nay, with your favour let him stay a little; I would part with him too, because he is Your sole companion; and I'll begin with him, Reserving you the last.
Ay, with all my heart. You may hear, if't please you, sir. No, 'tis not fit: Some rudiments, I conceive, they must be, To overlook my slippery footings: Tush, I know it must be so, And it is necessary: What charge soe'er you lay upon me, mistress, I shall support it faithfully—being honest— To my best strength. Believe't shall be no other. I know you were commended to my husband By a noble knight. Something hit mine eye,—it makes it water still,— Even as you said "commended to my husband. Whose servant once my Thorney was himself. That title, methinks, should make you almost fellows; Or at the least much more than a servant; And I am sure he will respect you so.
Your love to him, then, needs no spur from me, And what for my sake you will ever do, 'Tis fit it should be bought with something more Than fair entreats; look! Why, thou art many now besides thyself: Thou mayst be servant, friend, and wife to him; A good wife is them all.
A friend can play The wife and servant's part, and shift enough; No less the servant can the friend and wife: While Talbot plays lip service to the African-American community in the Filmore and the Chinese community mostly with a portrayal of Rose Pak , you would think that San Francisco was basically a big old gay Irish party from reading this book if you didn't know any better. What about the Mission? What was happening with the Latino community during this time period? I'd sure like to know. Or even the Russian and Jewish community in the Sunset, how did they react to the changes in the air?
Pretty disappointed to read this narrowly focused book-I was hoping for better from David Talbot. View all 5 comments.
Kr Tong Read the book. The latino history of san francisco is conpletely nonexistent. Not necessarily a bad thing tonha Read the book. Not necessarily a bad thing tonhave the scope narrowed, but now I want a second, third, or fourth book that parallels this one to cover life of chinese, mexicans, jews, russians, etc.
Kr Tong and no earthquake history? Dec 16, Apr 16, Ann rated it liked it. It wasn't always peace and love in San Francisco. Or actually - ever. The hot second of 'gentle people with flowers in their hair' quickly gave way to a myriad of social misery - overdoses, VD, abandoned children, racism, AIDS, murder, manslaughter, etc. The problem was the myth we sang about far outlasted the reality we experienced - I had completely forgotten about the connection between the Jim Jones' mass murders and the Moscone-Milk murders a week later, for example.
The book reminds us of It wasn't always peace and love in San Francisco. The book reminds us of San Francisco's blue collar, conservative repressed-Catholic heritage - a group of folks who unsurprisingly had a hard time accepting the influx of hippies and gays flooding in on "Trans Love Airways. The wrap-up is a little too pat in my opinion, and of course San Francisco has continued to have highs and lows - Loma Prieta, dot com bubble and bust, homelessness, etc. You gotta end the book somewhere. I think Talbot must have been on deadline - he stirred up a great big witch's brew of a story and then leaves us with a shallow 'resolution.
San Francisco's history continues to be written, revised and reinvented. The book was a page-turner, and reminded me once again that the 'good old days' are a complete fantasy. I can't finish without mentioning that Talbot gets his digs in on Ronald Reagan, a president who had lackluster ratings in office but whose myth has continued to grow as the American people forget his complete lack of leadership on AIDS, his early acceptance of racism, the impact of his economic policies on the poor, etc.
It's way more comforting to hearken back to an America full of peace and love, and a kindly 'ol Gipper running the show. May 09, Christopher Enzi rated it really liked it. This dazzling page turner tells much of the history of San Francisco during the time I've lived here. From in the ramp up to the Summer of Love through the Big Gay Immigration boom which brought me here in through drugs, politics, sex, cults, murders and scandals, this book gets to the heart of the matter.
When people hear that I lived here in the s, before AIDS was on anyone's radar, their ears prick up as though they were about to hear a dirty joke. Sure, there were orgies an WOW! Sure, there were orgies and drugs but there was so much more to the whole thrilling bacchanal as we tried to invent a new way to live that made room for our quirks and looked out for our neighbors. David Talbot really gets this distinction and writes about San Francisco with great love, compassion and excitement; all hallmarks of what most of us moved here hoping to find.
If you have a library card, you can pick this wonderful book up in any branch. It's featured on the NewArrivals shelf. Dec 22, Richard rated it it was amazing Recommended to Richard by: This is a sometimes heart-wrenching and sometimes ecstatic narrative of the dramatic era that brought San Francisco through some incredible times and changes. I can't say it any better than this review: The founder of Salon takes a fascinating tour of the Golden Gate City, — If you love San Francisco — or you're interested in rock 'n' roll, gay history, traumatic 70s racial politics, or even the 49ers football team, you'll probably find this book riveting.
If This is a sometimes heart-wrenching and sometimes ecstatic narrative of the dramatic era that brought San Francisco through some incredible times and changes. If you're a San Franciscan, the public library has 52 copies to share out, although as of Christmas , there are requests outstanding, so you still might have to wait a while.
Update, 27 April So there are now holds on the first copy returned of copies. Sep 19, Mal Warwick rated it it was amazing Shelves: The Summer of Love. The racist Zebra killings. The assassination of Harvey Milk and George Moscone. The onset of the AIDS epidemic. To recall that we lived our lives punctuated by such rapidly alternating bouts of exhilaration and despair! Talbot tells the tale of this time through a series of interconnected biographical sketches, bringing the bold-faced names of the s and s back to life in vivid detail: This is a story not of saints and sinners but of flesh-and-blood human beings with their own faults and failings no matter how society may have lionized them.
Season of the Witch opens and closes with vignettes from the colorful lives of Vincent and Vivian Hallinan who, with their six pugilistic sons and the other lawyers the old man trained, set the combative tone for progressive politics in the city for decades to come. David Talbot was the founder and editor-in-chief of the online magazine Salon in after serving as an editor for both newspapers and magazines. He has written for many other publications and has authored several other books. Mar 29, Jay Hinman rated it did not like it.
It was with much anticipation and excitement that I started former Salon. No, I did not finish the book. I'd never get those hours back, and alas, neither will I get back the four or so hours I invested in those 13 chapters. I believe that I can successfully and accurately review the book anyway, and hopefully talk you out It was with much anticipation and excitement that I started former Salon.
I believe that I can successfully and accurately review the book anyway, and hopefully talk you out of any inclination you might have toward reading it. It has some of the most cringe-worthy, unimaginative writing I've seen in years. I knew in the back of my head that Talbot, for all the initiative and gusto he showed in founding the once-excellent SALON back in the s, was the web magazine's primary weak link when it came to actual journalism.
Yet his bozo rock-n-roll shorthand in this book is even worse. He actually writes about how, in the Haight Ashbury, "the idea of free medical service was blowin' in the wind" I wish I was kidding , and he quotes numerous other hippie rock lyrics in the service of his horrifically purple prose. I just googled the SF Gate review of his book and they respectfully quoted a very representative line, about the murdered George Moscone and Harvey Milk: I think so too.
Talbot has absolutely zero nuance, nor the ability to tell a complex tale. In David Talbot's s San Francisco, the world is strictly black and white. The hippies and the people that welcomed them were heroes; the city's Catholic "old guard" were intolerant, incompetent, racist, sexist pigs. Rock and roll, peace and love was all upside. Dissent against the warmed-over, likely half-baked, "Rolling Stone" popular history of liberated 60s San Francisco is nowhere to be found here. Everyone is cast into stereotypical roles: Talbot shows zero initiative in carving his own researched narrative through the tropes of the past, and instead relies on the sort of Summer of Love picture books I used to flip through as a dumb kid in the s for his journalism.
I know this book takes a "darker" turn later, after the part where I stopped reading, yet after such an awful first third, the thought of how badly he'd butcher the People's Temple and Patty Hearst stories was just too much for me to stomach. He believes every bit of BS this city's been telling itself since I've lived in San Francisco since , and I love it here.
The self-congratulatory mythology this city soaks in, however, is and has forever been totally nauseating. Talbot has bought it all hook, line and sinker. He repeatedly waxes rhapsodic about "the fog rolling across the hills" and about San Francisco's "liberated, anything-goes spirit", except he usually uses some trite rock lyric or metaphor to write it even worse than I just did. Anyway, who actually calls this place "the city of love"?
No one except for stoned hippie journalists in did — no one. The last straw for me was Tablot's misty-eyed chapter on San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen, "swinging with the hepcats at Tosca", nursing a highball, rapping with Ferlinghetti, stooping down to understand the hippies, wearing his fedora to jazz clubs blah blah blah. I couldn't believe the shorthand and the shortcuts this guy took in the service of telling what could have been an incredible tale.
The popular thumbnail view of everything that's happened here, and everyone who did it, just happens to be Talbot's lazy method of describing it as well. All my worst fears about a clunker of a book were realized in its first third, and then some. I'm writing this as a warning to any potential readers, so that you may be dissuaded from investing four hours of your own life into this complete exercise in futility.
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May 30, Kasa Cotugno rated it it was amazing Shelves: Most of the events occurred in the decade before I moved to San Francisco, but the effects of these upheavals were still felt and formed the structure and personality of the city I lived in for 10 years, and even that time in which I inhabited it can be looked upon with nostalgia since there has been yet another upheaval, shifting the city again.
So I was glad to read this book and learn more about events that shaped the City I knew. Talbot gives in depth accounts of the people and the forces th Most of the events occurred in the decade before I moved to San Francisco, but the effects of these upheavals were still felt and formed the structure and personality of the city I lived in for 10 years, and even that time in which I inhabited it can be looked upon with nostalgia since there has been yet another upheaval, shifting the city again.
Talbot gives in depth accounts of the people and the forces that influenced the changes, and much attention is given to the short lived summer of love, undermined and destroyed by the drug culture. It was fascinating to learn about the Haight Ashbury Health Clinic, still on Clayton street over 50 years later. The rock personalities, most notably the Grateful Dead and Janis Joplin, but then also the politicians who influenced the city, names that are still familiar today such as Ed Lee, current mayor, who was active even then, also the political arc of Diane Feinstein.
It may seem simplistic to indicate that the success of the 49ers healed the city at a time when political assassinations, serial killers, and the emergence of AIDS was plunging the city into depression, but by the time I moved here, Joe Montana and Bill Walsh were considered gods, and it was revealing to read of their history and the part played by Eddie DeBartolo. It's always fun to read about a place you're familiar with.
Feb 24, Sian Lile-Pastore rated it it was amazing Shelves: I was relieved when i got to a couple of chapters on american football which i didn't really understand or care about, but was light relief from everything else. I was not looking forward to reading about AIDS either, but actually, it was lordy, this was bleak. I was not looking forward to reading about AIDS either, but actually, it was quite a short overview of the history of the disease in San Francisco and was almost uplifting in the way that it talked about the city pulling together, everyone helping each other and the beginnings of medication that could help people survive.
I didn't realise how instrumental San Francisco was in the research of the disease and was inspired by the ways that it was dealt with and how ordinary people helped out. I found the chapters about Jim Jones the most difficult to read although the dan white bits were no picnic - and was completely unaware of his links with san franciso, moscone and milk. Reading about the deaths of hundreds of Jim Jones's followers was chilling and really stuck in my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about after i finished reading about it over breakfast and then had to go to work at a wedding fair Apr 21, Kristen rated it it was amazing.
One of the greatest history accounts I have read on the turbulent past of SF in the mid to late 20th century. Recommended to all those fascinated with the city of San Francisco. A great history of the key players who aided in developing the liberal nature of the city, it's culture of acceptance, and the model it served for the rest of the world. Aug 03, Justin Sorbara-Hosker rated it liked it. Hippies, Patty Hearst, drugs, bikers, Altamont, racial tension, Jonestown, birth of gay rights, murder, politics - and more.
Solid reporting and storytelling; probably essential reading for fans of this city. Pretty slight glimmer that could have been expanded on, but still. CON -Cover, and a little less so, title. And if you want North Beach on the cover, a stock photo of one of the sleazier areas? Couldn't be that hard to find Occasionally a bit graphic, and veers into the standard and exploitative true crime book territory. Either jarringly awkward, insensitive, or just downright bad.
Worth the read for the panoramic and general tour of San Francisco's history, from , Talbot introduces a cornucopia of cast members against the ever abused imaginary stage of San Francisco's past. Despite his floundering attempts to add depth to his ever expanding cast of characters, Talbots writing is a lesson in binarism and blindness. But even as cliche-filled, linguistically stunted and intellectually-numbing as Season of the Witch is, I had a hard time putting it down for its Da Vin Worth the read for the panoramic and general tour of San Francisco's history, from , Talbot introduces a cornucopia of cast members against the ever abused imaginary stage of San Francisco's past.
But even as cliche-filled, linguistically stunted and intellectually-numbing as Season of the Witch is, I had a hard time putting it down for its Da Vinici Code-esque intrigue and churning pace. If you're willing to overlook the undeniably grievous abuse of metaphor and indulge yourself in yet another caricature of "the City," it's a quick read that will hopefully leave you delving for more.
For the latest generation of transplants and windy footed children of San Francisco, it is a necessary history lesson, about as nuanced and polemic and as your 8th grade US History textbook. Talbot's greatest strength lies in his compassion for the San Francisco's bewildering band of miscreants and messengers, through their sickness and health. Perhaps this kind of passion skewers his candor and nuance, but it leaves us with a glimmer of his love for San Francisco. Season of the Witch is an egregious sonnet of a scarred and scared Mercury, unfit but game to write his eulogy to deified poets past.
May 07, Adam rated it really liked it Shelves: Dante is often quoted I paraphrase as finding heaven the hardest to write of all the sections of his Divine Comedy. I wonder if the writer Talbot had similar difficulties on certain sections of this exuberant popular history of one of my favorite cities, San Francisco during the sixties and seventies. This section is the inferno. Talbot calls it Terror. Here is a city at war with itself in the dread seventies.
Hard drugs take over the Haight, the Altamont disaster spoils the mood and the revolutionary movements move towards rage. These changes happened all over the country in the Nixon years but San Franscisco seemed to be hit the worse, the Red Queen section of the wonderland replete with death cults, violent revolutionaries, mad bombers, and assassinations.
Aug 15, Jon rated it really liked it. Every San Fransican needs to read this book to understand the tumult our city has endured to get where it is is today. A romping, rough ride through the history of SF. I loved every page of this book and often stayed up later to get more. I am sad that it is over, because there is so much more I want to learn about my amazing city. What what crazy stories in one of America's greatest cities. Jun 15, Nils rated it liked it Shelves: The thesis of this book is that the cultural and political history of San Francisco in the second half of the twentieth century consisted of a drawn out battle between the old conservative Catholic political establishment and the emergent counterculture and its liberal allies — a battle that eventually the liberals won in the s.
Written in a rollicking if somewhat breathless and at times cliched style whenever Talbot introduces us to a hooker, for example, we rarely need wait more than a sentence or two to learn what her heart is made of , the book offers many compelling and indeed often poignant personality sketches of legendary San Francisco denizens, from Vincent Hallinan and Herb Caen to Patty Hearst and Janis Joplin.
Like many an apologist for Revolutionaries before him, he actually avoids taking in the continuity, the way that the rancid turn of events was baked into the utopian dreamworld to begin with. In particular, he seems to be entirely credulous about the liberating potential of rock and roll, peppering his text with rock lyric references, as if these were profound philosophical bons mots. Indeed, the counterculture and the radicalism of the SLA or the Zebra Murderers were, politically speaking, wholly different creatures — the former more aligned with anarchism, the latter with varieties of authoritarian pseudo Marxism or black radicalism.
The SLA specifically might more accurately be tied to radicalization of certain post-New Left factions by their failure to stop the Vietnam War, the Nixon administration, and corporate power. But in fact the New Left and the counterculture had little in common certainly not politically other than a dislike for the Man, and enjoying the occasional joint. Sure, Altamont, the SLA, and the Zebra murders were all phenomena that Normies regarded as showing the country was going to hell in a handbasket, led by feckless kids, but except for the spurious right wing narrative itself, these things had virtually nothing to do with one another.
One major distinctive feature of San Francisco life in the s was the emergence of an open gay culture, which Talbot rightly if obviously emphasizes. The murder of Mayor George Moscone and City Supervisor Harvey Milk by fellow City Supervisor Dan White in , which occupies the last third of the book, indeed embodied the political clash between the emergent culture of personal liberation and the old Catholic establishment.